“And what, exactly, do you want in return, Mr. Fletcher?” The ranger’s voice was cautious.
Chase swallowed hard. “I want exclusive rights to tell the story. Look, I care about Acadia too. The last thing I want is to turn the park into a circus.”
Frankie scoffed. “At least not until you break the story, you mean.”
Chase narrowed his eyes.Bull’s-eye.
Tim had a pretty good idea why Chase Fletcher came to him with the offer to return the envelope if he could have exclusive rights to the story: He had read the clues and couldn’t figure them out. He’d grown up in Bar Harbor, the park was his backyard, and yet he had no idea what they meant. Too obscure.
“Let’s go get the envelope,” Tim said, his tone flat, giving nothing away. “Then we’ll talk about exclusivity.”
Chase hesitated but eventually nodded. “Fine.”
Tim didn’t break stride as they approached Chase’s car, parked at a distance from the door to the visitor center. The scene hit him instantly: the shattered glass, the glint of sunlight catching on the shards scattered across the pavement. Maisie, who’d been following along, practically bouncing with nervous energy, let out a small gasp, and Frankie cursed under his breath. Chase stopped dead in his tracks, the color draining from his face.
“No. No!” Chase darted forward, leaning inside the broken window. “It’s gone. The envelope—it’s gone!”
Tim didn’t say anything at first. He studied the broken window and the area around the car. Whoever had done this had been in a hurry. “Who else knew you had it?”
Chase couldn’t believe it—his car window was broken, and the envelope was gone! “I didn’t tell a soul.”
Frankie jabbed his thumb in the direction of Maisie. “She told someone.”
“I did not!”
“Yeah, she did.”
“I didn’t!”
Tim ignored Maisie and focused on Frankie. “Who?”
“The barista from the coffee shop. Her boyfriend was listening. He picked up on it.”
Maisie’s face fell. “Oh, right.”
Tim couldn’t believe how this day had unfolded. He wondered where Naki and Scout were and if they’d found anything. If not, then maybe this was all fuss for nothing.
But if they did find something, this was going to be impossible to keep quiet. He looked at Chase. “You must’ve taken pictures of the clues, right?”
Chase lit up. “I sure did.” He pulled out his phone, tapping through the gallery.
Tim noticed it—a flicker of hesitation. A wince. Then a frown.
“Okay,” Chase said slowly. “Only one photo came out. Sort of. It’s blurry.” He squinted at the screen. “But I remember most of it. I think.”
Tim stared. One photo. Blurry.Unbelievable.He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Well, you read the clues. You studied them. So, whether I like it or not, you’re in on this. No guarantee of anything exclusive.”
Frankie’s expression soured. “Wait, now we’re working with him?”
“Looks that way,” Tim said. He didn’t like it, but the damage was done. There was no other choice.
The late afternoon sun slanted through the windshield of the park jeep, casting long streaks of light over the dashboard. Scout gripped the steering wheel, her voice steady but edged with curiosity as she repeated a clue she clearly remembered: “The owl knows at dusk.”
Naki, sitting motionless in the passenger seat, didn’t respond. He gazed out the window as they drove around the park. They’d been driving for quite a while now, crossing off all obvious owl-related spots where the clue might lead. The bog trail section near the Wild Gardens of Acadia with reported sightings of barred owls. Known owl habitats—an old forest area, marshes, ponds, meadows. Interesting sites, especially to Scout, who had yet to explore much of Acadia, but nothing seemed obvious to Naki as a place to stash gold coins.
Scout’s gaze kept darting toward Naki, unsettled by his silence. His stillness was unnerving—like he was a coiled spring, waiting for the right moment. “The owl knows at dusk,” she repeated, breaking the quiet. “What else could it mean?”
Another long moment of silence. Then ... “Of course!” Naki snapped to face her, his dark eyes flickering with sudden intensity. “Pull over.”
