Page 1 of Obscurity (Pros and Cons Mysteries #5)
ELEVEN YEARS AGO, BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAINS, GEORGIA
F ourteen-year-old Olive Sterling adjusted her backpack straps as her father gathered the family at their campsite. As the early morning sun shone down on them, Dad’s eyes were bright with the kind of excitement that usually meant trouble.
“Listen up, Sterling family adventurers.” Dad used the theatrical voice he reserved for special occasions. “This isn’t just any camping trip. We’re going on a real treasure hunt.”
The twins—Jessie and Jules, eight years old and still young enough to believe in magic—squealed with delight, bouncing on their toes like springs. Even Mom looked up from applying sunscreen, curiosity replacing her usual anxiety, which had become more pronounced over the past year.
“What kind of treasure, Daddy?” Jessie asked, her gap-toothed grin infectious as she grabbed Jules’s hand in excitement.
“The best kind.”
Olive waited for him to continue. He’d told the family this morning to pack up, and she’d halfway expected him to tell them they were moving again.
Instead, he’d brought them to this campground in the middle of the mountains.
The twinkle in his eyes scared her the most.
She’d seen the look before, and it never led anywhere good. It meant he had something up his sleeve.
Dad spread an official-looking topographical map across the weathered picnic table at the site. The morning sun caught the edges of the paper, making it glow with possibility.
“Back in the 1860s, a wealthy plantation owner named Cornelius Slattery fled north with his family fortune as General Sherman’s army approached,” Dad started. “Legend says he buried three chests of gold coins somewhere in these mountains, planning to return after the war.”
Olive studied the map, noting the hand-drawn X marks and faded notations that looked authentically old but somehow too convenient.
The aged paper had just the right amount of yellowing, the ink appeared properly faded, and the geographic details matched their current location with suspicious precision.
“How do you know about this treasure, Dad?” She narrowed her eyes as she studied one of the marked trails.
“Research, sweetheart. Months and months of careful research.”
Dad pulled out a leather portfolio filled with what appeared to be photocopied documents—letters written in spidery handwriting, land deeds with official-looking seals, even what looked like pages from old journals.
“I’ve been corresponding with historians at the University of Georgia, tracking down his old family letters and mining records,” he continued. “It turns out Cornelius was smarter than most. He left clues.”
Mom moved closer to Dad, examining the papers. Her fingers traced the edges of one document, and Olive caught her slight frown.
“These look very . . . detailed,” Mom said. “And remarkably well-preserved for documents that are supposedly over a century old.”
“They are copies, of course.” Dad grinned, his tone suggesting Mom’s observation was perfectly natural. “The originals are in climate-controlled archives. But these reproductions capture every detail.”
“Keep going,” Mom gave up applying sunscreen and crossed her arms instead as she waited for Dad to continue.
“Slattery was an educated man—studied engineering at the University of Virginia. He knew his family might not survive the war, so he created a treasure map that could be followed by anyone intelligent enough to solve his riddles.”
Jules tugged on Dad’s shirt sleeve. “Are we going to be rich, Daddy?”
Dad crouched down to meet her eyes. “Well, that depends on how good we are at following clues and working together as a team. Treasure hunting isn’t just about luck—it’s about using your brain, paying attention to details, and never giving up.”
Olive felt the familiar mixture of excitement and skepticism that always accompanied her father’s grand schemes. The documents looked real—aged and authentic in a way that would fool most people.
The story sounded plausible. She’d studied enough Civil War history to know that wealthy Southerners had indeed fled north with their valuables.
And the twins were already chattering about what they’d do with their share of the treasure, their voices bright with the kind of hope that made Olive’s chest ache.
But something in Dad’s tone—too rehearsed, too perfect—made her wonder if Cornelius Slattery had ever existed at all.
Olive had watched her dad practice stories before.
She’d seen how he could weave together historical facts with complete fiction until even she couldn’t tell where truth ended and invention began.
“What makes you think the treasure is still here?” Olive swatted away an annoying fly that had been buzzing around her since they arrived. “If this map has existed for way over a hundred years, wouldn’t someone have found the treasure by now?”
Dad’s smile widened, as if he’d been hoping for that question. “Excellent thinking, Ollie. You’re absolutely right—if this were a widely known treasure map, it would have been found decades ago. But here’s the beautiful part . . .”
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. But last 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.