Chapter 5 #3
I agree, suggesting we meet at nine, when the beach will likely be empty. The Christmas Market will draw most townspeople to the square, giving us privacy for our search.
After a quick breakfast, I gather supplies for beach excavation: trowels, gloves, plastic bags for artifacts, and a small shovel. Finn watches the preparations with obvious excitement, always eager for beach adventures.
The drive to the lighthouse takes us past the town square, already bustling with vendors setting up booths and stringing additional lights. I feel a pang of regret at missing the market setup, but finding the star has become about much more than the charity auction now.
Sid waits in the lighthouse parking area, his car the only other vehicle present. He’s dressed practically in jeans and a weatherproof jacket, a backpack slung over one shoulder.
“I brought something that might help,” he says by way of greeting, pulling out a small, handheld device. “Ground-penetrating radar. It can detect metal or density changes under the sand.”
“Where did you get that?” I ask, impressed.
“A friend in the archaeology department at Brown. I called in a favor.”
Together, with Finn leading the way, we trek down to the beach and follow the shoreline north toward the rock formation where we’d found Dawson digging. The morning tide is receding, revealing more of the beach with each passing minute.
The excavation site from yesterday is still visible, though partially filled in by the overnight tide. Sid sets up the radar device, scanning the surrounding area in a grid pattern.
“There’s definitely something here,” he says after several minutes of careful scanning. “About two feet down, extending under that large rock formation. Metal of some kind, sizeable.”
I mark the spot with a piece of driftwood, and we begin to dig carefully, aware of the historical significance of what we might uncover. Finn watches attentively, occasionally sniffing the sand we remove but mostly standing guard, his eyes scanning the beach and dunes.
Forty minutes of digging reveals a corner of something metallic. With brushes and smaller tools, we carefully expose more of the object: a bronze chest, approximately two feet long and one foot wide, its surface heavily corroded from centuries in salt water.
“This has to be from the Salvador Mundi,” Sid whispers, his voice filled with awe. “A ship’s chest, sixteenth century design.”
The chest is partially embedded in what appears to be a section of the ship’s hull, preserved in the anaerobic environment beneath the sand. Moving it without proper archaeological techniques could damage both the chest and valuable historical context.
“We should document this and contact proper authorities,” I say, taking photographs with my phone. “This is beyond amateur treasure hunting now.”
Sid nods agreement. “This confirms your father’s research. He found the Salvador Mundi, or at least part of it.”
“That’s why he was creating the map and documenting everything. He was preparing for a proper archaeological excavation.”
“And why someone might want to prevent that from happening,” Sid adds. “Shipwreck sites are protected. No development allowed.”
The connection to Coastal Development Partners becomes clearer. If they had purchased property with plans to build, a historically significant shipwreck would halt everything.
As we carefully rebury the chest, marking the location precisely on our own map, Finn suddenly tenses. A low growl rumbles from his chest, his attention fixed on the dunes behind us.
“Someone’s watching us again,” I murmur to Sid, not turning around immediately. “Finn senses them.”
Sid nods slightly, continuing to work as if unaware. “How do you want to handle this?”
“Directly,” I decide, standing and turning toward the dunes in one fluid motion. “We know you’re there!” I call out. “Show yourself!”
For a moment, nothing happens. Then, a figure rises from behind the tall grass. Not Dawson, as I half expected, but a man I’ve never seen before. Middle-aged, wearing an expensive-looking coat despite the beach setting, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly styled.
“Ms. Lane,” he says, his voice carrying easily across the sand. “And Mr. Gillespie. Finding anything interesting?”
Finn moves to stand between me and the stranger, his posture protective.
“Who are you?” Sid demands, moving to stand beside me.
The man descends from the dunes, approaching with confident strides. “Jonathan Reeves, Coastal Development Partners.” He offers a business card which neither of us moves to take. “I understand you’ve been quite busy the past few days.”
“You’ve been watching us,” I state flatly. “And leaving threatening notes.”
He makes a dismissive gesture. “Warnings, not threats. I had hoped you would take the hint and stop pursuing your father’s . . . hobby.”
“Finding a historically significant shipwreck isn’t a hobby,” Sid responds. “It’s an important archaeological discovery.”
“It’s a complication,” Reeves corrects. “One that could have been avoided with proper discretion.”
“What’s your interest in this?” I ask directly. “Beyond the obvious development plans that a protected shipwreck would disrupt.”
Reeves studies me for a moment, seeming to reassess his approach. “Your father discovered something that affects multiple parties, Ms. Lane. The shipwreck itself is only part of the equation.”
“The Star of Sebastian,” I guess, watching his reaction carefully.
A flicker of surprise crosses his face before he masters it. “So you know about that. Interesting. Did your father tell you, or did you figure it out from his notes?”
“Why take my driftwood star?” I counter, avoiding his question.
“Insurance,” he says simply. “Your father encoded information in that creation of yours. Information that could complicate matters significantly if it became public.”
The confirmation that the star contains hidden information sends a rush of excitement through me, tempered by wariness of this smooth-talking developer.
“Return the star,” I demand. “It’s valuable to me for reasons that have nothing to do with your development plans.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible at the moment,” Reeves replies. “But I can offer compensation for your loss. A generous amount that would allow you to create many more pieces.”
The suggestion that money could replace something with such personal significance angers me. “The star was made from driftwood my father and I collected together during his final months. It’s not about the monetary value.”
Reeves sighs. “Sentiment is a luxury in business, Ms. Lane. I’m offering a practical solution.”
“And we’re declining,” Sid interjects firmly. “The star belongs to Marnie, and the shipwreck information belongs to historical record.”
A harder edge enters Reeves’ expression. “Consider carefully before taking an adversarial position. Coastal Development Partners has significant resources and influence in this region.”
“Is that a threat?” I ask, Finn pressing against my leg.
“A reality check,” Reeves corrects. “Your father was attempting something that would impact many lives, not always positively. A protected historical site prevents development, which means fewer jobs, less tourism revenue, decreased property values for existing homeowners.”
His argument sounds rehearsed, the typical developer’s promise of economic benefits masking personal profit motives. I recognize the same tactics used against Dad during the resort development fight years ago.
“We’ve documented everything we’ve found,” Sid informs him coolly. “Including this conversation. If anything happens to either of us or to any evidence, copies will go to authorities.”
It’s a bluff, but a good one. Reeves hesitates, reassessing the situation.
“I came to offer a reasonable arrangement,” he says finally. “Return of the star after the development plans are finalized, in exchange for your discretion about certain historical findings. Think about it.” He places his business card on a nearby rock. “My offer won’t remain open indefinitely.”
With that, he turns and walks back toward the dunes, disappearing over the ridge without looking back.
“Well,” Sid says once Reeves is out of earshot. “That was illuminating.”
“And concerning,” I add. “He’s admitted to taking the star and threatening us.”
“But we still don’t know where the star is, or exactly what information it contains.”
I consider what we’ve learned. “Dad must have encoded clues about the Salvador Mundi in the star’s design. Something that could definitively prove the shipwreck’s identity and location.”
“Which means finding the remaining locations on the map might give us the information we need,” Sid concludes.
The morning’s discoveries have changed the stakes considerably. This isn’t just about recovering a sentimental creation anymore, but about completing Dad’s work and ensuring a significant historical find isn’t buried for corporate profit.
“We should go to Chief Barnes now,” Sid suggests. “We have evidence of historical significance, plus Reeves’ implicit admission of theft and threats.”
The logical part of me agrees, but something holds me back. “Let’s check one more location first. The fourth mark on the map looks like it’s just beyond those rocks.” I point further along the beach. “It might give us more leverage when we go to the police.”
Sid hesitates, then nods. “One more site. Then we bring in authorities, regardless of what we find.”
As we gather our tools and prepare to move to the next location, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched again, despite Reeves’ departure.
Now that we’ve confronted one of the players directly, the next move could determine whether we recover the star and protect Dad’s discovery, or lose both to corporate greed.
Finn seems to share my unease, staying closer than usual as we make our way along the beach.
Whatever the fourth location holds, I have a feeling it will bring us one step closer to understanding the truth about the Salvador Mundi, the Star of Sebastian, and why my driftwood creation became the center of this unexpected treasure hunt.