CHAPTER SIX
As Jake guided the patrol car through Trentville’s tree-lined streets, Jenna’s mind still lingered in her childhood bedroom where Piper had spoken those strange words—”Red is for rage”—just moments before Jake’s call about Derek Sullivan’s murder.
She needed to talk to Frank Doyle. The man who had been Sheriff before her was still her mentor and friend. He’d been texting her every few hours since she’d found Piper, hungry for updates but too considerate to intrude on their reunion.
Now she needed to not only enlist his help, but to prepare him for what was going on at her mother’s house.
When she reached for her phone, and punched in the number, Jake asked, “You calling Frank?”
“Yes, he’s been wanting to help out, but I just haven’t had time to fill him in.”
“He’ll be glad to hear from you.”
Frank answered on the first ring. “Jenna Marie,” he said, his voice warm with concern. “How’s our girl doing?”
The familiar use of her middle name steadied Jenna.
“She’s better than I expected in some ways, worse in others.”
“How so?”
“Physically, she’s all right. Underweight, some signs of malnutrition, but nothing critical. Mentally...” She hesitated, unsure how to describe her sister’s fractured memory and the strange episode she’d just witnessed.
“Give it time,” Frank said. “Twenty years is a long time to be gone.”
“That’s just it. She doesn’t remember most of those years.
Just fragments. She called herself Emma, perhaps she went by other names as well.
” Jenna swallowed against the tightness in her throat.
“Dr. White at the hospital thinks Mom’s house is the best place for her right now—somewhere familiar, with people who care about her.
But she doesn’t want Mom to be alone in this. ”
“Do you want me to help with that, Jenna? The news of Derek Sullivan’s murder is all over town.”
“It would be great if you could just check in on them regularly—make sure they’re both doing okay. By the way, Dr. White specifically gave her approval of you.”
“Me?” Frank sounded surprised. “She recommended me?”
“Said she knew you since she was a girl. That you’d be perfect because...”
“Our grandmothers were close friends,” Frank finished for her.
“Yes, that’s exactly what she said. And she added that you come from a family that has insights.”
“Grandmothers,” he said with a laugh. “As you know, my own grandmother had a touch of the sight herself. Called it a burden and a blessing in equal measure. So perhaps hers did too.” There was a brief pause, then Frank’s voice returned, stronger.
“Of course I’ll look in on them. I’m glad you finally asked. ”
As Jake turned the car onto Maple Street, Jenna watched the neighborhood shift from the older Victorian homes near the town center to the more modest post-war houses where Brenda Drummond lived.
She felt a flutter of anxiety at the approaching confrontation with the woman who was also her former schoolteacher.
“There’s something else you should know,” she continued telling Frank. “Something happened with Piper right before Jake called me about Derek Sullivan.”
“What kind of something?” Frank’s tone sharpened with interest.
“She had an... episode. Like she was receiving a message. She went pale, started shaking, and said ‘Red is for rage’ a couple of times. And then, minutes later, Jake called about Derek’s murder.
” Jenna glanced at Jake, who gave her a grim nod.
“Later I learned Derek’s body was found with red yarn wrapped all around him.
I can’t help thinking there’s a connection. ”
Frank was quiet for a long moment. “I’ll keep an eye out for moments like that,” he finally said. “If she has another one, I’ll let you know right away.”
“Thanks, Frank. I don’t know what any of this means yet, but...”
“But your sister apparently also has a gift, and she might be trying to tell us something important,” Frank concluded. “Don’t worry, Jenna Marie. Between us, we’ll figure it out.”
The SUV slowed as they approached a modest ranch-style home with meticulous flower beds bordering the front walkway. Despite the cheerful yellow paint, the house projected a stern austerity that perfectly matched its owner.
“We’re here,” Jenna told Frank. “I’ll call you later with more details.”
“Be careful,” Frank replied before hanging up.
Jake parked at the curb and killed the engine. “You ready for this?”
Jenna sighed, tucking her phone away. “As ready as I’ll ever be to face Ms. Drummond again.”
The last time she’d spoken to Brenda Drummond had been during a noise complaint at the community center. The retired teacher had lectured her for a solid ten minutes about proper decibel levels as if Jenna were still sixteen and had been caught passing notes in her English class.
They approached the front door, and Jake rang the bell. Jenna smoothed her shirt, suddenly self-conscious about the wrinkles that had accumulated during her emotional morning with Piper.
The door swung open to reveal Brenda Drummond, her thin frame rigid in a crisp blouse and slacks that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a classroom twenty years ago. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, magnifying eyes that missed nothing.
“Sheriff Graves,” she said, her gaze flicking from Jenna to Jake and back again. “And Deputy Hawkins. I’ve been expecting you.”
Jenna felt herself straightening instinctively, as if preparing for a pop quiz. “Ms. Drummond. We need to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“About Derek Sullivan’s murder, I presume.” The older woman’s mouth thinned into a line that Jenna remembered all too well—the expression that preceded a cutting remark about sloppy work or missed deadlines. “News travels fast in Trentville, and now the rumor mill is working overtime.”
“That’s partially why we’re here,” Jake said. “We’d like to know more about those rumors.”
Ms. Drummond’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she stepped back, opening the door wider. “Very well. We can talk in my office. I moderate TownCircle from there.”
She led them through the living room, and Jenna’s attention caught on the framed photographs lining the walls and crowding every flat surface.
Family portraits, vacation photos, a few with students, and most surprisingly, wedding pictures—Ms. Drummond in white beside a tall man with a receding hairline and a nervous smile.
Jenna knew that Brenton Drummond had left her for his twenty-seven-year-old secretary nearly a decade ago, a scandal that had fueled local discussions for months.
But instead of removing all evidence of their marriage, Ms. Drummond had preserved it, as if erasing those memories would be admitting defeat.
These weren’t the tokens of denial, Jenna realized, but of defiance.
“Your house is lovely,” Jake offered politely as they passed through a dining room with a china cabinet full of delicate teacups.
“It’s adequate,” Ms. Drummond replied without turning. “Unlike some, I don’t need excessive space or luxury to be content.”
They entered a small room at the back of the house that had clearly once been a sunroom but now functioned as an office. A computer desk dominated the space, which also held filing cabinets and bookshelves stuffed with local history volumes and what appeared to be decades of teaching materials.
“Please, sit,” Ms. Drummond gestured to two chairs opposite her desk. They looked uncomfortable, and Jenna suspected that was intentional—a way to keep visitors from staying too long.
As they settled into the hard seats, Ms. Drummond took her place behind the computer, her posture impeccable. “I understand congratulations are in order,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “Your sister has returned after being gone for twenty years. How remarkable.”
The words were correct, but the tone carried an unmistakable note of suspicion that set Jenna’s teeth on edge.
“Yes, we found her living with an elderly farmer, taking care of him and helping with his garden.” Jenna replied, keeping her voice neutral. “She’s staying with our mother now.”
“I’m sure she has quite a story to tell,” Ms. Drummond said. “Twenty years is a long time to be missing without a single phone call home. She must have a lot of explaining to do.”
Jake shifted beside Jenna, sensing her tension.
“Actually,” Jenna said carefully, “Piper doesn’t remember much of what happened during those years. She was living under a different name, suffering from a condition that affected her memory.”
Ms. Drummond made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.
“How convenient. Perhaps she simply needs the right person to help her remember. I’ve always had a knack for getting the truth out of reluctant students.
” She leaned forward slightly. “Piper was always the more troublesome of you two. Though you certainly gave me your share of headaches, Sheriff.”
The pointed use of her title—a reminder that Jenna’s authority meant little in this room—stung more than it should have. Jenna forced herself to stay focused.
“The trouble with Piper,” Ms. Drummond continued, “is that she was spoiled. As were you. As are most children in Trentville. Never held accountable for their actions, never facing real consequences.”
“Ms. Drummond,” Jenna cut in, “we’re not here to discuss Piper or my childhood. We’re here about Derek Sullivan.”
“Are you?” The older woman’s eyebrows arched. “I thought perhaps you’d come to discuss the other rumors circulating on TownCircle. The ones about you and your... unusual connection to the growing violence in our town.”
Jenna felt her face warm. Of course there would be talk about her.
There always had been, ever since she became sheriff and started solving cases that had stumped others.
Those rumors had mounted during the last few months, along with the rising tide of murder.
Small towns bred suspicion like mold in a damp basement.
“What can you tell us about any rumors regarding Derek Sullivan’s murder?” Jake asked, smoothly redirecting the conversation.
Ms. Drummond turned to her computer and clicked through several screens.
"TownCircle has been exceptionally active since this morning.
The first post appeared at 6:17 a.m., just after the body was discovered by a jogger.
" She swiveled the monitor toward them. "As you can see, misinformation spreads quickly. "
Jenna leaned forward, scanning the posts.
People were already speculating wildly—claiming Derek had been part of a drug ring, that he’d owed money to dangerous people, that he was involved with a married woman whose husband had snapped.
But what made her stomach clench was the accurate information scattered among the falsehoods.
“They already know about the red yarn?” she commented, pointing to a post that described, with disturbing accuracy, how Derek’s body had been found wrapped in crimson strands.
“People talk, Sheriff. The first responders talk to their spouses, who talk to their friends, who post on TownCircle.” Ms. Drummond’s thin lips curved in what might have been a smile on someone else. “Information is like water. It finds every crack and seeps through.”
Of course Jenna knew that Ms. Drummond was right. And of course the dog walker who had discovered the body was not likely to keep such details to himself. As usual, she was going to have to cope with public perceptions while actively investigating the murder.
“I understand you had an interaction with Derek Sullivan at the Centaur’s Den last night,” Jenna said. “Can you tell us about that?”
The change was immediate. Ms. Drummond’s spine stiffened further, her chin lifting in defiance. “Am I a suspect, Sheriff Graves? Is that really why you’re here—to accuse me of murder?”
“No one’s accusing you of anything,” Jenna replied, keeping her voice even. “We’re speaking to everyone who saw Derek in his final hours.”
“This is typical,” Ms. Drummond huffed. “Someone in this town does the difficult work of holding others accountable, and what happens? They become a target. This is nothing but persecution for the good I do in this community.”
Jake leaned forward, his tone calm but firm. “Ma’am, we’re just trying to establish a timeline. Any information you have could be helpful.”
Ms. Drummond’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses, her gaze calculating. After a long moment, she seemed to come to a decision.
“Very well. I’ll tell you what happened between Derek Sullivan and me last night.” She removed her glasses, polishing them deliberately with a cloth she produced from a drawer. “And I believe what I’m about to tell you will put a certain suspect at the very top of your list.”