The more we looked into the history of the Cristobal, the more I was certain the Privateer’s crew had been murdered, likely by Moran. But we were still speculating on the motive, and we didn’t have a confirmed link between Moran and Landrieu. I wouldn’t have put it past Moran to let Landrieu’s crew take the risk and do the work, only to steal the cursed treasure once it was retrieved.
Alistair held the papers out toward us, and Teag took them, handing off half of them to me. He began to flip through the journal. “Have you read all of this?” Teag asked.
Alistair shook his head. “I meant to, but we got busy, and then when the Privateer went missing, I filed the papers away, because the exhibit was obviously never going to happen.”
I thumbed through the papers. I saw nautical coordinates, sketches of what the Cristobal looked like in its prime, and some blue-sky notes on what the exhibit might include.
Holding the papers, I could sense Landrieu’s excitement, his optimism, and his passion for diving.
Landrieu had big dreams, and Alistair was correct that the diver had thought the Cristobal could be his team’s claim to fame.
But as I riffled through the notes, I could feel a shift in Landrieu’s mood. The optimism became tempered with worry, and then a tinge of fear. I looked over to Teag. “Find anything?” I asked.
Teag shrugged. “We’ll need to read through all this carefully, but there are a couple of places where Landrieu says he thinks he’s being followed, maybe by a rival salvage crew.” He looked to Alistair. “Did he say anything like that to you?”
Alistair nodded. “I didn’t really think much of it at the time, but later, after the Privateer went missing, I wondered.”
“I know it’s been a while, but do you remember exactly what Landrieu said?” I asked.
Alistair looked at the ceiling, deep in thought for a moment. “He said that people would be surprised by the treasure, that it wasn’t just a bunch of gold doubloons,” he said, remembering. “He’d stumbled on some old log books, and he was certain that there was a one-of-a-kind piece the Cristobal had been carrying in secret.” He frowned. “Landrieu even hinted that it might be cursed.”
He laughed nervously. “Of course, I didn’t take that seriously at the time, but later on, when the ship disappeared, I thought Landrieu had been right about the curse.”
“Was he afraid of competitors?” I asked.
Alistair nodded. “He swore me to secrecy, and I didn’t think he’d told me anything very revealing.
That’s also why he gave me the journal and the papers, for safekeeping.” He shook his head. “Landrieu said he thought someone was shadowing them, trying to get ahead of them. I noticed that he was carrying a gun.” He paused. “He said he was approached by a man with a disfigured face who offered him a million dollars if he and his crew would forget about the Cristobal.”
“And Landrieu refused?” Teag asked.
Alistair nodded. “With these explorers, it’s not about the money. It’s the thrill of finding what’s been lost and getting bragging rights.” He shrugged. “And if the wreck was really as good as Landrieu thought, they might well have made more than a million with a TV show, grants, that sort of thing.”
I wondered if, for all his talk of curses, Landrieu had any idea of the danger of what was down in the Cristobal’s cargo hold. “May we take these with us, to study?” I asked.
“Just sign them out and bring them back,” Alistair said. “I figured you would want to go over them with a fine-tooth comb.” He met my gaze. “I would love it if someone could figure out what happened to those fellows. They seemed like a nice bunch of guys, doing what they loved.”
“If Landrieu and his team dove near Charleston, did they have an office here?” I asked, handing the papers to Teag.
Alistair shook his head. “They were very frugal. Saved all their money for their dives. Although when they were working here in Charleston for several months at a time, they did take a storage unit to stow their gear.”
Storage again! It was like an alarm going off in my head as I tried to focus on the here and now.
“Anything else?” Teag asked, slipping the papers and the journal into his messenger bag.
Before Alistair could answer, I leaned forward. “Do you know anything about a man named Jeremiah Abernathy?”
Alistair leaned back in his chair. “Abernathy? Sure. In his time, he was notorious.” He frowned. “What does ol’ Jeremiah have to do with the crew of the Privateer?”
I smiled in a way I hoped was disarming. “I was over at the Historical Archive and saw their new exhibit, and Mrs. Morrissey said that there were rumors that Abernathy had some kind of cargo aboard the Cristobal when it went down.”
Alistair grinned. “You’re good at your research. I’ve heard that rumor, too.”
“Any truth to the scuttlebutt that Abernathy had an interest in the occult?” I pressed.
Alistair nodded. “Actually, yes. Jeremiah had a lot of enemies, and he took precautions. He had plenty of bodyguards, lots of guns, and a network of informants, but even that didn’t make him feel safe. He was quite a superstitious man, and toward the end of his life, he was worried about curses. He surrounded himself with all kinds of amulets and good luck charms.” Alistair shrugged. “Obviously, they didn’t work.”
He leaned forward and grinned conspiratorially. “We have some of Abernathy’s things. Want to see? ”
I weighed the frightening thought of going into the museum’s stored collections area against what we might learn, but my anger over the deaths of Landrieu and his crew made up my mind. “Lead on,” I said, even though Teag gave me a skeptical look. I just shrugged, hoping for the best.
We followed Alistair down the long hallway toward the stairs to the collections level below. The lighting was dimmed, since the museum was closed and most of the staff had gone home. My senses were on full alert, and I felt jumpy. That might be from being in a museum surrounded by hundreds of artifacts with strong emotional resonance. I was certain that many of them also had supernatural mojo. I was hoping that was all there was to it, but just in case, my hand went to the agate disk necklace I’d faithfully recharged in the moonlight.
Alistair unlocked a keypad and let us into a large room. It reminded me of the stacks at the Archive, except that where those were filled with books, this area had long metal shelves in rows as far as the eye could see, all filled with historical ‘stuff’. Boxes with cryptic markings. Jars filled with discolored formaldehyde and pallid, preserved things best left unexamined. Glass-lidded cases filled with butterflies, taxidermied birds and small mammals, and other oddities.
It was cooler down here, and I folded my arms around myself. In part, it kept me warm, but it also brought Bo’s collar closer to me, a reassuring presence. I had debated about whether or not to bring the walking stick and the spoon. I couldn’t figure out how to explain the elaborate, antique walking stick to Alistair, nor did I want to be responsible for setting the museum on fire. The wooden spoon was up the right sleeve of my light jacket. I glanced at Teag, and saw a bulge in his jacket where he carried Sorren’s lantern.
We walked along the wall rather than among the tall rows of shelves. Hanging from the wall were dozens of large mirrors of every size, style, and era. Some sported elaborate gold frames, while others were set in carved wood or precious stones. The convex and concave mirrors gave an eerie, funhouse appearance. The mirrors ranged from small enough to fit over a vanity to the size of a door, and as we passed by, they reflected our images in a way that made me keep thinking I saw something out of the corner of my eye.