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''Would we be here if the old fart died from a heart attack? I don't think so.''

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THE LATE AFTERNOON sunlight glinted off the amulet, which Pope held gingerly in his hands, his expression one of deep contemplation.

''If these people are willing to kill for this amulet,'' Pope began, ''I wonder how much it's worth.''

John B, his grip firm on the wheel, glanced back at us briefly. ''Okay. Let's show him the piece and then, what, throw out a price?''

Sarah leaned forward from her seat near the front. ''A million dollars.''

Cleo gave a wide grin, reclining slightly against the side of the boat. ''I like it.''

''Go big,'' Sarah added with a shrug. ''My dad taught me that.''

I let out a small huff of amusement, though the unease swirling inside me hadn't dissipated. 

Suddenly, Pope's head jerked up, his eyes narrowing. ''Wait a minute,'' he murmured, leaning forward slightly as if trying to get a better look. ''What the hell? Is that Shoupe?''

My stomach twisted at the name, and instinctively, I shifted closer to the edge of the boat, my gaze scanning the approaching dock. Sure enough, there he was—Sheriff Shoupe.

''No. No.'' John B shook his head firmly. ''We're gonna turn around.'' He began adjusting the wheel, the motor's pitch shifting as the boat veered slightly.

''Don't,'' Pope interjected sharply.

''What? No,'' John B shot back, glancing at Pope with incredulity. ''Pope, you don't voluntarily go toward cops.''

Cleo nodded in agreement, her brows furrowing. ''I agree with John B. It's too risky.''

''Yeah, especially since it's Shoupe,'' I chimed in, crossing my arms and keeping my voice low.

Pope, however, remained calm, his logic cutting through our protests. ''If we run now, we trigger the chase mechanism. Just stay the course.''

John B hesitated for a moment, then exhaled sharply. ''Okay. Okay.''

The boat slowed slightly as we approached the dock. I gripped the side tightly, the tension in my chest rising as Shoupe moved closer, his hands resting casually on his hips.

''And here he comes,'' Pope muttered under his breath.

''Not afraid of cops,'' John B mumbled, more to himself than anyone else.

''We didn't do anything wrong,'' Pope stated firmly, his gaze locked on the sheriff.

''We didn't do anything wrong,'' John B repeated, his voice quieter.

As we came to a stop near the dock, Shoupe's voice rang out, cutting through the silence. ''There they are!''

''Shoupe,'' Pope greeted evenly.

Shoupe let out a low chuckle, his grin smug as he eyed us. ''Great treasure hunters,'' he remarked. ''Bring it on in. Toss the line.''

John B maneuvered the boat closer as Pope reached over, tossing the rope to Shoupe, who began tying us off.

''Oh, lucky me,'' Shoupe said, his tone laced with sarcasm. ''I was just coming to see ya.''

John B plastered on an innocent smile, his eyes flicking briefly to me before looking back at the sheriff. ''Oh, yeah? Why, uh... why would you come to see us, Shoupe?''

The sheriff straightened, his expression shifting into something more serious. ''You know, uh, the old guy who lives here?'' he asked. ''Who you talked to yesterday?''

Pope nodded cautiously. ''Yeah.''

''Okay. So you did talk to him.''

The rest of us exchanged sharp glances, realizing Pope had walked right into Shoupe's trap.

''Glad you confirmed that,'' Shoupe continued. ''Well, that old guy is up there... dead. And, except for his son-in-law, you were the last ones to see him.''

Sarah's eyes widened, and she leaned closer to me, her voice barely a whisper. ''The curse?''

Shoupe's gaze swept over all of us. ''So, uh, y'all ain't going anywhere.''

I let out a dry laugh, though there was no humour in it. ''Just our luck,'' I muttered under my breath, the knot in my stomach tightening.

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SHOUPE'S INTERROGATION HAD the air of a bad TV cop drama, complete with his smug grin and attempts to bait us into saying something incriminating. I sat stiffly on the couch, my shoulders squared and my jaw clenched.

John B, perched on the arm of the couch beside me, glanced at Shoupe with mock patience. ''This okay for you?'' he asked, gesturing to the space as though he were the host of this ridiculous meeting.

Shoupe leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lazily against the table. ''Yeah, have a seat,'' he replied. ''So, y'all were just puttering along, and you happened to stop by here?''

John B didn't flinch. ''He hired us. I told you that.''

''Wes Genrette, who could hire anyone, hired you bozos?'' Shoupe raised a sceptical eyebrow, his expression practically dripping with disdain.

Before John B could retort, I leaned forward slightly, crossing my arms. ''Us bozos found El Dorado, the Royal Merchant, and the gold when nobody else could do that for decades,'' I reminded him pointedly.

Pope whistled low and made an exaggerated "OK" sign with his hand, grinning.

''So, what did we do?'' Sarah chimed in.

Shoupe leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ''Did I say you did anything?''

''Then why are we here, locked up like we've done something suspicious?'' Sarah challenged.

''Oh, God, you're not locked up,'' Shoupe replied, rolling his eyes. ''Princess Cameron, stop exaggerating.''

''We were just working a job, all right?'' Pope interjected. ''We know nothing about any murder or anything.''

Shoupe's expression shifted ever so slightly. ''I never said murder.''

My brows knitted together, and I shrugged, meeting his gaze head-on. ''Would we be here if the old fart died from a heart attack? I don't think so.''

Shoupe pointed at me. ''Quit being sassy, Kentala.''

I bristled but kept my voice level as John B and I spoke in unison, correcting him: ''Routledge.''

Cleo, lounging against the side of the room, raised an eyebrow and smirked. ''Do you really think we'd stick around here if we did something?'' she asked coolly.

''Well, maybe you were just trying to be clever,'' Shoupe remarked, leaning back again. ''I mean, if I thought y'all were capable of that.''

''No, man, we just walked into it,'' John B said, shaking his head slightly.

Sarah crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing. ''You have us talking separately, like this is an interrogation.''

''Mm-hmm,'' Cleo added with a small, amused hum.

''Is this a crime scene?'' Sarah pressed.

''Okay, I'll just have to get you a junior detective badge,'' he quipped, smirking again. ''No, not a crime scene. Not yet. I'm just getting ahead of it.''

Pope leaned forward slightly, frowning. ''What's that mean?''

''You're disaster magnets, all right?'' Shoupe told us flatly. ''That's what that means, and you know it.''

Pope nodded, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. ''When it comes to trouble, we are a few standard deviations off the mean. If you were to put it on a graph—''

''Pope, stop trying to confuse me,'' Shoupe interrupted, narrowing his eyes at him.

Pope raised his hands in mock innocence. ''Math confuses you?''

Shoupe glared. ''Are you poking fun at me?''

''No, I'm not making fun of you,'' Pope replied.

Shoupe, clearly tired of our antics, clapped his hands together and turned his attention back to the group. ''So you go to see Genrette,'' he started, eyeing each of us carefully. ''And then what happened?''

I leaned forward slightly, holding his gaze. ''He talks crazy about his dead daughter and a curse, so obviously, we felt bad for the dude and accepted the job.''

''And you believed it?'' he pressed.

I shrugged. ''He did, and it's what mattered then.''

Cleo cut in, her voice casual. ''Gonna pay us $50,000 to find it.''

Shoupe's eyes narrowed slightly. ''But, uh, he's dead today.''

Behind us, there was a loud clatter as Sarah knocked something from the mantle.

''Can you not touch anything on the mantle?'' Shoupe barked, glaring at her.

''Sorry,'' Sarah muttered, hastily picking it up and placing it back where it belonged.

Shoupe sighed, rubbing his temples. ''It's an active area of investigation,'' he grumbled. Then, with a sudden shift in his tone, he asked, ''The... the trinket. Did y'all have any luck finding that?''

I shook my head, keeping my expression blank. ''No.''

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WALKING DOWN THE creaky wooden steps outside the boathouse. The uneven planks beneath our feet groaned softly, mirroring Cleo's hushed tone as she muttered, ''That was a close call. Being around cops makes me nervous.''

''Oh, shit, he's right behind us,'' Sarah hissed, glancing over her shoulder.

Pope shushed her quickly. ''Shh. Quiet. Sorry.''

From behind us, Shoupe's voice cut through the thick air like a knife. ''Y'all make sure you don't wander off too far now, you hear?''

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the smirk that tugged at the corner of my lips. ''Oh, damn. I had a two-week cruise planned. Might want to reschedule my plans,'' I quipped dryly.

Shoupe let out a long, exaggerated sigh, clearly done with my attitude but not enough to engage further.

Once we were a safe distance away from him, Cleo shook her head and glanced back. ''You guys gotta admit, that was weird,'' she pointed out, her dark eyes darting nervously as though Shoupe could still overhear us.

John B scratched the back of his head. ''Yeah, I mean, the old man said he was gonna get got by the ghost, and he got got, so...''

Sarah scoffed lightly, folding her arms across her chest. ''Yeah, but is it murder if the killer's dead?''

''No, we're not entertaining that,'' Pope stated firmly, his tone brokering no argument.

I glanced at him and nodded in agreement. ''Thank you,'' I added, glad someone was willing to be the voice of reason.

Pope didn't miss a beat. ''There's no way this guy died from what's-her-face ghost, okay? He probably just died from, like, old people stuff.''

''Yeah, like carpal tunnel,'' John B added, his attempt at humour earning a snort from Cleo.

''Like eczema,'' Sarah chimed in.

Pope shrugged. ''Or, you know, osteoporosis.''

''Or a stroke,'' I said flatly.

We stopped abruptly when we saw Chandler standing in the boathouse, leaning against a workbench cluttered with fishing gear and tools. 

''Oh. Hey,'' Chandler greeted.

''Hey,'' Cleo responded first, offering a small nod.

Sarah stepped forward slightly, her expression softening. ''We're sorry to hear about your loss, Mr. Groff,'' she told him gently.

Chandler's lips curled into a faint, humourless smile as he nodded. ''Thank you, Sarah. I appreciate it.'' He paused, rubbing his temple as though trying to massage away the weight of the day. ''It's, um...'' He chuckled dryly, though it lacked any real warmth. ''It's been a shock.''

As he moved to leave, he stopped abruptly and turned back to us. ''I, uh... I know Wes made a deal with you. I intend to honour it. If you come up with anything, let me know. For Wes' sake.''

Pope met his gaze with a determined nod. ''We'll let you know if we find anything,'' he assured.

Chandler lingered for a beat longer, then nodded and left without another word.

John B exhaled sharply. ''I'd like to get out of here,'' he muttered, glancing at the rest of us.

''Yeah,'' Pope agreed quickly, already stepping toward the boat.

John B manoeuvred the boat away from the boathouse. The salty breeze whipped past us, cooling the heat that had gathered in my chest.

Cleo leaned back, her gaze on the horizon as she remarked, ''Just when you thought it couldn't get any weirder.''

Sarah frowned, leaning forward on her elbows. ''The old man dies, and Groff still wants the amulet?''

''What you think, John B?'' Pope asked, looking over his shoulder at him.

John B's expression was pensive, his grip steady on the wheel. ''There's a lot more going on that we don't know about,'' he answered, his voice quiet but resolute.

''Oooo, spooky.'' I teased, earning a chuckle from Pope.

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THE AIR WAS thick with the smell of chemicals and saltwater. Pope carefully poured a clear liquid into the jar holding the amulet, his movements precise and deliberate, like he was performing open-heart surgery.

''Whoa, it is breaking,'' Pope murmured, his voice laced with awe as the barnacle-encrusted surface of the amulet started to clear.

''I had science, Pope,'' Cleo interjected, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall.

''You are a mad scientist,'' John B teased. ''Where did you learn how to do this?''

''Chemistry,'' Pope replied with a shrug.

John B tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he countered, ''I had chemistry.''

Pope didn't even look up as he quipped, ''We didn't take the same chemistry.''

That earned a laugh from Sarah, who was perched on a crate nearby. ''I don't think that's the kind of chemistry he means,'' she chuckled.

John B frowned, his confusion evident as he glanced at me for clarification. I grabbed his arm, tugging him down slightly so we were at eye level, and leaned in. ''He means drugs, you dumbfuck,'' I whispered, my lips barely moving.

John B squinted at me. ''Why did you pull me in to say it?'' he whispered back.

''I didn't feel like standing on my tiptoes,'' I whispered.

''Why are we whispering?'' he asked whispering, his brows furrowing.

''I don't know,'' I replied in the same hushed tone, shaking my head subtly.

''I think it's ready,'' Pope announced, cutting through our exchange.

All heads turned to him as he slid on a glove and used a tool to carefully lift the amulet out of the jar. The barnacles had dissolved completely, leaving behind a gleaming, intricate surface.

''Oh, the barnacles are gone,'' John B observed, leaning in for a better look.

''Oh, wow,'' Sarah breathed.

''Would you look at that?'' Cleo remarked.

John B reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing toward the gold. ''That's gold gold. Look at that right there.''

''Don't touch!'' Pope barked sharply, jerking the amulet away.

John B recoiled, startled. ''What? Why?''

''That's nitric acid,'' Pope explained.

''This is so intricate,'' he added, turning the amulet over in his gloved hands to examine the ornate detailing.

''See the writing on it?'' John B asked, pointing to a series of tiny inscriptions etched into the surface.

Pope squinted, his face scrunching in concentration. ''Yeah. Whoa. Hold on.'' He carefully slid the back of the amulet open, revealing another layer. ''This.''

''That's Hebrew. I'm pretty sure,'' John B guessed.

I leaned closer, studying the inscriptions for a moment before shaking my head. ''It's Arabic,'' I corrected. ''The way the squiggles go that way.''

John B nodded, conceding easily. ''Right.''

''We should at least figure out what it says if so many people are willing to die over it,'' Pope mused, his tone grim.

Cleo straightened up from her spot against the wall. ''Anybody read Arabic?'' she asked, glancing around hopefully.

John B snapped his fingers suddenly, his face lighting up. ''Hold on, I know a guy.''

Pope arched a brow. ''You know a guy?''

''Well, I don't know a guy,'' John B clarified, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. ''But my dad knew a guy. This Muslim dude—they used to play pool together. He lives down off Bayline.''

''Just be vague about what that is, please,'' Pope urged, clearly wary of involving anyone else in this mess.

Sarah nodded firmly in agreement. ''Yeah. No hints.''

Cleo waved a hand dismissively. ''We don't need anyone catching on to what we're doing.''

Pope straightened, his resolve clear. ''We'll go get Kie and JJ. This isn't something we should tackle without the whole crew.''

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