Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
“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.
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.