Page 49

“There,” he said proudly. “If anyone tries to sneak out at night, this baby’ll wake the whole neighborhood.”

Amy managed a smile. “Exactly what I need.”

Garrett grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Here’s the activation switch—just make sure it’s turned on when you want to use it. I have a few more tweaks to make. You want me to lock up when I go?”

“That’d be great. Thank you, Garrett.”

As she gathered her things and headed to her mansion office, Amy took one last glance at the blinking red light glowing faintly by the door.

Safe, she supposed. Secure.

And suddenly a little lonely.

The bakery smelled like heaven—warm sugar, butter, and yeast wrapped in the low hum of morning conversation. Amy paused just inside the door to let herself breathe. After the night she’d had, the simple domestic bustle soothed her psyche.

“Morning, Amy.”

Marissa Lane stood behind the counter, her smile as comforting as the smell of cinnamon. Green eyes that matched her friend Kaitlin’s sparkled with the energy of the bakery. The early sun gilded her hair, and she had a dusting of flour on her cheek, which was evidence she’d been up since before dawn.

“Morning,” Amy said, eyeing the display case. Rows of cookies gleamed under glass—shortbread piped with chocolate, lemon crinkles dusted in sugar, and Marissa’s signature sea-salt caramel squares.

“Cookies for me,” Amy murmured to herself, then added under her breath, “Well, for Sully.”

“And perhaps a peace offering for the construction crew?” Marissa asked with a knowing grin. She was fast at reading people, as always.

“I’ll take two dozen cookies,” Amy said, smiling. “And maybe some muffins and donuts too. I’ve got a small army to feed—and the mayor’s stopping by later, so I should probably make a good impression while I can.”

Marissa began picking out an assortment. “Everyone’s so curious about what you’re doing over there, talking about that man who does those ghost shows on television,” she said conversationally. “But it’s nice—really nice—to see the old place coming back to life for something meaningful.”

Amy looked up from her wallet, surprised by the sincerity in her tone. Amy remembered that Marissa’s missing sister was one set of the remains found buried on the grounds. “You… you think so?”

Marissa nodded. “It was meant to help people, that place. Your plans—if they’re still the same—will finally turn it into what it was intended for again. A healing place.”

The words, coming from someone who had seen generations of this island come and go, felt like quiet validation.

“Thank you,” Amy said softly. “That means a lot.”

Marissa boxed everything neatly into several packages, tying the ribbons tight. “Don’t let the rumors get to you, honey. People talk when they’re curious. Now this one is for Sully—I picked out the cookies I know he likes best.”

With her spirits a little lighter and her arms full of warm boxes, Amy headed back toward the mansion, sunlight glinting off the windshield as she turned down the drive.

The scene that greeted her looked anything but healing.

The main hall sounded like a construction site had collided with a film set. Tools clattered, extension cords tangled with camera equipment, and voices competed from every direction.

“What do you mean we can’t be here?” one of the construction workers barked.

“Because your crew’s stomping all over our thermal readings!” Mason shot back, gesturing with one of his handheld sensors like a sword. His hair was even messier than usual, eyes wide with manic excitement.

Amy stopped just inside the doorway, clutching the bakery boxes like a makeshift shield. “What on earth is going on?” she yelped.

“Mason’s crew won’t move their setup out of the parlor,” Diego, one of Sully’s workers, said, clearly exasperated. “We’re trying to finish framing, but they said the equipment can’t be touched.”

Mason interrupted, “Because we captured unprecedented EMF spikes in there last night, Amy! Clear indicators of residual energy. We need at least forty-eight hours of uninterrupted study—”

“That’s not going to happen,” said Diego flatly. “Some of us actually need to, you know, work.”

Amy pressed a hand to her temple. Where was Sully? He would have had this well in hand before it got to this point—judging by the chaos.