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 weeksafter 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.
