Ghosts ⚔️ Blackbeard's Treasure

Chapter 11.

Blair and I are outside McGuillacuddy's, arguing. Meanwhile, Dylan's nowhere to be seen. The midday sun sparkles over the harbor as our voices carry in the isolated shipyard. Thirty acres of the historical site are managed by the National Park Service. It's a lot of deserted open space, with two dry docks that are permanently out of service and flooded with dark seawater. There are no visible park vehicles or workers. "I'm not sold on Roy's offer. He seems sincere, but I need to talk to Julia first. These antique bells belong to her."

"Tell her the salvage operator's terms are a ten percent fee on discovery, in lieu of any up front expenses."

"I have to admit that's tempting." I look at the wooden box of nautical bells in my hands. "Julia told me I could have her theater props, but that was before I discovered they might be valuable. I think we're putting the cart before the horse. I'll have to tell her about the treasure and let her make the decision."

"This is a no a brainer. You could be sitting on millions of dollars."

"My first priority is to find an apartment. There might not be a treasure."

"If you find Blackbeard's long lost hoard, you could buy a penthouse.

"I don't need a penthouse."

"Lizzie, why do you have such a poverty mentality?" I sigh at her displeasure. My best friend and I have never had such a heated argument over money.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dylan in his green cargo jacket approaching. "Let's talk about this later." The black dog we saw earlier is scampering next to my boyfriend's long, jean-clad legs. Frolicking at his feet as if they're long lost buddies. When he sees me, the wolf-like canine trots over and sits in front of me as if he's a smitten suitor.

With his tongue hanging out of his mouth and his wide toothy grin, he reminds me of the Jackal God Anubis. I'm unnerved by the human-like eyes, but I kneel down and let him sniff my hand. "You probably do this to all the ladies. Who's this, guy?" When I stroke his neck, his wet nose bumps my other palm. The dog's fur is luxuriously soft under the matted dirt.

"The dock worker said he shows up from time to time in the naval yard, but he doesn't belong to anyone. He's never been able to get close enough to catch him."

"This dog needs a bath and good brushing." Interested by this turn of events, the dog cocks his ears and tilts his head.

"And a good meal." The hound looks over at Blair and they size each other up like prize fighters. Her hair and the dog's fur are the same color. Black as midnight. After a few minutes, she says, "He can stay with me. He looks like a Caesar."

"Do you have time for a dog?" Dylan runs his hand over the back of his neck.

"I could use a good watchdog." The dog stands on all fours and prances as if he understands and wants to work.

Dylan pulls a blanket out of the trunk and covers the back seat. Caesar doesn't need coaxing and leaps into the back of his truck. Head tilted to one side, the dog sticks his head out the window and waits for us.

It's as if he's chosen us.

"I'm going to see if I can find an owner." Blair's offer is a relief since Julia's more of a cat person, and Dylan has his hands full with his father.

A half hour later, we drop Blair off at her Queen Anne style home on Commerce Street, which includes a Wiccan store she inherited from her aunt after she died last year. Unfortunately, she doesn't have the kind of sales the same store in Salem would generate. There, a customer would pay three hundred dollars for a magical wand. It doesn't help that her store is a dusty, disorganized disaster. The exterior of her house is faded and peeling, desperately in need of a paint job. Her co-marketing stint with Chills n' Thrills might have garnered more sales, if she'd reorganized her merchandise and brought in more lighting, but Blair has never put any elbow grease into Witchy Business. 

When she jumps out of the truck, the dog eagerly follows her with the force of a miniature bull. "Lizzie, I'll call you after work."

A half an hour later, my excitement grows as we enter the Front Fort neighborhood.  It's lovely. I can feel the area's energy like a living pulse.

Fort Point Channel is filled with historic lofts, art studios, and galleries. Upscale restaurants and trendy bars and cafes line Congress street with sunlight spilling through the windows. As we pull up to the warehouse apartment complex, I see a familiar face. Wearing a white hard hat and a tailored suit, Jack's busy supervising a crew that's demolishing an empty building across the street. His handsome face is a mask of concentration as he talks on the phone. When I step out of the Jeep, he sees me and waves. I look over at Dylan.

What are the odds.