Chapter 19 Vivienne #2
Martha Morgan sat in the front row, flanked by friends who’d supported her through twenty-five years of not knowing. The casket—closed, mercifully closed—held what remained of Lily Morgan. Seventeen years old forever. A girl who’d died seeking truth.
Vivienne’s ribs still ached when she breathed deeply. The cut on her lip had scabbed over. But she’d insisted on being here, on speaking about Lily’s courage even though Dawn had argued she needed more rest.
Brooks stood beside her in a dark suit, close enough that their shoulders touched.
He’d been a constant presence all week—bringing her meals when Dawn worked the shop, sitting with her when nightmares woke her at three a.m., helping her navigate the FBI’s endless questions without pushing her to use her abilities before she was ready.
“You don’t have to be here,” he said. “You’re still recovering.”
“I need to be here. For Martha. For Lily.” Vivienne adjusted the simple black dress Dawn had helped her choose. “This is what it was all for.”
The service began. The priest spoke of eternal rest and God’s mercy. Friends shared memories of a bright girl with a passion for history. Martha wept, her grief finally able to take its proper shape after years of suspended hope.
Then a woman Vivienne didn’t recognize walked to the front. She was in her early forties, with curly red hair streaked with gray and wire-rimmed glasses. She gripped the lectern with white knuckles.
“My name is Sarah Whitfield,” she said, her voice shaking. “I was Lily’s best friend.”
The church went silent.
“I haven’t been back to Westerly Cove in twenty-five years. I left for college the semester after Lily disappeared and I never came home. Because I couldn’t face what I’d done—or rather, what I didn’t do.”
Sarah’s hands trembled on the lectern. “Lily came to me in October of 1999 with evidence of a criminal operation. She was scared but determined to expose the truth. And I told her to stop. I told her it was too dangerous. I told her to choose a different project, to let someone else handle it.”
Martha Morgan let out a soft sound of pain.
“She gave me a package that fall. Said if anything happened to her, I should open it and tell people it wasn’t an accident.
But when she disappeared, I was too scared.
I was seventeen and terrified and I convinced myself that maybe it really was just an accident.
That maybe she’d slipped and fallen like they said. ”
Sarah’s voice broke. “I kept that package for twenty-five years. Moved it from dorm room to apartment to house. Never opened it. Never told anyone about it. Because opening it would mean admitting that I’d failed my best friend when she needed me most.”
Tears streamed down her face. “But Lily was braver than I’ll ever be.
She was seventeen years old and she knew the Aldrich family would kill her to protect their secrets.
She knew, and she gathered evidence anyway.
She documented everything. She made sure that even if they silenced her, the truth would survive. ”
She looked at Martha. “Your daughter was a hero, Mrs. Morgan. She had more courage at seventeen than most people find in a lifetime. And she saved lives by exposing criminals who’d operated for generations. Every family that got answers about their missing loved ones—that’s Lily’s legacy.”
Sarah pulled out a worn photograph and held it up—two teenage girls with their arms around each other, laughing at the camera. “This was us the week before she died. She knew something was going to happen. She told me I was the best friend she’d ever had. She said thank you for believing in her.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But I didn’t believe in her enough. I didn’t stand with her when it mattered. And I’ve spent twenty-five years wishing I could go back and make a different choice.”
She set the photo on the casket. “I’m sorry, Lily. I’m so sorry I wasn’t brave enough. But I’m here now. And I want everyone to know what you did. What you sacrificed. You died because you refused to look away from evil. Because you believed truth mattered more than safety.”
Sarah stepped back from the lectern, wiping her eyes. “Your daughter changed this town, Mrs. Morgan. She made it better. And I promise—I’ll make sure everyone knows her story. The real story. The one about a girl who was brave enough to fight monsters.”
She returned to her seat. The church was silent except for weeping.
Vivienne felt the weight of Sarah’s guilt, her grief, her belated courage. Twenty-five years of carrying that unopened package. Twenty-five years of knowing she could have helped.
But she’d come back. She’d finally told the truth.
Maybe that was its own kind of bravery.
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.”
“That’s the published history of Westerly Cove. Has a whole chapter on the lighthouse.” Vivienne brought two mugs of chamomile to the sitting area. “Completely glosses over the Aldrich smuggling, of course. The author was Gerald’s cousin.”
“Of course.” Brooks set the book aside and accepted his tea. “Agent Porter called me this morning. The FBI is officially closing the case. All the Aldriches are facing federal charges. Winston’s looking at life without parole for multiple murders.”
“What about Gerald?”
“His attorney is negotiating. He’s cooperating fully, giving testimony about the operation going back forty years. Given his age and health issues, they might allow him to serve his sentence in a medical facility.”
“And the others? Jeremy and Tyler?”
“Both accepted plea deals. Twenty-five to thirty years.” Brooks sipped his tea. “It’s over, Vivienne. The empire your family has been fighting for generations—it’s finally done.”
She should feel triumph. Instead she just felt tired. “The town won’t forgive me easily for this. The Aldriches employed half of Westerly Cove through their various businesses.”
“The town will adjust. Some people are already calling you a hero.”
“And others are calling me a witch who destroyed a founding family out of spite.” Vivienne set down her mug. “I heard a customer say to Mrs. Mayer yesterday that I should have minded my own business. Mrs. Mayer told them to leave if they couldn’t be civil.”
“Good for her.” Brooks moved closer on the couch. “What matters is that you did the right thing. That Lily’s family has closure. That other victims were found and identified. That Winston can’t hurt anyone else.”
“I know. I just wish it didn’t come with so much anger directed at me.”
“Give it time. The truth has a way of settling in once the initial shock wears off.” His hand found hers. “You’re not alone in this. Sullivan has your back. Dawn does. And I do.”
Vivienne looked at their joined hands. “Chief Sullivan offered you a permanent position, didn’t he? I saw him talking to you at the cemetery.”
“He did. Detective, full benefits, decent pay for a town this size.” Brooks was quiet. “I told him I needed to think about it.”
She pulled her hand back. “You’re leaving.”
“I didn’t say that.” He turned to face her fully. “I said I needed to think about it because this isn’t just about the job anymore. I need to know if staying here makes sense. If this partnership can work long-term.”
Her breath caught. “Brooks—”
“I don’t want to go back to Austin. I don’t want to leave Westerly Cove.” He met her eyes. “But I need to be honest—I’m not sure what I’m building here yet. Tell me if that’s not fair to you. Tell me if you need certainty I can’t give.”
“I don’t need certainty.” Vivienne’s voice came out barely above a whisper. “I need a partner who understands what I can do without being afraid of it. Someone I can work with. That’s all.”
“Is it?”
She hesitated. “I’m scared of pushing too hard. Of ending up like my mother. But I’m also scared of being alone with this gift forever.”
Brooks’s expression softened. “You’re not your mother. You have tools she didn’t. Knowledge she didn’t. And you’re not alone anymore.”
“No. I’m not.”
“Then let me stay. Let’s figure out what this partnership looks like. No promises about forever. Just an agreement to try.”
“Okay,” Vivienne said. “Stay. Let’s see where this goes.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She managed a smile. “But we need ground rules. Boundaries. Ways to make sure we’re not pushing each other into danger.”
“Agreed. We’ll figure them out as we go.” Brooks maintained the space between them. “For now, you need to rest. The memorial took a lot out of you.”
She nodded, exhaustion settling over her. The connection between them hummed—not demanding, not overwhelming, just there. A reminder that she had a partner now.
Whatever came next, whatever challenges they faced, they would face them as a team.
And maybe that would be enough.