“Arthur Lipp.” Scout shrugged. “But I don’t know anythin’ more about him. Baker Island history is all about the Gilleys.”
Naki pushed off from the door. “I can track down more information about Arthur Lipp.”
“Good,” Tim said. “See if you can find out what happened to him. I’m more than a little surprised that you found gold for the first clue. It means there’s probably more to be found. Something must have happened that prevented him from claiming the rest of it.” He tapped his fingertips on the desktop. “Time is not on our side.”
Scout stood. “You’re absolutely right, sir. We’ll get started right now.”
“Not tonight, Scout,” Tim said, holding up a hand. “It’s late. Your hand’s bleeding, your clothes are wet, and I’ll bet you haven’t eaten all day. You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
Scout hesitated, surprised. “But Ranger Rivers, you said yourself that time is not on our side and—”
“Not up for debate,” Tim said.
Beside her, Naki shifted, his gaze flicking to Scout. “He’s right. You need to rest. This treasure hunt might take a while.”
“You’re probably right.” Tim sighed. “Scout, I’m going to put another ranger on the Baker Island tour until we get this matter ... solved.”
“Yes, sir. First thing tomorrow, we’ll start on the next clue.” Scout looked down at her hand, wrapped in some tissues. “I hope the next ones aren’t as dramatic as the first one.”
Naki opened the door for Scout. “Oh, I think they will be.”
At the threshold, Scout stopped and turned to Naki. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, Tim’s entire office seemed to shrink around them.
“Thank you again for ... returnin’,” she said, her voice low.
“Of course,” Naki said.
What?Tim felt like he was in the middle of a conversation he didn’t belong in. As the moment seemed to stretch, he cleared his throat loudly. “So, first thing tomorrow ... back in my office.”
The connection broke as Scout’s shoulders squared. “You can count on me, sir. Um, on us.”
The faintest trace of a smile flickered across Naki’s otherwise unreadable face. Amusement? Intrigue? Tim couldn’t say for sure, and besides, he wasn’t particularly good at reading subtleties—but something had cracked through that man’s stoic exterior.
The alarm clock erupted in a shrill, relentless wail, jolting Chase into semiconsciousness. He groaned and blindly swatted at it, his hand smacking everything on the nightstand except the clock. His phone hit the floor. A pen rolled off. A half-empty coffee mug tipped but miraculously didn’t spill.
The clock, meanwhile, kept shrieking.
“Okay, okay, okay.” Chase sat up and fumbled to silence the machine. His finger finally landed on the button, and the room fell blessedly silent.
He flopped back onto the pillow, releasing a long, frustrated sigh. The weight of the last day—or was it two?—pressed down on him, a constant reminder of his own failure. His anger simmeredas he replayed the moment over and over: the clues, right there in his hands, in his own home! How could he have been so careless as not to have snapped a single good picture? He might not have the full story yet, but the groundwork for the article could have begun. That is, if he could somehow still pull the whole thing together.
His ears still rang from Maisie and Frankie’s nonstop bickering last night as they followed the only lead they had. Chase had tracked down Sophie’s home address through the owner of the coffee shop and driven them there. When Sophie heard that her boyfriend had, allegedly but most probably, stolen the envelope by breaking into his car, she let out a wail. “My mother’s right. I always pick losers!”
It didn’t help when Frankie tried to interrogate Sophie with all the finesse of a wrecking ball. “Where would that loser go? What are his favorite hangout spots?”
“I don’t know! I just met Enzo last weekend.”
“He seems to me like the kind of guy who has girlfriends in every town.”
Sophie sobbed louder.
“You’re making her feel terrible!” Maisie hissed, glaring at Frankie. She patted Sophie’s back, trying to console her.
“Who cares how she feels?” Frankie snapped back. “I want that envelope that her jerk boyfriend stole.”
Sophie had wailed even louder.
Chase shook off the lingering haze of last night’s futile amateur detective work and forced himself to get out of bed. In the bathroom, he flicked on the light and winced at his reflection. His hair was sticking up in every direction, and the dark circles under his eyes looked like they’d been drawn with a Sharpie. “Great,” he muttered, leaning closer to the mirror. He rubbed his face, as if that might somehow erase the guilt and discouragement clinging to him. It didn’t.
