Chapter 5 #2
“Dad was methodical,” I murmur. “If he believed he’d found the Salvador Mundi, he would have documented everything thoroughly.”
“Which explains why someone might want your star,” Sid says. “If it contains part of his documentation or another key to his findings.”
Finn, who had been exploring the study with curious sniffs, suddenly perks up, his attention drawn to the bookshelf. He pads over, nose working intensely, and paws at a lower shelf.
“What is it, boy?” I ask, joining him.
Finn continues pawing at a thick book bound in faded blue leather. I pull it from the shelf, recognizing it as one of Dad’s favorites: “Maritime Disasters of the Atlantic Seaboard.”
The book falls open naturally to a section that has clearly been referenced often. Pages on Portuguese exploration, with notes in Dad’s handwriting filling the margins. One paragraph is highlighted:
“The Salvador Mundi, under Captain Sebastian Mateus, departed Lisbon in June 1587 carrying religious artifacts destined for the new cathedral in San Juan. The ship was last sighted near what is now Rhode Island before disappearing in a violent autumn storm. While most historians place the wreck further south, local legends persist of Portuguese gold washing ashore near Seacliff Point in the centuries since.”
“Seacliff Point,” Sid reads over my shoulder. “That’s just north of the lighthouse.”
“Near the third location on Dad’s map,” I confirm, excitement building. “Where we found Dawson digging today.”
As I turn the page, something slips from between the leaves.
A photograph, showing Dad standing on the beach with a much younger Dawson Morrow.
Both men are smiling, arms around each other’s shoulders, the lighthouse visible in the background.
The date stamp shows it was taken fifteen years ago, long before their falling out.
“They were close once,” I say softly, studying the image.
“What happened between them?” Sid asks.
“I never knew for sure. They argued about the resort development, but I always felt there was something more. Something personal.”
I continue turning pages, finding more handwritten notes and small marker flags. Dad had been thorough in his research of the Salvador Mundi, collecting newspaper clippings, academic articles, and local stories about the legendary wreck.
“Here,” Sid says, pointing to a section near the back. “A list of the ship’s reported cargo. Religious artifacts, gold coin, and something called ‘The Star of Sebastian.’“
“Star of Sebastian?” I repeat, the word triggering an immediate connection. “My driftwood star . . .”
“Could your father have named your creation after this?” Sid wonders.
“Not directly. He never mentioned the Salvador Mundi or any Star of Sebastian to me. But he did suggest the star shape for that particular collection of driftwood pieces. Said they belonged together, forming a pattern.”
I try to recall every detail about the creation of the driftwood star.
Dad had been with me when we collected each piece, guiding me to specific beaches at specific times, often after storms. Had he been deliberately leading me to locations connected to the Salvador Mundi?
Using our driftwood gathering as cover for his real search?
Dad might have involved me in his research without telling me. Pride that he trusted me, even unconsciously, with something so important. Frustration that he never shared the full story.
“What’s the Star of Sebastian?” I ask, returning to the text.
Sid shakes his head. “The book doesn’t say specifically. Just lists it among the valuable cargo.”
I check the time, surprised to see it’s already past six. “The historical society will be closed now. We’ll have to try tomorrow.”
“What about the library?” Sid suggests. “They’re open until nine on weekdays.”
The town library might not have specialized maritime history resources, but it’s worth checking. “Let’s go,” I decide. “Finn can come too. Maggie the librarian loves him.”
We gather the most relevant materials from Dad’s study, including the book with his notes, the photo of him with Dawson, and the folder of research. Everything goes into my knapsack alongside the artifacts we found on the beach.
The Seacliff Haven Public Library occupies a Victorian building near the town square, its windows glowing warmly against the early evening darkness. Inside, the scent of old books mingles with pine from the Christmas tree in the main reading room.
Maggie Washington, head librarian for over twenty years, greets us from behind the circulation desk. “Marnie! And Finn!” Her smile falters slightly when she notices Sid. “Mr. Gillespie. Unexpected company.”
“We’re working on a research project together,” I explain, not missing the surprise in Maggie’s expression. Our rivalry is apparently well-known among the townspeople.
“Maritime history,” Sid adds. “Specifically Portuguese shipwrecks along the Rhode Island coast.”
Maggie’s eyebrows rise. “Following in your father’s footsteps,” she says to me. “He spent hours in our local history section during his final year.”
This confirmation of Dad’s research direction strengthens my resolve. “That’s the section we need, Maggie. Anything on the Salvador Mundi or Portuguese exploration.”
“Third floor, west corner,” she directs us. “And don’t worry about Finn. As long as he behaves himself, he’s welcome.”
We climb the curved staircase to the third floor, Finn padding quietly beside us. The local history section occupies a cozy corner room with oak shelves and a large table by the window. No other patrons are present, giving us privacy for our investigation.
For the next two hours, we pore over every book, article, and local history pamphlet that mentions Portuguese exploration or shipwrecks.
Most references to the Salvador Mundi are brief, treating it as more legend than historical fact.
But scattered pieces of information begin to form a more complete picture.
“Listen to this,” Sid says, reading from a historical journal article. “In 1802, a fisherman from Seacliff Haven reported finding a gold coin of Portuguese origin after a violent storm. The coin was dated 1587, the same year the Salvador Mundi disappeared.”
“And here,” I add, from another source. “In 1937, portions of what appeared to be a ship’s hull washed ashore near Lighthouse Point.
Experts identified the wood as consistent with Portuguese shipbuilding techniques of the sixteenth century, but no further investigation was conducted due to World War II preparations. ”
The scattered reports suggest the Salvador Mundi might indeed have wrecked near Seacliff Haven, contrary to most historical accounts placing it further south. If Dad had found concrete evidence of the wreck’s location, it would be a significant historical discovery.
“What about the Star of Sebastian?” I ask, having found no additional information about this mysterious artifact.
Sid shakes his head. “Nothing specific. Just mentions as part of the ship’s cargo, along with gold and religious items.”
As closing time approaches, we gather our notes and check out several books for further research.
The pieces are coming together, but significant questions remain.
Why would someone steal my driftwood star over this historical research?
How is Dawson involved? And what did Dad discover that was worth threatening over?
Outside the library, the town square is quiet, most shops having closed for the evening. Christmas lights twinkle in the trees, and the large town Christmas tree stands ready for the official lighting ceremony scheduled for tomorrow evening as part of the market opening.
“I should get back to the gallery,” Sid says. “I have some contacts in maritime archaeology who might know more about the Salvador Mundi. I’ll make some calls tonight.”
“And I’ll keep searching through Dad’s papers,” I reply. “There must be more information there.”
We stand awkwardly for a moment, our newly formed partnership still finding its rhythm. “Thank you,” I say finally. “For helping with this.”
Sid smiles, a genuine warmth replacing his usual reserve. “We make a good team, surprisingly enough.”
“Don’t push it, Gillespie,” I joke, but without the edge that would have been present just days ago.
Back at my cottage, after feeding Finn and making a simple dinner for myself, I return to Dad’s study.
The folder of research yields more interesting details, including a page of notes about local land ownership along the coast. Dad had been tracking property transfers, particularly around Lighthouse Point and the adjacent beach areas.
One name appears repeatedly: Coastal Development Partners, LLC.
According to Dad’s notes, they’d started quietly acquiring options on coastal properties about six months before he died.
More recent newspaper clippings—ones I must have added to the folder without realizing—show they completed three purchases near the lighthouse just six months ago.
Finn joins me in the study, sensing my focus shifting. He places his head on my lap, his dark eyes watching me intently.
“What did Dad find, Finn?” I ask softly. “And why didn’t he tell me about it?”
Finn offers no answers, but his steady presence comforts me as I continue searching through papers and books late into the evening. Eventually, exhaustion wins out, and I head to bed, the day’s discoveries swirling in my mind.
The next morning brings clear skies, and a renewed determination. The Christmas Market officially opens today, and normally I would be setting up my booth, displaying my driftwood creations for holiday shoppers. Instead, I’m pursuing a maritime mystery that somehow connects to my missing star.
Sid texts early, asking to meet at the third location on the map, the site where we encountered Dawson. “Want to see what he was digging for,” his message explains.