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Outside, the wind stirred through the trees above the cliffs, carrying the faint call of a gull.
Chapter 29
Several days passed before Rhiannon could travel to the island after Amy reached out to her with Delaney’s blessing.
Late that morning, the ferry climbed the last rise of water and slipped toward the pier. Near the bow stood a single passenger, shawl pressed flat by the wind, a weather-stained satchel balanced on her shoulder. She kept apart from the summer tourists clustered at the rail, her presence as sober as their colors were bright.
From her spot on the dock, Amy recognized the composed stillness before she saw the face. Rhiannon watched the shoreline as though gauging more than distance. The day was unnervingly quiet: no wind, only the rise and fall of water against pilings, gulls floating idly above the waves.
When the gangway thudded into place, Amy stepped forward and offered her hand. The embrace that followed surprised them both, dissolving a tension Amy hadn’t realized existed. It left a weightless moment in its wake.
They spoke lightly on the drive to the mansion—weather, ferry delays, the restoration and renovation—but Rhiannon’s gaze remained on the passing landscape, attentive to every detail. Stone walls, stunted trees, the restless shimmer of sea light. She took it in the way one listens for an answer.
At the property, they followed the gravel path past the main house to the small stone cottage near the tree line. Amy had aired it out since Mason’s crew left: fresh linens, fruit in a bowl, kindling stacked by the hearth, and a full refrigerator and pantry.
“This will do nicely,” Rhiannon said, glancing around once. “Close enough to the heartbeat of the place. I need to listen awhile before we decide on an approach.”
“You’re welcome anywhere,” Amy told her. “Just mind the finish work. Floors, fresh paint—I’ll walk you through before you head in.”
Rhiannon tilted her head, not quite smiling. “He’s still calling to her. To you.”
Amy stilled. “Captain Blackwell?”
“Your sleepwalking,” Rhiannon said with certainty. “It’s him reaching for her, through you.”
Amy cleared her throat. “It’s been… easing.”
“Good. Dangerous thing, that pull. Your young man keeps you safe, whether or not he knows it.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Let me get settled. I’ll walk the grounds on my own, then we’ll talk about what you found in the basement wall.”
Amy left her to it but glanced at the security feed whenever she returned to her desk. The cameras picked up the medium’s solitary shape moving across the property—slow, measured, pausing near the site where the older skeleton had been unearthed, Captain Blackwell’s final resting place.
Later, Rhiannon stood near the orchard, then at the burial sites of the two murdered women. Each time, she stopped for long intervals, utterly still.
A shiver rose along Amy’s arms as she watched.
“What’s caught you?” Sully’s voice broke the spell. He leaned close, brushed his lips across her neck, warmth meeting the chill.
“Rhiannon,” she said. “She’s walking the grounds. Wants to meet later to go over Verity’s letters. I never told her about those, she just knew.”
He blew out a small breath. “That’s… unsettling.”
“She also knew about my sleepwalking.” She looked into Sully’s face.
He pulled back and paced the room with his familiar frown. “She may know that from the footage Mason has. I don’t know, Amy. Do you think it’s wise to use her, have her back here, when you have legal action with the network?”
She shrugged. “Delaney was all right with her. He said she functions as an independent consultant to the show, and only periodically.” She sat in her chair. “You know though, she knew something else. She knew how the mansion affects me. She says it’s the Captain reaching out to Verity through me.”
Sully turned back to her, taking her hand in hers. “You didn’t mention that, Amy.” He frowned. “You can tell me anything.”
She kissed him, so grateful to have his support. “I don’t think I knew what it was. At first when I moved here, the reason I moved into the cottage was the feeling of home, of protectiveness and belonging. It changed, though, over the past few months, sort of when I first noticed something wasn’t right. I would wake up with dirty feet and grass stuck to my legs.”
“And leave the door to the widow’s walk unlocked,” Sully announced as he wrapped his arms around her. “Has it happened since the alarm? Since us?”
“No. The alarm woke me once, and not when we’re together.”
“There’s the solution.” He smiled, kissing her forehead as they watched Rhiannon on the grounds.
That night, Amy and Kaitlin brought tea to the cottage. Rhiannon had a fire going despite the mild evening, flames flickering across the low ceiling.
