Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Four sharp knocks sound at the front door. Finn positions himself at my side as I move to answer it, uncertainty churning within me after Dawson’s revelations about the Gillespie family.
Sid stands on my porch, his expression animated. “I think I know where your star might be.”
“Come in,” I say, stepping aside while gauging his demeanor.
Inside, Sid paces the small living room, too energized to sit. “My contact at the historical society mentioned a private property near the lighthouse, recently purchased by a shell company linked to Coastal Development Partners. An old caretaker’s cottage that’s been vacant for years.”
“And you think that’s where they’re keeping the star?”
“It makes sense. Isolated, privately owned, close to the beaches where the artifacts have been found. Perfect base of operations for Reeves.”
His reasoning sounds plausible, but Dawson’s warnings echo in my mind. Is Sid genuinely trying to help recover the star, or does he have his own interest in finding the Star of Sebastian?
“What else did your contact tell you?” I ask, watching his reaction.
“Coastal Development has been quietly acquiring properties throughout Seacliff Haven over the past year. Not just beachfront, but strategic locations throughout town. The lighthouse property was their most recent acquisition, finalized just weeks before your father passed away.”
The timing feels significant. “Dad must have realized what was happening. That’s why he accelerated his documentation efforts.”
Sid nods. “And encoded the final piece of information in your star. Information that could definitively protect the Salvador Mundi site.”
I hesitate, then decide to test the waters. “I encountered Dawson at the sixth location while you were gone.”
Sid’s expression shifts. “Did he threaten you?”
“No. He shared some interesting information.”
“About the shipwreck?”
“And about your family,” I add, watching for his reaction.
Sid stills, his excitement fading. “My family?”
“He mentioned the Gillespies have a history with antiquities collecting. That they’ve tracked the Salvador Mundi legend for generations.”
His face cycles through several emotions, landing finally on resignation. “I should have told you. But I worried you wouldn’t trust me if you knew.”
“So it’s true?”
Sid sinks onto the sofa, Finn watching him from his position near my side. “My grandfather was Alexander Gillespie II, a notorious collector of maritime artifacts. He spent decades searching for evidence of the Salvador Mundi and its cargo, particularly the Star of Sebastian.”
“Why not tell me this from the beginning?” I demand.
“Because I’ve spent my entire adult life distancing myself from that legacy,” Sid responds, meeting my gaze. “My grandfather acquired pieces through questionable means. I chose a different path, creating art rather than collecting it.”
His explanation sounds sincere, but trust, once shaken, rebuilds slowly. “And your interest in finding my star? Is that about helping me, or continuing your grandfather’s search?”
“Both,” Sid admits. “When I realized what your father had discovered, I recognized its historical significance. But my primary concern has been recovering your star because I know what it means to you.”
The straightforward acknowledgment of his divided motivations feels more honest than a denial would have. “What do you know about the Star of Sebastian?”
“Only what my grandfather told me as a child. That it was a navigational tool far advanced for its era. If authenticated, it would rewrite portions of maritime history.”
His description aligns with Dad’s notes and Dawson’s explanation. “And if we find it?”
“It belongs in a museum. Not in private hands, including my family’s collection. That’s where I broke with my grandfather’s legacy.”
Finn has moved closer to Sid during our conversation, his canine instincts assessing. He shows no sign of distrust, which I consider meaningful.
“The final location on Dad’s map is at the lighthouse,” I say. “If Reeves is using the caretaker’s cottage, we could be walking into a confrontation.”
“We should notify Chief Barnes,” Sid suggests.
“With what evidence? Strange artifacts that we dug up without permits? A map my father created? Warnings from my business rival and a developer with seemingly legitimate property interests?”
Sid concedes the point. “Then we proceed carefully. Document everything, avoid direct confrontation with Reeves if possible.”
“The lighthouse location is marked with yet another unique symbol,” I point out, retrieving the map. “A circle with what looks like rays extending outward.”
“Or a star,” Sid observes. “Or a sun.”
“Or a navigational tool showing directional points,” I add, thinking of the Star of Sebastian’s rumored function.
The seventh location sits directly beneath the lighthouse itself, according to the map. Not on the beach, but on the rocky promontory where the structure has stood for over a century.
“The lighthouse was originally built in 1879,” I recall from local history. “If the Salvador Mundi sank in 1587, any artifacts found at the lighthouse would have been discovered during its construction or later renovations.”
“Or deliberately placed there by someone who found them elsewhere,” Sid suggests.
The possibility intrigues me. What if generations of lighthouse keepers had discovered pieces of the shipwreck and stored them in the structure?
Dad had mentioned that Tommy Fields, the current lighthouse curator, came from a family with five generations of keepers before the lighthouse was automated in the 1980s.
“We need to speak with Tommy,” I decide. “He might know something about artifacts found near the lighthouse.”
“The Christmas Market,” Sid reminds me. “He’ll be managing the lighthouse tours today as part of the festivities.”
The annual lighthouse tours during the Christmas Market had become a tradition in recent years, with Tommy decorating the historic structure and offering visitors a glimpse into the maritime history of Seacliff Haven.
“Let’s go now,” I suggest, grabbing my coat. “The tours started at noon.”
The drive to the lighthouse takes us through town, where the Christmas Market is in full swing.
Holiday music flows from speakers mounted on the lampposts, while vendors in colorful booths sell everything from handcrafted ornaments to local honey.
Under normal circumstances, I would be among them, selling my driftwood creations.
“Your booth is empty,” Sid notes as we pass the area reserved for local artisans.
“Klara arranged for a sign explaining my absence. Family emergency,” I explain. “Not entirely untrue.”
The lighthouse parking area overflows with cars, forcing us to park along the access road and walk the remaining distance.
A steady stream of visitors moves between the market and the lighthouse tours, families with children bundled against the December chill, couples holding hands, tourists capturing photos of the scenic New England landscape.
“Busy day for Tommy,” Sid observes as we approach the lighthouse entrance, where a small line has formed.
“Good cover for us,” I point out. “Less noticeable among the crowd.”
We join the line, trying to appear like ordinary tourists rather than treasure hunters seeking a potentially priceless historical artifact.
Finn attracts attention from several children, who coo over his impressive size and dignified bearing.
He tolerates their admiration, aware of our true purpose.
Twenty minutes later, we enter the lighthouse with a group of about twelve visitors.
Tommy greets everyone in a Santa hat adorned with seashells, his enthusiasm for maritime history evident in his animated descriptions of the lighthouse’s role in protecting ships from Seacliff Haven’s treacherous coastline.
“The original Fresnel lens was installed in 1880,” Tommy explains, leading the group up the winding staircase. “It was replaced during renovations in 1923, and that second lens remains in operation today.”
I hang back as the others continue upward, catching Tommy’s attention with a discrete wave. He nods slightly, understanding my silent request to speak privately.
After directing the group to explore the lantern room above, Tommy joins us in the keeper’s quarters halfway up the lighthouse. “Marnie, Sid,” he greets us with evident surprise at seeing us together. “I heard about your star. Any luck finding it?”
“That’s why we’re here,” I explain. “Tommy, did your family ever find artifacts near the lighthouse? Objects that might have come from a shipwreck?”
Tommy’s surprise shifts to understanding. “Samuel asked the same questions before he died. About the Salvador Mundi.”
The confirmation that Dad had approached Tommy renews my conviction that we’re on the right track. “Did you show him anything?”
Tommy glances toward the stairs, ensuring we remain alone. “My great-grandfather discovered several artifacts during renovations in 1923. The family kept them private, concerned about treasure hunters disturbing the site.”
“Where are they now?” Sid asks.
“Most were donated anonymously to museums over the years,” Tommy explains. “But one item remained in the family. A logbook, or part of one, written in Portuguese. My father showed it to Samuel when they were friends.”
“And did Dad document it?” I press, excitement building.
Tommy nods. “Photographed every page. He was especially interested in the coordinates recorded in the margins.”
“Coordinates that could identify the precise location of the Salvador Mundi wreck site,” Sid concludes.
“Did Dad ever mention the Star of Sebastian?” I ask, lowering my voice though no other visitors are nearby.
Tommy’s expression confirms he recognizes the term. “The navigational device. Yes, Samuel believed the logbook contained references to it. That it might have survived the wreck.”