Page 80 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

“I had a hunch I needed to touch Morty again,” she said. “Not that I wanted to—but once I did, I shuffled through his memories. Most were a blur, but then… I landed on something. Something involving Portia.”

Silas perked up immediately, hovering like a bloodhound catching a scent. “Continue.”

“Morty and Portia were in a meeting,” Maggie said, her brow furrowing. “Negotiating a deal with the owners of Happy Burger—Danny and Carmen Gallows.”

Her eyes snapped toward the board. “ Carmen.”

She rushed over, shifting Chester under one arm as she jabbed her finger at a photo pinned near the top right corner.

“That’s Carmen Gallows! I knew she looked familiar!”

The photo she pointed to? That was the bloated corpse we pulled out of that shallow grave over in the Conservation Swamp a week before Maggie arrived.

“Go on,” Silas said, this time with a sharpness that cut through the room. His patience thinning.

“Well,” Maggie said, still pacing with Chester curled against her chest, “they were negotiating for protection for Carmen and the Gallows kids. Carmen wasn’t having it—stormed out, told Danny she wanted a divorce.”

I straightened at that.

“Morty threw down a threat—said if Danny didn’t hire Portia for protection, things would end badly. He told him not to let the divorce happen. Said lawyers would dig into old financials, and he didn’t want them sniffing around his business deals.”

Silas scoffed, the sound dripping with outrage.

“Preposterous! Portia would never involve herself in something so crass. Her portraits alone provide her a secure income. Not to mention her foundation . She’s booked for years , I’m certain.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle Silas,” Maggie breathed. She stepped closer and laid her hand on his calmly. “But it’s what I saw.”

Silas didn’t pull away.

He just stared at her, green energy flickering faintly at his edges, the wheels clearly turning behind his eyes.

“There’s something else,” she added.

My spine went stiff. Her tone shifted. This was the part she’d been holding back.

“When Graham and I were at Portia’s party,” she continued, “she said something to her butler… or driver… whoever he is. She told him that Morty had almost finished drafting the new will.”

Silas stiffened.

“That could’ve been any will, dear,” he said, but his voice had lost its edge. It sounded… defensive.

Like he was trying to convince himself.

“Yes,” Maggie said, “but then the man with her asked why she didn’t just let me keep the mansion. He said her other ventures were worth way more than this place.”

She paused, shifting Chester in her arms.

“Portia freaked out,” she continued. “Called him a fool. Said she didn’t want the mansion—she wanted the key to the safety deposit box.”

Silas’s pipe paused mid-puff. “What in the devil would she want that for?” He took another drag. “That’s not worth hardly anything compared to?—”

He froze.

“My God.”

“What? What is it, Uncle Silas?” Maggie asked.

Silas drifted a few feet away, his form flickering faintly as if emotion disrupted his ability to hold shape.

“My dear,” he said slowly, “I owe you an incredible apology. I’ve been… so caught up in my feelings, I failed to consider the reality of what’s happening.”

He floated in a wide circle around the attic, like a ghostly general preparing for war.

“Portia was terrible with money. Truly abysmal. About four years ago, she came to me—drunk off that wretched French brandy she liked—begging for a donation to her foundation. Forty-five thousand dollars.” He waved his pipe like the number offended him.

“Now, most charities would take any donation with gratitude. But she insisted—it had to be forty-five. She said it was to cover a debt her brother Gregory had racked up. She’d pulled from the foundation’s funds to help him, and needed to make it right. ”

He sighed, the smoke curling into something bitter.

“Come to think of it,” he added. “Gregory had a bad habit of hanging around the pier when it seemed ill advised.”

…

“I was in love. Foolishly, pathetically in love. I gave her the money… in exchange for the title to her 1946 Silver Wraith. Sold it and tucked the money into a high-yield offshore account.”

He paused.

“I do believe I told her about the account. And how to access it.”

“How much would it be worth now?” I asked, my voice rough.

Silas shrugged. “Just under a hundred thousand. Enough to tempt someone desperate. Not enough to kill for.”

“Maybe the deal with Gallows and the invoices is unrelated.” I said, “The journals alone seem to prove Portia’s not the mastermind.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t take over once Belvedere died.” Derek muttered.

“If she’s scrounging for cash, she’s panicking, maybe trying to draw herself away from the epicenter.” Maggie said, not looking up, her fingers moving in Chester’s fur making sure his motor never quit.

“Where’s the key?” I asked, my brain racing through possible hiding spots.

Silas turned to Maggie. “Dear girl… do you remember where I showed you what Annie sent for you?”

Maggie narrowed her eyes, thinking. Then she nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“It’s there.”

We all went quiet for a moment.

“Shouldn’t we get it?” Derek asked. “We don’t know what Portia’s planning.”

Silas floated closer to the window, the night leaked in behind him like ink. “Even if she gets to it first,” he said, “I doubt she’d know what to do with it.”

Maggie looked shaken. Chester squirmed in her arms, sensing it too.

Katie took notice, glanced between us, her eyes softer now. “Hey… it’s been a really long day, maybe we should give it a rest for tonight.”

Her voice was quiet. Not dismissive—but gentle. She wasn’t brushing it off. She was giving Maggie a lifeline.

Katie pulled Maggie in close, wrapping an arm around her.

I hadn’t even thought how putting all this information together would affect her.

“You gonna be okay?” Katie asked, rubbing Maggie’s arm.

She nodded once. “Yeah… I think so.”

“I’ll stay,” I said before anyone else could offer. My voice came out firmer than I expected.

Maggie looked at me, like she hadn’t realized how much she needed that until I said it. She didn’t argue.

Katie met my eyes on her way out and gave me a look—soft, knowing, maybe even grateful. “Keep the place standing, jerk,” she said.

“Not making any promises.”

As their footsteps faded down the stairs, as Silas returned to the cubby by the door, the attic went still again. The crime board glowed in the lamplight, casting shadows on the walls. The journals sat stacked, heavy with answers we hadn’t learned yet.

Maggie didn’t speak. Just leaned into the silence, one hand still curled around Chester’s fur, her other hand resting near her heart like it might steady the chaos inside her.

She stood there staring at the board. Tracing the threads over and over. Hoping to make a connection.

I didn’t push. Didn’t ask. Didn’t move.

I stayed quiet.

Some nights, the best way to protect someone was to be there when they collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

And I wasn’t going anywhere.