Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Any idea what?”
“Nope. He was very mysterious about it.”
Brooks grabbed his bag and headed inside. Sullivan was at his desk, paperwork spread everywhere.
“Harrington. Good flight?”
“Smooth. Vivienne said you wanted to see me?”
“I did.” Sullivan stood and retrieved a box from his filing cabinet. “This came for you while you were gone.”
Inside was a detective’s badge. Westerly Cove Police Department. Brooks’s name engraved on the back along with his new badge number.
“Figured you’d want one that actually says detective instead of the temporary ID we gave you.” Sullivan’s expression was gruff but pleased. “Welcome to the team. Permanently.”
Brooks held the badge, feeling its weight. Lighter than his Austin badge had been, but it meant more.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me. You earned it. Hell, you solved more cases in five weeks than I did in five years.” Sullivan clapped him on the shoulder. “Now get out of here. Vivienne’s waiting, and you’ve got a dinner to prepare for tomorrow.”
“About that dinner—”
“Not optional. Martha’s making pot roast. Dawn’s bringing dessert. Old Jack promised not to be too cryptic. It’ll be nice. Normal. The kind of thing this town needs after everything that’s happened.”
Brooks smiled. “Then I’ll be there.”
He found Vivienne still in her car, reading something on her phone. When he tapped on the window, she looked up and smiled.
“Sullivan give you your badge?”
“He did.” Brooks showed her, the metal gleaming in the late afternoon sun.
“Looks good on you. Very official.”
“Want to grab dinner? I’ve been thinking about Mrs. Mayer’s clam chowder for the entire flight.”
“Clam chowder sounds perfect.”
They walked to the restaurant together, Vivienne’s hand brushing his occasionally as they navigated the sidewalk. Not quite holding hands. Not quite separate.
People waved as they passed. Some with warmth, others with caution. But everyone acknowledged them. The detective and the medium who’d solved Westerly Cove’s darkest secret.
Partners.
And maybe, if they were brave enough, something more.
TWENTY-ONE
vivienne
Six weeks after Winston Aldrich’s arrest, The Mystic Cup was packed.
Vivienne brewed her fourth pot of chamomile tea before noon. Some customers came for readings. Others wanted tea and conversation with the woman who’d solved the murders.
Mrs. Mayer sat at her usual table with Velta Wright, chatting with other customers about the case. Two tables over, families of the victims gathered weekly to share memories.
Mrs. Pennington still avoided the shop, which suited Vivienne fine.
“Another scone order,” Dawn called from behind the counter. “That’s eight dozen this week.”
“We’ll need to hire help.” Vivienne wiped flour from her hands. “I can’t bake and do readings and manage the shop alone.”
“Good problem to have.” Dawn grinned. “Though I could use the extra hours when I’m not at the park.”
“I’ll work out a proper schedule this weekend.”
The bell chimed. Brooks entered, badge clipped to his belt. Several customers waved—he stopped by most days for lunch.
“Coffee?” Vivienne offered.
“Please. And whatever you’re baking.”
She poured his dark roast and plated two lavender scones. They’d fallen into routines over the past weeks. Meals together. Walks along the beach. Quiet evenings where he read case files while she worked on her grimoire.
Not dating. But not not dating either.
“Sullivan wants you to look at something,” Brooks said quietly. “Another cold case. Woman who disappeared from the harbor in 1987. No body.”
“Does he think it’s connected to the Aldriches?”
“Not sure. Her sister’s been asking questions since Winston’s arrest.”
Vivienne considered. Her abilities had recovered, but she’d been careful not to overextend.
“I’ll look at the file. But I’m not making promises. If the spirits don’t want to communicate, I can’t force them.”
“Understood.” Brooks finished his scone. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired. Busy.” She refilled his coffee. “The nightmares have mostly stopped.”
“That’s good.”
“What about you? Any regrets about staying?”
“None.” His answer came immediately. “This is where I’m supposed to be.”
The shop bell chimed again. A young couple entered with cameras and nervous energy. Vivienne excused herself to help them while Brooks finished his lunch.
She’d just started their order when her pendant grew warm. Not burning like it had in the lighthouse. Just warm.
A presence nearby. Not threatening, but insistent.
Vivienne touched the silver stone. The temperature dropped a few degrees. She caught the scent of salt water and old wood.
Harbor, a voice whispered. More feelings than words. Soon. Watch.
The presence faded. Her pendant cooled.
Brooks appeared at her elbow. “You okay? You went pale.”
“Someone just warned me. A spirit. Something about the harbor.” Vivienne shook her head. “It wasn’t threatening. Just cautioning me to watch.”
“Watch for what?”
“I don’t know. The message wasn’t clear.” She finished the tourists’ order. “It might be related to that 1987 case. Or something new.”
“Want me to increase patrols around the harbor?”
“Not yet. Let me meditate on it tonight.” Vivienne handed the tourists their tea. “Sometimes spirits give advance warning. This felt like that.”
Brooks looked troubled but nodded. “Let me know what you find out. And Vivienne? Don’t investigate alone. We handle it together.”