“I’m beginning to think it’s not safe for you to go anywhere alone until we get this straightened out, Cassidy,” Teag said, worry clear in his voice.
I sighed, fearing he was right. “That goes for you, too,” I reminded him.
“Something happened today that gave me an idea,” I went on. “We’ve usually encountered my gift with items that have strong negative energy. Maybe because those tend to be the problem items. But when I grabbed the shaman’s staff that belonged to Lucinda, its power connected with my gift. It helped keep Jeremiah at bay. Like the walking stick that Sorren lent me.
“I think it would be a good idea to start a new collection of weapons,” I said, leaning back against the wall and closing my eyes. “Maybe get some kind of paranormal spook bazooka or something. It would be nice not to feel as if I’ve been wrung dry.”
“Hold on a moment.” I heard Teag leave the front of the shop, and return a moment later. He pressed a cup of coffee into my hands. “Drink up. I made it just the way you like it. You look like you’ve been through the mill.”
“I feel like it,” I agreed, and sipped the coffee. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Teag replied with a grin. “I’ve been waiting to tell you about what I found out while you were gone. Of course, your story is more exciting.”
“Lucky me. Have you heard anything from Sorren?”
Teag went to retrieve a piece of paper from the office, and gave it to me. “I found this on your desk this morning,” he replied. The paper was written in long-hand, in a style of penmanship all but forgotten in today’s text message society. Bold, swift strokes filled the small note in a decidedly masculine style.
Feeling better. Stepped out for a bite. See you soon.
“His idea of a sense of humor?” Teag asked.
I chuckled tiredly. “Appropriately macabre, don’t you think? But it means he’s up and around, and if he feeds well he should be good as new in time for our next outing.”
“Outing,” Teag echoed. “You know, that word sounds a lot more fun than what happened at the warehouse. An ‘outing’ should involve a picnic lunch and a sunny day at the park, not killer shadows and falling crates.”
I chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Another sip of coffee fortified me. “So tell me the rest of your news.”
Teag leaned back against the counter. “I called Alistair over at the museum,” he said. “On a hunch that the salvage guys who disappeared might have had some pieces on exhibit over there.” He grinned. “And it turns out, they did.”
I sipped my coffee as he warmed to the tale. “Alistair only knew the main man, the salvage team’s owner and research director, Russ Landrieu. Tulane graduate, worked on the expeditions to find the Titanic and the Hunley,” he added. “Pretty well-respected guy, knew all the big players in the sunken treasure business. A couple of the team’s adventures made it onto the History Channel.”
“Did Alistair have any scoop for you?” Alistair McKinnon, Curator of the Lowcountry Museum of Charleston, was as well connected as Mrs. Morrissey, both to Charleston’s donors and to the pulse of what was going on the city. Trifles and Folly often loaned pieces to the museum for use in period displays or tableaus.
Teag nodded. “Back when the Hunley was found, everyone was fascinated with shipwreck explorers.” I remembered. The H.L. Hunley was a Confederate submarine that had been missing for more than a hundred years before it was finally re-discovered and painstakingly salvaged. It had been the talk of Charleston for months, and made national headlines.
“Alistair wanted to round out their shipwreck exhibit with some lesser-known finds, and he contacted Landrieu. Landrieu and his team were happy to provide artifacts, photos, video – even some personal effects like jackets and diving gear.”
“You’re not going to suggest that we go over to the museum, are you?” I asked testily. I had always considered the Historical Archive safe – before today – because it was mostly books and clippings. The museum, on the other hand, had artifacts. Artifacts tended to trigger my gift, with embarrassing consequences. Teag and I had attended an exhibit at the museum a few years back on antique china settings and silver items, which had seemed like a safe excursion. We took a wrong turn, and I ended up in the ‘Plagues and Pestilence’ exhibit on all of Charleston’s many epidemics. The impressions and resonance overwhelmed me, and I passed out cold. I hadn’t been back since.
“We don’t have to go today,” Teag said. “But Alistair told me that Landrieu had gotten back in touch with him about nine months ago to tell him that they were going after a really interesting old wreck.”
“The Cristobal,” I said. Teag nodded.
“Landrieu emailed Alistair some of his notes and research, trying to interest the museum in giving the expedition a grant, and possibly doing an exhibit on the pieces they brought up.”
“Alistair still has the notes?” I asked, sitting up straighter.
Teag grinned. “He sure does, and he’s willing to show us. We’ve got an appointment for tomorrow, right after the shop closes.”
“Let’s make sure we can defend ourselves this time,” I replied. “Just in case Jeremiah Abernathy or Moran and his demon decide to pay us a repeat visit.”
Chapter Twenty
THE LOWCOUNTRY MUSEUM of Charleston took up most of a block on the edge of the Historic District. It included the original old home where the museum had its start, and had grown into a modern building underwritten by its patrons, who added onto the building every few decades.
It was after six when we parked Teag’s old Volvo in the lot. Alistair had agreed to meet us even though the museum was technically closed. Personally, I was relieved. Going into the museum made me nervous enough without being afraid I’d have an audience for any bad reaction. I hadn’t quite lived down the incident at the Academy Theater, and I didn’t want to give anyone more to talk about.
“Alistair said to meet him by the side door,” Teag said. “That way you don’t have to go through the public exhibit space to get to his office.”
I gave a wan smile. I knew Alistair remembered the last time I’d visited. Whether he suspected that I had a psychic gift and not just a ‘delicate constitution’ I had no way of knowing.
“Cassidy! Teag! So good to see you,” Alistair greeted us, holding the door open so we could enter the locked staff entrance.
“I love the new silver exhibit,” I said. “The photos online are gorgeous.” I swore off visiting the museum in person, but I was a donor so I had online access to all the new programs.
Alistair smiled. “That’s one of my favorites,” he said. “Although really, I don’t think the photos do it justice.”
He led us down a long hallway to his office and gestured for us to sit down. The museum prided itself on putting its budget into acquisitions and traveling exhibits, not administrative overhead, so the office was functional but not fancy.
“Teag told me all about your interest in the Privateer salvage team,” Alistair said, walking around his desk to pick up a small stack of paper and a leather journal.
“Russ Landrieu was very excited about their last expedition,” he added, a note of sadness in his voice.
“He was certain they had found the Cristobal, and he thought this dive might be their big break. I think he was hoping for some good headlines, maybe a TV show, and patrons to fund more diving,” he said, and sighed. “Of course, that isn’t what happened.”