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)
“Just us for now, buddy,” I tell Finn, who tilts his head.
The pier stretches fifty yards into the water, weathered boards hosting a few fishermen despite the festivities. The sixth location isn’t under the pier but in a small cove beyond it, hidden from the main beach by a curve in the shoreline.
Finn and I take the public path, then walk casually toward the cove. Just a woman exercising her dog, not a treasure hunter with a mysterious map.
The cove appears as we round the bend. Small and sheltered, gentler waves than the main beach. Always popular with families. Today it’s empty, everyone drawn to the Christmas Market.
The map marks a spot near a rock formation shaped like a turtle shell. Another unique symbol: a small key. Given our actual key discovery in the driftwood, this seems significant.
“Another key, maybe?” I ask Finn.
He responds by investigating immediately, nose working the sand. I follow slowly, trying to visualize how Dad saw this place. What did he find here? What connects to the other sites? To the Salvador Mundi?
I’m examining the turtle rock when I almost miss Finn’s excited pawing. By the time I join him, he’s dug a small hole, revealing something pale against darker sand.
“Good boy.” I kneel beside his discovery.
Not metal this time. A fragment of parchment or very old paper, preserved in a sealed glass vial. The vial looks modern, suggesting Dad found the document and protected it.
I extract it with gloved hands. The document inside is fragile, edges crumbling despite protection. Through the glass, faded handwriting in Portuguese or Spanish. Maybe a partial map or diagram.
“Ship’s log,” I murmur. “Or navigator’s notes.”
This could offer written confirmation of the Salvador Mundi off Seacliff Haven’s coast. Dad must have recognized its importance, preserving it before reburying for safekeeping.
I photograph from multiple angles, careful not to expose it to direct sunlight. Finn tenses beside me. A low growl.
I look up. Dawson Morrow stands at the cove entrance, watching with an unreadable expression.
“Thought I’d find you here, Marnie,” he calls, walking toward us. “Still following your father’s treasure map.”
Finn positions himself between us. Not threatening, but protective. I pocket the vial and stand.
“Not just me. You’ve been following it too, based on our encounter yesterday.”
Dawson stops a few yards away, respecting Finn’s warning. “Samuel should never have made that map. Some things are better left alone.”
“Like a historically significant shipwreck that might interfere with development plans?”
Surprise flickers across his weathered face. “So you met Reeves.”
“This morning. He admitted taking my star.”
Dawson sighs, looking every one of his seventy-plus years. “I tried to warn you. Those notes were meant to protect you, not threaten.”
The revelation stuns me. “You left the first note? Not Reeves?”
“I was trying to warn you off before you got too deep.” He rubs his weathered hands together. “Reeves has been watching me—he thinks I’m helping him locate what Samuel found. I’ve been feeding him just enough to stay useful while trying to keep the real discoveries out of his hands.”
“You’re playing both sides.”
“I’m trying to protect what your father died protecting.” His voice cracks slightly. “Samuel and I had our differences, but we both loved this place. When Reeves approached me, I saw a chance to learn what he was really after. I’ve been documenting everything, building a case.”
“A case for whom?”
“The state historical preservation office. And Chief Barnes—off the record, for now.” He glances toward town. “I can’t prove anything yet. Reeves is careful. But if you keep finding what Samuel hid, and I keep tracking Reeves’s movements...”
“We build the case together,” I finish.
Dawson nods slowly. “I know you have no reason to trust me. But I’m asking you to consider it. For Samuel.”
He turns to leave, then pauses. “One more thing. That key you found—Samuel showed me one just like it once. Said it opened his ‘insurance policy.’ I never knew what he meant.”
After he’s gone, I pull out the key, turning it over in my fingers. Insurance policy. Dad was always planning ahead, always protecting what mattered.
Finn and I stay in the cove several more minutes, my mind racing. The vial containing the ancient document feels heavy in my pocket, another piece of Dad’s documentation.
My phone buzzes. Text from Sid: “Found interesting information about Coastal Development. Meeting with a contact who knows more. Will call soon.”
I stare at the message. Dawson’s revelation has shifted everything. He’s not the enemy—he’s been working to stop Reeves all along. But can I trust him completely?
One thing stays clear: I need to recover my driftwood star, not just because of its emotional significance, but for the historical record it safeguards.
The seventh and final location on Dad’s map will have to wait. With the vial tucked away, Finn and I head back toward town. Christmas Market music grows louder. My shop stays closed, my booth empty, but these normal concerns feel distant compared to the historical mystery I’ve stumbled into.