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)
“How accurate are your maps?”
“Based on visions confirmed by our physical exploration. I’d estimate ninety-five percent accuracy.”
Brooks pulled out his case files and spread them across one of her reading tables. “Tell me about the financial records. What did you see when you handled them in the lamp room?”
“Ledgers dating back forty years. Shipping manifests with international destinations. Bank account numbers for offshore holdings.” Vivienne’s voice was steady. “The readings were intense—I could feel the hands of everyone who’d touched those documents, all the way back to Gerald Aldrich’s father. The Aldrich operation is worth about two hundred million dollars.”
“The FBI is calling it the largest smuggling ring on the East Coast.” Brooks made notes as she spoke. “We wouldn’t have found any of this without you.”
“The spirits of the victims found it. I just listened to what they were trying to tell us.”
Brooks studied her across the table—exhausted but determined, her abilities focused on seeking justice for people who couldn’t speak for themselves. Three days ago, he would have dismissed everything she claimed as delusion or fraud. Now he understood that her methods were tools.
Psychometry.
Spiritual communication.
Inherited knowledge passed down through generations of women who’d documented the Aldrich crimes. No different from forensic analysis or witness interviews—just drawing from different sources.
“Don’t forget the briefing.”
“What time?”
“Seven a.m.”
Vivienne nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
Brooks left the shop as the first light touched the horizon. He had three hours to shower, eat, and prepare his materials before the FBI arrived. Three hours before the real work began.
The lighthouse stood silent against the dawn sky. No longer a mystery, but a crime scene. Evidence of corruption that stretched back generations.
Brooks drove back to his rental, exhaustion finally catching up with him. But sleep would have to wait. There were reports to write, evidence to catalog, statements to review.
His first case in Westerly Cove close to being solved. Melissa Clarkson had been found, safe and alive. The Aldriches were in custody, at least two of them were. Now the hunt for Winston was in the hands of the FBI.
But Brooks knew this was just the beginning.
THIRTEEN
vivienne
The town began taking sides the morning after Brooks and Vivienne discovered evidence in the hidden cove. Outside The Mystic Cup’s windows, Vivienne watched the division crystallize. The Hendersons packed their car, their teenage son casting nervous glances toward the harbor. Three doors down, the Kowalskis hammered a hand-painted sign into their lawn: “We Stand With the Truth.”
The divide showed itself everywhere. Some doorframes displayed protective symbols—salt lines, iron nails, sprigs of rowan tied with red thread. Others mounted security cameras and motion lights, their faith placed in technology rather than tradition.
Inside the shop, business had become unpredictable. Some customers avoided her entirely, crossing the street rather than pass her door. Others sought her out specifically, wanting to book her for readings, offering support or information or simply their presence.
Dawn returned mid-morning after her job with a box of pastries from Mrs. Mayer’s bakery.
“Are mine not good enough?” Vivienne asked her cousin as she took out a warm, Boston Cream doughnut.
“Sometimes you need different,” Dawn said as she carried the box to the kitchen. Out of sight of customers. She returned with a maple doughnut in her hand. “You’re holding a séance tonight. I’ve already spread the word.”
“Dawn—”
“The town needs this, Viv. People need to understand what you’re trying to do, that you’re helping Brooks find the truth about your mom, Lily, and the others. Right now, half the town thinks you’re a charlatan taking advantage of tragedy, and the other half thinks you’re meddling in things best left alone.”
Vivienne considered her cousin’s words. Dawn was right—the community needed to see that her abilities served justice, not sensationalism. And more practically, a public gathering might draw out information people had been too afraid to share.
“All right. Tonight at eight. But we do this properly—respectful, focused on finding answers.”
“I’ll help you prepare.” Dawn pulled out her phone. “I’ll text Martha, Gunner from the harbor master’s office, maybe Mrs. Mayer from the bakery. People who’ve always suspected something was wrong but never had a voice.”
They spent the afternoon preparing the back room, creating space for a proper circle. Vivienne retrieved her grandmother’s tools—candles blessed for clarity, salt for protection, iron filings to ground the energy. This wouldn’t be theatrical performance. This would be genuine communication with spirits who wanted justice.
Brooks arrived as she was arranging the final elements.
“I heard you’re holding a séance tonight.” He didn’t sound disapproving, just cautious.
“The spirits have more to tell us. Lily especially. Her mother needs closure. A lot of us do.”
“You think she’ll communicate tonight?”
“I know she will. She’s been waiting twenty-five years for someone to listen.” Vivienne studied Brooks’s face, noting the exhaustion but also the openness that hadn’t been there when they’d first met. “You can observe if you’d like. I won’t be offended if you’d rather stay away.”