1
I like a party. Bring it on! But this one had me strung tighter than a drum and I couldn’t seem to settle my stomach. A wealthy crowd filled the room, their substantial bank accounts my hoped-for source of museum funding.
I sent them all a mental message: Donate! Donate! Donate!
The old sea chest sat in the middle of the room with the lid raised, waiting for substantial donations to fill it up. I’d discovered it years ago amidst my father’s cache of sea-faring treasures and it was the perfect item to hold the donations. I was afraid to look inside to see how generous, or otherwise, the invited guests had been. I motioned the waiters to keep the champagne glasses full.
Anxiety lurked below my calm demeanor, and I took a very unladylike gulp of champagne. This evening had to be a success, and I needed to soften the edge of my raw nerves.
The sultry heat of the July night pressed down on me. I’d been holding this glass far too long, the champagne was warm, and the bubbles flat. I drank it anyway and looked around for a waiter. With no air conditioning to help chill this wonderful old building, the air was heavy, especially with all the bodies inside. The tall windows were open and a sea breeze swirled inside. Normally, I preferred fresh and not canned air, but it would have been welcome tonight. The humidity was cloying, and I’d rather be wearing a bikini, bare feet, and a pareo, instead of my thrifted designer dress and precious Louboutins, which I rarely pulled out.
Tomorrow. Do it tomorrow after the dive.
A breeze coming off the water and into the museum carried the scent of rain. I inhaled, struck by the smell of wealth mixed in with the sea air. I wrinkled my nose the way the perfume and cologne drowned out the freshness from outside. Everybody here was worth more money than my father had made in a lifetime. I wasn’t envious of that. I just wanted them to share so I could bring the museum to its full glory.
Hurricane Gilbert’s path was still unconfirmed. Currently, a Category 1 and predicted to strengthen to a Category 3, I hoped it veered away. It had the potential to be damaging even if it wasn’t a direct hit and it could still jeopardize the rebirth of St. William’s Island Nautical Museum Foundation. To bring the museum to life had become my dream, especially after Dad. It was a risky career decision, but my love for the island and ancient artifacts won out. I’d invested almost everything I owned in these renovated coral walls that have stood proud over the years. Gilbert and funding were flies in the ointment. I loved a storm. Growing up on the island, I’d experienced my fair share. But a hurricane was a whole different kettle of fish.
Even with their deadly power, I was in awe of them. It was as if the wild inside me released, or it fed my need for danger. I didn’t know. Storms exhilarated me as much as they terrified me. Forecast models showed one of two things, a sideswipe or a dead on hit if things didn’t go as planned by the meteorologists. I’d put my money on the “didn’t go to plan” scenario. I sighed. Enough about Gilbert, for tonight anyway, but I made a mental note to have the museum windows boarded up.
I watched the crowd. Most were couples, which was a reminder that I hadn’t been part of one for quite a while. That kind of man I wanted seemed nonexistent. A figment of my imagination. An established, powerful, fun, independent, and shiver-inducing man was my kind of fellow and I’d accepted he was just a fairy-tale prince in a book. I gazed around the room, ever hopeful this unimaginable phantom of a man might appear before my very eyes.
“Hmph.” I promptly forgot how I yearned for Mr. Perfect and re-focused on why this night was important.
I wove my way through the guests. Many held champagne flutes, just like me. But were they sipping often as I was? I adored champagne, and I didn’t get it often, so I enjoyed it when I did. For the zillionth time, I stood in awe and looked down through the glass of the display case beside me. The key was fabulous, even in all its rusted, stained, and barnacle-crusted glory. I ran my finger lightly along the wooden edge of the case that held it.
It filled me with wonder, and I was eager to see it carefully restored. The iron key, cradled on the custom-made display stand, was ten inches long, two and a half inches wide and weighed seven pounds, three ounces. Iron. Its value inestimable. I looked at it from an intrinsic perspective, not a monetary one. Others looked at it differently than me. I was in love with the design, most of it covered in millennia of underwater residual. Only by a fluke had I found it during an impromptu dive.
I’d searched for the Spanish ship Sirena del Mar as long as I could remember. My dad had passed his obsession down to me. I swore he told me tales of the ship when I was still in the cradle. It had driven me to become a museum curator, and I’d travelled the world with a focus on the treasures beneath the sea. I was an expert in the field and proud of it. But the one ship that eluded me was Sirena . She had been like a siren and called to my dad for most of his life, until nothing else mattered but finding her, both before and after my mother’s death. That part of the story left an unpleasant taste in my mouth. I needed more champagne to wash away the bitterness. I’d accepted that I was just as obsessed as he was, but in a healthier way. At least I thought so.
His death, when I was fourteen, had rocked my young world. Rather than his last words having been loving ones for his only daughter, he’d rambled on about hearts, coral, pink sand, and they’d brought him peace at the end. I had been just old and wise enough to recognize the serene look on his face as he fell back through the years in his muddled-up brain. I hadn’t paid attention to his ramblings, too devastated about losing him. Yet that day seven years later when I’d flown the island hopper to St. William’s, with a gnawing pit in my stomach, I’d gazed out the window at the turquoise sea beneath the small plane, and his words had come crashing back.
As the plane banked, preparing to land, there below lay a heart-shaped coral head surrounded by pink sand, probably in about thirty feet of water. I saw other heart-shaped coral formations. It was pure luck I’d looked out the window at that exact moment, and I tried to note any nearby landmarks to help me find the location again. But it had taken me another eighteen months to locate it. The ebb and flow of the tides, currents, storms could change the sea bottom daily. Then the work had begun. Diving when I could to search for clues for the Sirena , while working and establishing the Foundation. Now, here I was. Further along than I could’ve hoped for, yet still a long way to go.
I’d crammed a lot into the years since Dad died. University, travel, work, treasure hunting, diving, curating, and it had all led to this moment. And those to come.
I smiled and wandered past the table and let my fingers trail off the case. Yes, the story was true, even though not everyone believed it. But this key to the captain’s cabin, lost beneath the waves for over 350 years, was solid proof, and I still had much more to find. The few pieces beside the key my team had discovered were good, but we still needed a lot more. Funds were painfully low.
The beautiful interior of this old church turned museum still awed me. The whitewashed coral walls and tall arched windows now fitted with paned glass were wide open tonight. I frowned at the reminder they still needed to be sealed with security wiring to safeguard the riches inside. My keen eye, not just for artifacts but also for people, was pleased. The crowd appeared happy, engaged, and were hopefully showing their support with generous donations. This was to be the people’s museum. St. William’s was an island with a long history that claimed the first landing of Christopher Columbus, even if it couldn’t be proved.
I stood before the ancient sea chest, almost afraid to look inside. I needed to know if crackers and peanut butter would be my meals for the next while or if I could graduate to perhaps bacon and tomato sandwiches. So I drew a soft breath and peered inside. My heart leapt when I saw cash and the amounts written on the checks tossed haphazardly into the chest. The sting of tears threatened, and I fought them back. What I saw inside the chest moved me.
A man approached, and I stepped aside. He held his checkbook with pen poised, but it wasn’t until he looked in the chest to scan the contents did he scribble on the check. Once done, he tossed his donation on top of the others. He smiled at me.
“This is a marvel, Ms. Savage,” he said. “I’m impressed and hope you accomplish your goal.”
Before I could reply, he walked off and returned to his wife in a group of people by the bar. My curiosity got the better of me and I just had to look, gasping when I saw his check on the top. $125,000. I needed another drink and some air! The money wasn’t mine. It belonged to the museum, but also meant I no longer needed to use my own savings.
Luke, a local I’d hired for the night, passed by and I placed the empty glass on his silver tray.
He winked and leaned closer to me. “Looks like this is a hit.”
I nodded. “Yes, I’m so pleased and very surprised.”
“I don’t know why. You’ve worked hard to bring this to life, and I’m thankful for the opportunity to be a part of it. And remember, just call on me anytime.”He smiled, and I took another glass from his tray before he walked away.
“Thank you. I’m glad you could.” I squeezed his arm and watched him wander into the crowd with the tray of golden liquid.
Luke would leave the island for university in a few months. Like me, he’d grown up here but was leaving for his education. He’d helped me on some dives and I’d miss him. I hadn’t quite decided if I’d been lucky to be born an islander or cursed. Time was still telling.
I needed some air. I wandered between the affluent guests, made small talk, and kept my eye on the artifacts. I was worried about the security system, still not fully operational, and I dreaded the thought of a break-in.
I’d traveled to a good many places in the world. Visited many museums. I was worldly. Luke passed by again and I grabbed another glass. I know I shouldn’t have another one, but all was going well, and the night would draw to a close soon.
I leaned against the wall beside the open French door to the patio, my blood warmed from the fizz of the champagne. I fidgeted on my heels and pushed the straps of my lacy linen dress off my shoulders, hoping to cool myself. The sultry sea breeze whispered around me in a seductive caress across my skin, and I drew in a deep breath. I felt flushed thanks to the champagne, and I pushed my hair off my forehead and wished I’d tied it up rather than let it hang loose.
I took another sip and, rather than quench my thirst, it made me hotter and hungry. But not for food. I hadn’t had male attention in far too long and the damn champagne was working its typical magic on me. Probably because I didn’t get champagne often.
“Oh, lordy,” I whispered and rolled my back around the corner of the door to escape onto the patio with a view of the bay. I stood in front of the railing, put the flute down, and tipped my head to look up at the stars, I shivered a little when my hair tickled my back. The sky was brilliant.
I breathed deeply and enjoyed the rare sensation of contentment. But then why wouldn’t I be content? I was home and doing what I loved, where I loved to live. Father’s inheritance was to be released to me on my twenty-seventh birthday in only a few more months. It wasn’t much longer, but would give me some breathing room and I could start renovations on the family home that sat on the edge of a gorgeous lagoon. It was still months from being habitable. The island had reclaimed the house, covering it in foliage after years of abandonment. I’d pecked away at minor projects now and then, and was eager to begin in earnest. It was time to claim it back from nature.
I set the flute down and slipped my hands under my hair and lifted it off my neck, gathering it in a bunch. It was such a lovely breeze. I filled my lungs with night air and let out a soft sound. Dropping my hair, I let my hands graze my breasts as I reached for the fluted glass.
“Mmm,” I murmured.
A sound made me pause and a faint smell of cigar smoke and a subtle spicier scent drifted on the night air. I wondered where it was coming from when a deep male voice reached me through the shadows. “Does your little show cost extra?”
“What?” I let out a little yelp and spun around too quickly. I nearly lost my balance, but grabbed the patio chair next to keep my footing.
“Ah, now you dance for me? Come a little closer and I’d be happy to show my appreciation.” I heard the humour in his tone and looked toward his voice.
The glow of his cigar pierced the inky dark.
“What do you mean, show your appreciation? It’s impolite not to make yourself known. And just who the hell are you?”I demanded.