“The historical society might have more information,” Sid suggests. “Or the university library in Providence.”
A thought strikes me. “Dad’s study has books on local maritime history. There might be something there.”
Sid checks his watch. “It’s almost four. The historical society closes at five. We could split up. You check your father’s books, and I’ll see what the historical society has.”
The suggestion makes practical sense, but after the note left in my truck, I feel uneasy about separating. “What about Dawson? He clearly knows something, and he was deliberately searching in the same locations.”
Sid considers this. “We could confront him directly, but I doubt he’d tell us anything useful. He seems determined to keep whatever he knows to himself.”
“And there’s the matter of who left the notes,” I add. “Someone is watching us, Sid. They knew we were at the beach today.”
This isn’t just about finding a missing driftwood star anymore. We’ve stumbled into something larger, something with real stakes.
“We should document everything,” Sid decides, reaching for his camera. “Photograph the artifacts, the map, the notes. Create a record in case anything happens to the originals.”
While Sid photographs each item from multiple angles, I study the map again. The third location, where we encountered Dawson, is clearly marked with a symbol different from the others. A small spiral, unlike the X marks at the first two sites.
“The symbols are different for each location,” I realize aloud. “That must mean something.”
Sid joins me in examining the map. “The first two locations are marked with X’s, and we found individual artifacts there.The third has a spiral . . . perhaps indicating something more complex?”
“Or something buried deeper,” I suggest. “Dawson was only beginning to dig when we interrupted him.”
“We need to go back,” Sid says firmly. “Finish what your father started by checking all seven locations.”
The certainty in his voice surprises me. “Why are you so invested in this, Sid? Yesterday we were rivals, today we’re partners in what might be a treasure hunt. It’s a big shift.”
He seems taken aback by the directness of my question. After a moment, he sighs. “I told you your father helped me when I first moved here. What I didn’t say was how much that meant to me. I came to Seacliff Haven after my divorce, starting over with nothing but my art. Most people were welcoming, but establishing a gallery wasn’t easy. Samuel was the only one who offered practical help without wanting anything in return.”
This glimpse into Sid’s personal history adds another layer to my shifting perception of him. “I had no idea.”
“I wasn’t exactly forthcoming about my struggles,” he says with a wry smile. “Easier to play the confident gallery owner than admit I was barely staying afloat those first two years.”
“And our rivalry?”
He shrugs. “Professional competition, from my perspective. I always respected your work, Marnie. Your connection to this place comes through in every piece you create. It’s authentic in a way mine never quite achieves.”
All this time, I’d assumed Sid looked down on my more rustic approach, when in reality, he admired what I created.
Finn nudges my hand, perhaps sensing my emotional turmoil. I scratch his beard absently, grateful for his steady presence.
“So what now?” I ask finally. “We have artifacts, a map, and threats. Where do we go from here?”
Sid considers the question. “I think we continue checking the locations on the map, but more carefully. We document everything we find. And we start researching the Salvador Mundi, if that’s what the S.M. represents.”
“And the star?”
“If someone took it because it contains a clue, then finding the other artifacts might lead us to it,” Sid reasons. “Or at least help us understand why it was taken.”
His logic makes sense. The star itself might not be the end goal, but rather what it represents or contains.
“We should head to your father’s study,” Sid suggests. “Check his books before it gets too late. Then perhaps visit the historical society tomorrow.”
The plan sounds reasonable, but I hesitate. Working with Sid still feels strange after years of maintaining a careful distance. Trust doesn’t come easily, especially with the warnings we’ve received.
“I understand if you’d rather continue alone, Marnie. But I think we stand a better chance of solving this together.”
The sincerity in his voice tips the balance. “No, you’re right. Partners for now.”
