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)
Vivienne thought about Martha, who’d finally been able to bury her daughter with dignity. Who’d stopped living in suspended grief and started living again. The book would honor that journey.
“When you write about me,” Vivienne said carefully, “please be accurate. I’m not a fortune teller or a parlor trick psychic. I’m—”
“A medium with a genuine gift who helped solve a century-old crime.” Melissa met her eyes. “I know. I was there when you led Brooks to me in those tunnels. I heard you talking to spirits I couldn’t see. I’m not going to sensationalize what you can do—I’m going to document it honestly.”
“Thank you.”
“No. Thank you.” Melissa’s voice wavered. “You saved my life. You and Detective Harrington both. I don’t know how to repay that.”
“You don’t have to. Just live well. That’s enough.”
They talked for another twenty minutes about Melissa’s plans. She was staying in a rental apartment in Providence while she wrote, close enough to Westerly Cove for research trips but far enough for emotional distance. She’d started dating again—cautiously, slowly, but opening herself to the possibility.
“I should go,” Melissa said finally. “I have an interview with Gerald Aldrich’s attorney this afternoon. He’s trying to paint his client as a victim of family pressure. I need to prepare questions that will cut through that nonsense.”
“Good luck.”
“You too. With everything.” Melissa smiled. “I saw you and Brooks working together at the harbor last week. You two make a good team.”
“We do,” Vivienne agreed.
“Good. You both deserve success after everything.”
After Melissa left, Vivienne sat at the reading table for a few more minutes, gathering the cards and processing. Three months ago, Melissa had been a missing tourist. Now she was a survivor writing a book that would expose the Aldrich empire to national attention.
Healing wasn’t linear. But it was happening.
Dawn appeared at her shoulder. “That was a good reading. She needed to hear that.”
“She did.” Vivienne tucked the deck back into its silk wrap. “The Star came at exactly the right time.”
“It always does.” Dawn smiled. “Brooks texted. He’s outside whenever you’re ready.”
Vivienne glanced at the clock. His day off, and they’d planned to work on some case files together. She found him leaning against his car on the street, looking relaxed in jeans and a sweater.
“Hey,” he said with a nod. “How was your morning?”
“Good. Melissa came in for a reading.” Vivienne slid into the passenger seat. “She’s doing well, all things considered. The divorce is final.”
“That’s good. She deserves a fresh start.” Brooks started the car. “So, where to now?”
“I was thinking we could drive up to Providence. Hit that bookstore you mentioned—the one with the occult section you wanted to browse.” Brooks started the car. “Unless you’re tired. We could just stay in town.”
“Providence sounds perfect.”
They drove through the coastal roads, talking about everything and nothing. The new case Sullivan wanted them to consult on. Dawn’s idea to expand The Mystic Cup’s hours. Brooks’s upcoming visit from his parents, who were curious about their son’s partnership with the local medium.
The bookstore was exactly what Vivienne had hoped—cramped and dusty, with shelves reaching the ceiling and a black cat sleeping on the counter. She lost herself in the occult section while Brooks browsed mysteries.
“Find anything good?” he asked an hour later.
“Three books on scrying techniques and one on prophetic dreams.” Vivienne showed him her stack. “What about you?”
“Found a first edition Louise Penny. And this.” He held up a slim volume. “A history of lighthouses in New England. Thought you might like it.”
She took the book, appreciating the thoughtful gesture. The lighthouse had become significant to both of them—where the case had ended, where they’d nearly died, where everything had changed.
“Thank you.”
They paid for their books and wandered through downtown Providence, stopping for coffee and pastries at a café. Professional partnership activities. Working relationship activities.
Strange how a working relationship had become something more significant than just colleagues. How a simple afternoon with Brooks felt comfortable in a way few partnerships did.
“I’ve been thinking,” Brooks said as they drove back toward Westerly Cove. “About what you said three months ago. About being scared to end up like your mother.”
“I remember.”
“Are you still scared?”
Vivienne considered. “Sometimes. When I push too hard or have a particularly draining vision. But then you’re there, reminding me to rest. Dawn’s there, making me eat when I forget. Martha visits and tells me stories about Lily that remind me why this work matters.” She glanced at him. “Having a good partner makes all the difference.”
“Good.” Brooks nodded. “Because this partnership works. We’re a good team.”
They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the ocean appearing between buildings as they neared Westerly Cove. The lighthouse was visible in the distance, its beacon operational again after months of being dark during the FBI investigation.
“Want to make a detour?” Brooks asked.