“Very low chance of that. But we’ll find out more when we speak to Wabanaki Dana.”
A laugh burst out of Frankie. “Waba who?”
“Wabanaki Dana. He’s a policymaker for the Penobscot Nation.”
“Aww, cool! So he’s a real Indian?”
“Native American,” Tim said.
Now it was Scout’s turn to frown at Frankie. He was so clueless. And he didn’t even have the good sense to catch her frown—his eyes were glued to his phone.
“I still don’t get why we need to loop in this guy,” Frankie said. “You don’t even think there is any gold. Maybe we should go looking for it first, then figure out who needs to know.”
Scout gave Tim a side-glance. “Frankie might actually have a point. If there even was gold, it seems pretty logical to think the lighthouse keeper collected it all.”
Frankie poked his head up front. “Maybe the treasure is still on the ship. Buried down in the water.”
“That’s a possibility,” Tim said. “Another reason why we need to get Wabanaki Dana in on this. He knows all the shipwrecks along the coast of Maine. And he also knows this area, its history. Those clues in the envelope were written long before Acadia was a national park.”
“Aww, man. If you gave me a little time, I could crack ’em.”
Tim and Scout exchanged a look. “Scout, can you remember any of those clues? Let’s see if our sleuth back there can decipher one.”
She closed her eyes and squinted, trying to remember.Useless.Chasing a thought was like bird-watching with binoculars—the harder you focused, the quicker the bird flitted away into the trees. Wait ... she might recall an easy one. “Here’s one for you, Frankie. ‘The owl knows at dusk.’”
Silence. “Huh.” Frankie cleared his throat. “Maybe ... try another.”
She hesitated, sifting through her memories as she’d sat on the boulder on Baker Island, reading the clues. There was one clue—different from the rest—that left her with afeeling. What was it? Sadness, sorrow, grief. Weeping. Then bits and pieces of it surfaced. “Somethin’ like ‘where the ocean weeps’ ... somethin’ somethin’ ... and he couldn’t carry it.”
Silence from the back seat. Then a throat clearing. “Okay, okay. I get it. I get that I don’t get it.” Frankie let out a sigh. “So if you’re hoping that this Ind—uh, Native American can figure them out, then why didn’t you bring the envelope?”
“The safest place for it is locked up in my desk, in Acadia NP,” Tim said. “I’m not even sure Naki has time to spare to help us with this project. If so, I’d prefer to have him come down to the park to see it.”
While stationed at the Petrified Forest, Scout had workedwith Native Americans from the Navajo Nation. But as she pulled into the library’s parking lot and Tim pointed toward the figure waiting on the sidewalk, she felt an unexpected jolt. This man—taller than anyone she’devermet—shattered any preconceived notions that she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying.
Tim was already out of the car, shaking hands with him.
“Whoa.” Frankie leaned over the seat to get a better look. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but that is one impressive-looking dude.” He scrambled out of the car to go meet Wabanaki Dana.
Scout stayed in her seat, mesmerized. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. Tim noticed she hadn’t moved. He opened the door for her. “Come on, Scout. Meet Naki.”
Still gripping her ranger hat, Scout stepped out of the jeep and joined Frankie, who was practically drooling. Wabanaki Dana turned to face her, and their eyes locked. His head cocked at an angle, and his entire body stilled, as if he recognized her. He stared at her for a long moment until Scout grew uncomfortable and turned her eyes to the ground.
“Hello, Mr. Dana, sir,” she said.
“Call me Naki,” he said, his voice smooth, deep, and effortlessly commanding as he reached out to take her hand.
His large brown hand enveloped her small pasty white hand. “I’m, uh...” Scout’s mind hit a blank wall, and her tongue stalled.
Awkward silence.
“She’s Scout,” Frankie cut in, at her side. “Like a Boy Scout. Except, you know ... she’s not a boy.”
Naki’s eyes flicked toward her. “No,” he said after a beat, his voice low and measured. “She’s not.” While there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his face, something in his expression—just the slightest crinkle at the edges of those dark eyes—hinted at amusement.
More awkward silence.
Scout had spent four years as a park ranger, steady in the face of backcountry emergencies, wild animals, and more than a few reckless hikers. She knew how to keep her cool. But standing in front of Wabanaki Dana, her mind went completely, utterly blank. She had never been the type to lose her footing over a man’s looks. It wasn’t about handsomeness—he was something else entirely. Different. Commanding. Like a man who’d stepped out of another century.
