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)
“Let me get you a fresh coffee.” She turned away, disappearing through an open doorway and returning with another glass pot. She moved quickly, adding a filter, coffee grounds and pressing buttons. The hot stream of bean water started almost instantly. “On the house since you helped with the mess.”
“Thanks, but not necessary. I can pay for my coffee.” Automatic response. He, along with his co-workers, had always been told to pay for their things because they didn’t want a kind gesture, like free coffee, to hang over their heads or have someone call in a favor. No police officer ever wanted to hear, “Remember that one time I bought your lunch . . .” something like that was nothing but trouble.
“Suit yourself.” She poured a fresh cup and placed it on the counter. “That will be three dollars.”
He handed over the money. Their fingers brushed again. Her quick intake of breath didn’t go unnoticed. Vivienne smiled, but her hand trembled as she made change.
“So, Detective Harrington, are you here about the missing tourist?”
He froze. “How did you know I’m a detective?”
The women at nearby tables had gone silent. So silent he could hear the whirl of the lighthouse beam make its rotation. He glanced over his shoulder, everyone looked at him.
“I didn’t.” Vivienne replied casually. “But you just confirmed it. And you still haven’t answered my question.”
A neat trap. He’d walked right into it. Sloppy. He studied her more carefully, reassessing. “I’m not here about any missing tourist. Today is my day off. I don’t start at the Westerly Cove PD until tomorrow.” But now he was curious. Who was this missing person.
Vivienne apprised him, her expression steady, unwavering. She finally nodded and gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Well then, Detective,” she said, holding his gaze, “welcome to Westerly Cove. I have a feeling things are about to get interesting around here.”
She said it like she knew something he didn’t. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He took a sip of coffee—excellent despite his reservations about the place—and wondered what he’d walked into. Probably nothing more than a small town where everyone knew everyone’s business and strangers were subjects of speculation.
His phone vibrated. A welcome distraction. Expecting Jim, he was surprised to see Chief Sullivan’s name. He stepped away from the counter before answering.
“Harrington.”
“Detective, I know you’re not starting until tomorrow, but we have a situation.” Chief Sullivan’s voice was gruff and direct. “Tourist went missing yesterday near the lighthouse. Husband reported it last night. We’ve been searching since first light. Could use an extra set of experienced eyes if you’re up for it.”
There it was.
With his phone still pressed to his ear he glanced at Vivienne. She was busy with customers but still caught his gaze. It was as if she was aware of his conversation. In Austin, he’d never have hesitated to respond to such a request. But things were different now. He didn’t want to be the same person he was in Austin. He didn’t want to be responsible for someone else’s death.
“Missing tourist. Near the lighthouse.” Vivienne’s movements stilled at the mention of the location. “I heard something about that.” Brooks never stopped watching Vivienne.
“News travels fast here.” Resignation was clear in the Chief’s tone. “Can you meet me at the station in fifteen minutes? I’ll brief you there.”
He hesitated. This was the involvement he’d come here to avoid. But refusing a direct request from his new chief would be poor politics. “On my way.” He ended the call.
“Duty calls?” Even though it was a question, Brooks felt it was more of a statement.
“Apparently. How did you—” he cut himself off and shook his head. People in Austin warned him about small town. Your business was their business. He took a final sip of coffee. “Thanks for the caffeine.”
“Detective,” she called as he reached the door. He paused, looking back. “When you go to the lighthouse, look for a woman’s scarf caught on the rocks just below the north side path. Blue with silver threads. It might help.”
He frowned. “How do you know the missing woman wore a scarf like that?”
Vivienne’s expression remained calm. Something flickered in her unusual eyes. “I didn’t say it belonged to her.”
Before he could question her further, the older women demanded her attention. He stepped back onto Harbor Street with more questions than when he’d entered. The shop owner’s words lingered as he made his way toward the police station.
Look for a scarf caught on the rocks. Blue with silver threads.
How could she possibly know such a specific detail? A guess. Or maybe she’d overheard something from the search teams. Towns like Westerly Cove—at least from what he had read or heard—were notorious for rumors and speculation. More so during missing person searches. Thanks to the rise in podcasting, specifically those of a true crime natured, people convinced themselves they were detectives. Honestly, Brooks had always appreciated the help, as long as people weren’t getting in his way or breaking the law.