The service continued. More hymns. More prayers. The slow procession to the cemetery where Lily would finally be laid to rest beside her father.
At the graveside, Vivienne stood back, giving the family space. But as they lowered the casket, she felt a presence beside her. Not threatening. Peaceful.
Thank you.Lily’s spirit, fainter now than it had been in the lighthouse.Tell Mama I’m okay. Tell her I’m with Dad now.
“I will,” Vivienne whispered.
Brooks glanced at her, understanding in his eyes. He’d learned to recognize when she was communing with spirits. Learned not to interrupt, just to be there.
After the burial, people lingered. Some approached Vivienne to thank her—families of the victims found in the quarry, in the harbor, in shallow graves across Aldrich properties. Others kept their distance, uncomfortable with her abilities or resentful of what her investigation had revealed about their beloved town.
Chief Sullivan appeared, looking older than he had a week ago. “The town council asked me to thank you officially. You did what I should have done twenty-five years ago.”
“You were one person against a system built to protect the Aldriches.”
“That’s what I tell myself at night.” Sullivan’s weathered face showed regret. “Doesn’t make it true. I knew things weren’t right. I just didn’t want to see how wrong they were.”
Martha Morgan approached, leaning heavily on a cane. “Ms. Hawthorne. Walk with me?”
Vivienne excused herself and fell into step beside Lily’s mother. They moved slowly along the cemetery path, away from the crowd.
“Lily spoke to you,” Martha said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. Just now, at the burial. She wanted you to know she’s at peace. That she’s with your husband.”
Martha stopped, one hand pressed to her mouth. Tears streamed down her face. “All these years, I’ve been so afraid she was suffering. That her spirit was trapped, crying out for help that never came.”
“She was calling out. But not because she was suffering—because she wanted justice. She wanted her story told.” Vivienne touched Martha’s arm. “Now it has been. She can rest.”
“Thank you.” Martha’s voice broke. “For everything. For finding her, for speaking about her courage, for giving me my daughter back even though she’s gone.”
They stood together in silence, two women bound by loss and the strange comfort of knowing the dead could still communicate love.
When Martha returned to her friends, Vivienne found Brooks waiting by his car.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“Tired. Sad. But okay.” She leaned against the car door. “It’s good that the town came together for this. Even the people who hate me for exposing the Aldriches showed up to honor Lily.”
“Hate’s a strong word.”
“Mrs. Pennington glared at me the entire service.”
“Mrs. Pennington glares at everyone.” Brooks opened the passenger door. “Come on. Let me drive you home. You need rest.”
Home meant the apartment above The Mystic Cup. Dawn had cleaned while Vivienne was in the hospital, restocked the herbal blends, arranged fresh flowers in every room. The space felt peaceful in a way it hadn’t before—as if the resolution of Lily’s case had lifted weight from the building itself.
Brooks helped her up the narrow stairs despite her protests. At the door, he paused.
“Do you want company, or would you rather be alone?”
“Company. Please.” Vivienne unlocked the door. “But fair warning—I’m probably going to fall asleep on the couch within an hour.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Inside, she made tea while Brooks examined her bookshelves. The grimoire sat on a high shelf, its cover gleaming in the afternoon light. Beside it, her mother’s journals. Her grandmother’s customer records. Generations of Hawthorne women documenting their gifts.
“This one’s different,” Brooks said, pulling down a slim volume. “It’s not handwritten.”
