“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.”
