Ange leaned back and slid on her sunglasses. “Well, I’ll just have to hope for a sign, then.”
TWENTY-THREE
“This is your college?” Scarlett said to Isaac as she spun and stared in awe at the campus.
“Pretty cool, huh?” he said.
The College of the Florida Keys has a location befitting a fancy tropical resort. A cluster of whitewashed buildings spread right on the water on the northern point of Stock Island. The grounds were well manicured, with crisp lawns and scattered palm trees. The campus wrapped around a cove with a row of jutting docks, the seafloor having been partially dredged for hands-on dive instruction.
“No wonder you left high school early,” Scarlett said.
They walked past students wearing tank tops, shorts, and flip-flops. After Isaac gave her a brief tour of the grounds, he led her into Tennessee Williams Theatre. The nearly five-hundred-seat auditorium had around fifty people inside of it, most of them sitting in the first few rows. On the stage, a man wearing brown slacks and a blue button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows was messing with a laptop on a stand.
Isaac tried to usher her toward his usual spot near the back, but Scarlett had other ideas.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing him by the hand. “I see two spots in the front.”
She led him down the aisle and they sat smack-dab in the front middle seats, wedged between students on both sides. After a minute, the man on the stage turned around and greeted the room. In this late thirties, he was tall and handsome, with medium-length dark hair.
He introduced himself as Nathan Ashwood, professor of oceanography at the University of Washington. After a brief introduction and summary of his experience, which included years of research expeditions all over the world in addition to his four degrees, he began his presentation.
He booted up a projector that displayed the title page of his PowerPoint: “Shifting Coasts: How the Oceans Shape Our World.”
He began by showing images of coastlines taken over the years.
“Our coasts are shaped by storms, tides, currents, wind, and tectonic movements. The shorelines and beaches you see today are vastly different from the ones our ancestors saw even a hundred years ago, especially in places like the Keys, where the elevation is low.”
He was eloquent and articulate. He gave off a strong Indiana Jones vibe and spoke with a passion that caused all eyes and ears to give him full attention.
Near the meat of the lecture, he mentioned a program model he and his colleagues had developed that allowed them not only to show what shorelines once looked like at different periods, using historical data of weather and ocean patterns, but also to predict what they could look like in the future.
When he finished, he even received a short round of applause before opening up the floor to questions. The offer had barely left his lips when Scarlett’s hand snapped into the air.
The professor smiled, caught off guard by her enthusiasm.
“You look pretty young to be in college,” he said, stepping to the edge of the stage and focusing his eyes. “Or maybe I’m just getting old.”
“Why, thank you,” Scarlett replied, standing and giving a curt bow. “I was wondering, Professor, could you use your model to discover the locations of lost items near the shore?”
Ashwood paused for a moment, then nodded. “The program could certainly help. Depending on the size and weight, of course. And depending on the location and how long the items have been lost. But, yes, with a margin for error, of course, I believe it could. What kinds of objects are you looking for?”
“Gold bars,” Scarlett stated.
That caused a few chuckles from surrounding students. But Ashwood didn’t laugh. He narrowed his gaze, intrigued.
“This is why I love coming to the Keys,” he said, giving a smile that put his white teeth on full display. “Not a lot of lost treasure talk in the Pacific Northwest. I’m guessing we’re talking about gold bars here in the islands someplace?”
“The Upper Keys,” Scarlett said. “That’s as specific as I can be.” She winked.
Ashwood grinned. “To answer your question, yes. I believe I could give you a pretty accurate present location, but I’d have to know where they were originally located, of course.”
Scarlett and Isaac sat through the rest of the Q and A. When he finished and most of the students made for the door, Scarlett led Isaac up onto the stage. Ashwood was sliding his laptop into a leather shoulder bag when they approached.
“Ah, if it isn’t the treasure hunter,” he said. “I thought you might have a few more questions.”
“You’re friends with Professor Murchison, right?” Scarlett said.
He raised his eyebrows. “We’ve met a few times, yes,” he said with a laugh.
Scarlett had already done her homework. She’d emailed the renowned professor of history and archeology the previous day. Frank Murchison was good friends with her parents and a great man. And Scarlett needed to know if she could trust Ashwood. Frank had told her that she could, that there were few men in the world that he trusted more.
“Well, Professor, my question wasn’t hypothetical,” Scarlett said. She glanced over her shoulder. Drama students were filing into the auditorium and onto the stage, preparing for their rehearsal. “Is there any way we could talk somewhere more private? I really think you can help us.”
He finished packing up his stuff, then slid his bag over his shoulder. “You certainly don’t lack confidence, do you? All right, you have me sufficiently intrigued. Follow me.”
He led them out of the auditorium, across the campus, and into the
