“Arson?” Bryant asked, already in detective mode.
“I don’t know.” Grace wiped her hand on her jeans, trying to shake off the residual chill. “Could be. I can’t be sure, but it’s suspicious that I’m having this vision about him after he nearly died on stage.”
Anna reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Grace’s ear. “Take a break. You look like you just got out of a steam bath.”
“I’m fine. I can do this.”
Grace managed a weak smile, but already Caroline had another folder open, Martha Lane’s name scrawled across the tab in bold blue ink. “Next up: Chamber of Commerce. Whodoesn’t want to kill the person who schedules all the town meetings?”
Bryant cut in. “You sure you’re up for this?”
Grace nodded, though she didn’t trust her voice to hold up. She pressed her palm to Martha’s file.
A sterile whiteness enveloped her. The sharp scent of antiseptic, the beeping of medical monitors, the oppressive fluorescence of hospital lighting. She was in a bed, her right arm swaddled in plaster and gauze, tubes snaking from her wrist. Martha Lane was there, tears in her eyes but smiling bravely for the nurse bustling at the foot of her bed.
Not dead. Not dying. Just broken.
Grace blinked out of the vision and exhaled, relief so profound she wanted to cry. “She’s going to break her arm. Maybe something worse, but she’s alive.”
Bryant wrote this down on a notepad with a little grunt. “Not fatal, then. Cross her off the murder list.”
Olivia poured herself more wine. “We’re two for two on local drama, but I’m not hearing a killer yet.”
“Third time’s the charm,” Caroline said, sliding the mayor’s file to Grace. “Try not to vomit on his face.”
Grace braced herself, then laid a hand on the glossy 8x10. The vision hit instantly: a crowded room, laughter and music, people in suits and sequined dresses clinking champagne glasses. The mayor was in the center of it all, holding court, grinning like a wolf with a chicken bone. Suddenly, the lights dimmed, a hush swept the room, and a red spray, blood, splattered across a white tablecloth. Voices rose in shock, a woman screamed, and the vision warped and spun out.
Grace pulled away, her stomach roiling. “He’s at a party. Someone gets hurt. Maybe killed.”
“Is it him?” Bryant asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. But there’s blood. Lots of it.”
Anna sighed. “This town is going to need therapy.”
The last file belonged to Tessa Monroe, the news anchor who seemed to thrive on drama and near-death experiences. Grace hesitated, then touched the folder. Instantly, she felt a rush of vertigo, the sickening lurch of falling. She saw Tessa’s face, twisted in horror, as she plummeted from a balcony—no, a second-story landing—down into a ballroom packed with partygoers. There was a moment of weightlessness, the flash of sparkling lights, then the brutal crunch of impact.
Grace jerked her hand away, nearly dropping the folder. She sucked in a breath, heart jackhammering.
Bryant leaned forward, eyes narrow. “Another accident? Or something more?”
Grace wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. “She falls. Or is pushed. Hard to say. But it’s going to happen at a party, maybe the same one as the mayor’s.”
The women digested this in silence. The only sound was the whisper of logs settling in the fire and the wind rattling the stained glass above.
Bryant finally spoke. “So whoever set up the electrocution could be after any of them. Or all of them.”
Grace nodded, exhausted. “That’s what it feels like.”
Caroline stood, refilled everyone’s wine, and planted herself next to Grace on the couch. “We need to warn them all. And watch our backs.”
Bryant closed the files, face unreadable. “We’ll figure this out,” he said. “But for now, you need to rest. All of you.”
Grace wanted to protest, but she could feel the room spinning around her, the exhaustion catching up all at once. She let her head fall against the back of the sofa, the blanket re-wrapped by Anna’s gentle hands.
As the fire popped, Grace’s eyes drifted shut. But her last memory before sleep was Bryant’s hand, warm and steady, covering hers on the arm of the sofa.
She wasn’t sure if it was comfort or protection.
