Page 2 of Obscurity
She waited, hardly able to breathe.
Even though she was wise to her father’s ways, part of her still wanted to believe what he told her.
That made her a fool.
He leaned forward as if sharing a secret, drawing the whole family into his circle of influence. “The clues weren’t all in one place. Slattery was paranoid about his hiding spot being discovered, so he scattered pieces of the puzzle across different locations and with different families.”
He pulled out another document, this one appearing to be a letter written in different handwriting.
“This piece came from the descendants of Slattery’s business partner. This one”—he indicated a hand-drawn map fragment—“was found in the personal effects of a Union soldier who may have encountered Slattery during his flight north. I’ve spent two years tracking down all the pieces and putting them together.”
“Two years?” Mom’s voice lilted with surprise. “You never mentioned?—”
“I didn’t want to get everyone’s hopes up until I was certain,” Dad said. “You know how these historical mysteries can be. False leads, dead ends, documents that turn out to be forgeries. Butlast month, when I found the final piece of the puzzle, everything clicked into place.”
He spread the documents across the table like a dealer revealing a winning hand. Maps, letters, sketches, and what appeared to be geological surveys—all pointing to the same general area where they were currently camping.
Olive watched her mother’s expression soften as she examined the evidence. Mom had always been the skeptical one, the voice of reason that balanced Dad’s wilder schemes. But even she seemed caught up in the careful presentation, the weight of apparent historical evidence.
“It’s quite a coincidence that our family camping trip just happens to be in the exact area where this treasure is hidden.” Olive decided to test the boundaries of her father’s story.
Dad laughed, the sound genuine and warm.
“Coincidence? Sweetheart, this isn’t a coincidence at all. I’ve been planning this camping trip specifically to search for Slattery’s treasure. Why do you think I was so insistent we come to this particular campground, in this particular valley?” He gestured to the mountains surrounding them. “Everything has been carefully calculated.”
The explanation was smooth, logical, and completely believable. Which, Olive began to realize, was exactly what made it so suspicious.
“So we’re really going to dig for buried treasure?” Jessie asked, her eyes wide with wonder.
“We’re going to follow the clues wherever they lead us,” Dad confirmed. “It might be buried treasure, or it might be hidden in a cave, or tucked away in some old mining equipment. Slattery was clever—he would have chosen a hiding place that could survive decades of weather and wouldn’t be accidentally discovered.”
Jules raised her hand as if she were in school. “What if we don’t find it?”
“Then we’ll have learned something valuable about history, about these mountains, and about working together as a family,” Dad said. “But I have a very good feeling about our chances. The clues all point to this area, and we have advantages that previous treasure hunters didn’t have.”
“Like what?” Olive asked.
Dad’s grin turned mysterious. “Like modern technology, better maps, and most importantly—” He paused dramatically, letting the anticipation build. “Like having the smartest, most determined treasure hunting team in Georgia.”
The twins giggled and high-fived each other, their excitement infectious. Even Mom was smiling now, caught up in the adventure despite her earlier skepticism.
But Olive found herself studying the documents more carefully, noting inconsistencies in the aging, similarities in handwriting that suggested a single author, and references that seemed just a little too convenient.
Her father was good—better than good—but she was learning to see through his performances.
Even if Cornelius Slattery was fictional, even if the treasure hunt was an elaborate game, the excitement on her family’s faces was real. The sense of adventure, of working together toward a common goal, of believing in something magical—that had value beyond any buried gold.
Maybe that was the real treasure her father was after. Maybe the story itself was worth more than whatever con he was actually planning.
Or maybe Olive was just getting better at recognizing when she was being manipulated, even by someone she loved.
CHAPTER 2
PRESENT DAY
Olive Sterling stared out the windshield at the winding West Virginia road, her knuckles white against the steering wheel. She watched as the mist clung to the mountains like secrets refusing to be told.
She knew all about secrets. They were what she did best.
