Grace, meanwhile, found herself drawn to the articles. Up close, the headlines were a study in escalation:
LOCAL TEEN FOUND DEAD AT HOLIDAY HOLLOW LAKE: WAS IT MURDER?
The article painted Sam Bennett as “a troubled young man, best known for pranks and a near-legendary ability to evade authority.” The tone was strangely gleeful, as if the death were the inevitable outcome of poor choices, the town’s bad penny finally cashed in. Grace’s stomach twisted.
Above the article, a somber picture of a dock blanketed with police tape, the lake behind it a silver sheet under dawn light. The article itself, neatly clipped and not a wrinkle in the paper, was classic Tessa: brisk, unsentimental, tinged with just enough outrage to guarantee readers’ sympathy but not enough to betray an opinion. The last paragraph was underlined in blue pen, and Grace read it twice:
“While authorities have yet to determine whether the death of Samuel Bennett, 18, constitutes homicide or misadventure, it is clear that the community remains hungry for answers… and for justice.”
Below, in a margin note, someone (Tessa?) had written: “Motive is always money, sex, or secrets. Usually in that order.”
Next to it, another framed piece, this one about a missing boy found after five days in the woods. The article was triumphant, heavy on quotes from search-and-rescue. It made Grace uneasy, the way the kid’s ordeal was parsed into bullet points for maximum drama. She looked up, searching for something less bleak, but most of the stories on the wall were the same: disasters, scandals, a town’s ugly laundry aired for all to see.
The one that stopped her cold was the Halloween murder. She recognized the name before she saw the headline:
HALLOWEEN PARTY HOMICIDE: MYSTERIOUS DEATH ROCKS HOLIDAY HOLLOW
Her gut turned, and she didn’t even read the article, she just looked away. It was all still too fresh. Too real.
Anna sidled up, peering over Grace’s shoulder. “You notice how every single one of these stories is about someone being ruined? She doesn’t do puff pieces.”
“That’s how you win Emmys,” Olivia murmured.
Anna nodded. “Or how you get murdered.”
Grace scanned the rest. The photos of Tessa at town events, at parades, on the annual float for the Snowflake Jubilee. It was all here, the life story of a woman who thought the best use of her own face was to put it everywhere, as often as possible.
A voice rang from the doorway, slicing through the examination. “If you’re looking for the Pulitzer, it’s in my gym bag. I use it as a paperweight.”
Tessa Monroe entered the office with all the theatrical presence of a TV anchor stepping onto set. She wore a steel-gray sheath dress, matching heels, and a layer of makeup that was both flawless and oddly intimidating. She barely registered the group before tossing her coat onto a nearby table, then eyed them with a predator’s wariness.
Caroline stood, hand extended. “Tessa! Thank you for meeting with us. This is Grace, and you know Anna and Olivia.”
Tessa looked at the hand, then shook it briefly, eyes moving to Grace with the sharpness of a camera lens. “Grace Baker. The psychic. Or are we calling it intuitive these days?”
Grace smiled, though the effect was more a baring of teeth. “Psychic’s fine.”
Tessa perched on the edge of her desk. “So, which of my past enemies has finally decided to take me out? Or is this more of a heads-up, in case I want to get my affairs in order?”
Caroline attempted a smile. “No one’s trying to be dramatic, dear. We’re just concerned. After the… incident at the ball?—”
Tessa cut her off. “It was a malfunctioning light fixture, a clumsy near-fall, not a poltergeist. I’ve already talked to the police, the insurance company, and my grandmother. If there’s something else, let’s have it.”
Olivia cleared her throat, stepping forward with the poise of someone who dealt with difficult people for sport. “Grace had a vision of you falling at the ball before it happened. She also has it on good authority that the fall was the work of someone with magic, and that that same person intends to kill you before Christmas night.”
Tessa gave a bark of laughter. “Someone wanting me dead isn’t exactly a newsflash. I’m always in danger, darling. It’s what happens when you report the truth in a town full of secrets.”
Grace crossed her arms. “You think that’s what this is about? Some story you did?”
Tessa arched an eyebrow. “You’re new here, right? Let me explain how it works. Everyone in this town has something to hide. Some are just better at hiding it.” Her gaze moved over the group. “I assume you’ve seen the news wall.”
Caroline nodded. “I noticed your story on Sam Bennett. I remember that one well.”
A shadow passed over Tessa’s features, gone in an instant. “That one’s my favorite,” she said. “Broke me out of spotlight features and into prime time.” She tapped a manicured nail on the glass frame. “Never did find the killer, though. Lot of rumors, lot of half-baked theories, but nothing stuck. Not for lack of trying.”
“And you did a story about the Halloween murder,” Grace ventured carefully.
“Yet another unsolved murder, although that one's recent enough that I’m still investigating it.”
