CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jenna watched as her mother gently guided Piper toward the kitchen, their steps in perfect unison as if they’d never been apart.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Mom said to Piper. “It’s your favorite, remember? Blueberry pancakes with real maple syrup. You always said my pancakes were better than the diner’s.” Her voice carried a fragile hope, as if each shared memory might anchor Piper more firmly to their family.
Piper nodded, her face pale but composed after her episode. “That sounds nice, Mom.” She glanced back at Jenna with those identical green eyes, a silent question in them.
“Jake’s coming to pick me up,” Jenna told her. “And I have to make a quick phone call first. But I’ll be back to see you as soon as I can.”
Piper looked disappointed, but she turned and followed their mom into the kitchen. Once they disappeared, Jenna stepped onto the front porch, closing the door softly behind her. She pulled out her phone and dialed Frank’s number.
“Jenna Marie,” Frank answered, “Everything all right with our girl?”
“Not really.” Jenna sank onto the porch swing, the chains creaking softly above her. “She’s had another... communication.”
“Tell me.”
Jenna took a breath. “Her memory is coming back in pieces. Little things keep surfacing.”
“That sounds like good news.”
“It is. But then, just a few minutes ago, she went into one of those trances again. Like when she said ‘Red is for rage’ right before we found out about Derek Sullivan.” Jenna lowered her voice further, though no one could hear her. “This time she said ‘Green is for envy.’ And Frank...”
“You think there’s been another murder.”
“I know there has. Jake just called me. I don’t know the details yet, but it sounds like the body was wrapped in green yarn. Jake’s coming to pick me up now.”
“So your sister’s definitely not just having random episodes. She’s connecting to specific crimes somehow.”
“I know. That’s why I’m calling. I don’t think she should go to her appointment with Dr. White this morning. Not until we understand what’s happening.”
“Actually,” Frank said, “I think it’s more important than ever that she goes.”
“What? Frank, we can’t expose her like this. What if Dr. White thinks she’s delusional? What if this affects her treatment?”
“Samantha White isn’t just any psychiatrist, Jenna.” Frank’s voice softened. “Remember, I told you our grandmothers were friends. Her family knew all about my grandmother’s abilities. They accepted them, respected them even.”
“You really think Dr. White would understand? These aren’t just... dreams like I have. These are communications while she’s awake.”
“I think Samantha is exactly the person who can help Piper. She’s spent her career studying the intersection between what science can explain and what it can’t yet. Trust me on this.”
Jenna stared out at the quiet street, weighing her options. The thought of exposing Piper’s vulnerability felt like betrayal, yet sheltering her from professional help wasn’t the answer either.
“There’s something else,” Frank continued when Jenna didn’t respond. “Red for rage, green for envy. Those aren’t random colors.”
“They’re emotions,” Jenna agreed. “Whoever is doing this is color-coding the bodies based on something perceived about each victim.”
“Exactly. And that kind of pattern suggests planning, ritualization. This killer isn’t going to stop at two.”
If Frank was right—and Jenna was sure that he was—more deaths would follow, each with its own color, its own assigned emotion. And somehow, Piper was tuned into this twisted frequency.
“So you’re saying that Dr. White needs to know about Piper’s communications because they might continue?” Jenna asked.
“Yes. And because Piper needs someone who can help her process what she’s experiencing without judgment. Someone who understands that some gifts come with terrible burdens.”
Jenna thought of her own lucid dreams, how long it had taken her to accept them as real. How much harder must it be for Piper, whose communications seemed to come without warning, without the protective buffer of sleep?
“Okay,” she finally said.
“I’ll come pick her up in about twenty minutes,” Frank sounded relieved.
“Thank you, Frank. For everything.” She saw Jake’s car pulling up out front. “I’ve got to go,” she told Frank. “Jake’s here.”
“Be careful out there, Jenna Marie. And remember—your sister isn’t causing these deaths. She’s just learning about them somehow.”
“I know.” She ended the call and went to join Jake. Sliding into the passenger seat of his vehicle, she closed the door with a soft thud.
“So Piper knew?” he asked, putting the car into motion.
“Yes. Said ‘Green is for envy’ the same way she said ‘Red is for rage’ about Derek’s murder. And this time she actually saw the victim’s body wrapped in yarn.”
Jenna stared out at the familiar streets of Trentville sliding past, the morning routine of the town—a jogger with a golden retriever, an elderly man retrieving his newspaper, two teenagers waiting for the school bus—all of it suddenly dissonant against the knowledge of what was happening in their little town.
“Who was it this time?” she asked Jake.
“Amanda Hartford.”
“I knew her, at least by reputation. She owned that women’s clothing store downtown until it closed—what, about eight months ago?”
“Hartford’s Closet,” Jake supplied. “She lost it after filing a lawsuit against Heather Banning. Claimed Banning stole her business model, her suppliers, even her display ideas.”
“And she also lost in court,” Jenna added. “I remember it was pretty messy. Lots of talk on TownCircle.”
“Brenda Drummond had a field day with it,” Jake confirmed. “Amanda was working at the discount store out by the highway after that. Register job.”
Jenna felt a pang of empathy. She’d seen Amanda there once, scanning items with mechanical motions, her once-confident posture diminished by the ill-fitting red polo shirt of the store’s uniform. To fall so far, so publicly, in a town with such a long memory—it must have been excruciating.
“Green is for envy,” Jenna repeated softly. “So someone killed Amanda because they thought she was envious of Heather Banning.”
“Or maybe because Amanda’s envy drove her to actions that hurt others,” Jake suggested. “We don’t know the killer’s logic yet.”
“What about our persons of interest?” Jenna asked.
“We’ve had officers watching Brenda Drummond, Roger Dixon, and David Ellington all night. None of them left home.”
“That means we start from scratch,” Jenna said.
They turned onto Maple Street, where three patrol cars were parked in front of a shabby apartment complex.
Yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the morning breeze, creating a barrier between the ordinary world and the horror inside.
As Jake parked, a county medical examiner’s van pulled in behind them.
“Perfect timing,” Jake said, nodding toward the van. “Stark’s here.”
They got out of the car just as Dr. Melissa Stark emerged from the van, her silver hair pulled back in a practical bun, her movements efficient as she instructed her team to bring in their equipment. She spotted Jenna and Jake and approached with a grim smile.
“Sheriff. Deputy.” Her handshake was firm as always. “I’d say good morning, but it clearly isn’t one.”
“Dr. Stark,” Jenna greeted her. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”
“Two murders with creative posthumous decoration in less than a week?” Stark raised an eyebrow. “I’d say that warrants prompt attention.”
They made their way through the gathering of curious neighbors and ducked under the crime scene tape.
The building’s stairwell smelled of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener.
Officer Maria Delgado stood in the second-floor hallway outside an apartment door, her notebook ready as she spoke quietly to a woman in workout clothes.
The woman’s face was ashen, her eyes red-rimmed with pain.
“Sheriff,” Delgado acknowledged Jenna. “This is Cathy Gifford. She found the victim this morning.”
“Ms. Gifford,” Jenna said gently. “I’m Sheriff Graves. This is Deputy Hawkins and Dr. Stark from the medical examiner’s office. I know this is difficult, but we appreciate you staying to speak with us.”
Cathy nodded, wrapping her arms around herself as if cold despite the building’s stuffy warmth. “I didn’t want to leave her alone,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“We’ll talk more in a moment,” Jenna promised. “First, I need to see the scene.”
“I’ll stay with Ms. Gifford,” Delgado said. “Everything inside is untouched.”
Jenna pulled on a pair of latex gloves and paused at the door to look at the lock, where she saw some telltale scratches.
“The lock was picked,” she said.
“And the building has no security system,” Jake added. “She was an easy target.”
Jenna, Jake, and Dr. Stark entered the apartment, leaving Cathy in Delgado’s care.
The small living space was neat but spartan, with furniture that looked too large for the room, as if transplanted from a more spacious home.
Through an open bedroom door, Jenna saw what she’d been dreading since Piper’s whispered message.
Amanda Hartford lay on her back on the carpet, arms stretched outward, green yarn wound elaborately around her body. The vibrant emerald strands encircled her neck multiple times, then branched outward in geometric patterns across her torso, also binding her wrists and ankles.
“Identical presentation to Derek Sullivan,” Dr. Stark said, kneeling beside the body. She examined the ligature marks on Amanda’s neck. “Strangulation, like the other case. Lividity suggests she’s been dead approximately eight to ten hours.”
Melissa Stark’s voice took on the sardonic edge that came from decades of seeing the worst humanity had to offer. “Trentville has its very own serial killer. Again. You folks certainly keep me busy for such a small town.”
As Dr. Stark's team began their meticulous work, Jenna and Jake stepped back into the hallway where Cathy Gifford waited, her complexion still ghost-white beneath her practical bob haircut. Officer Delgado moved aside to be out of the way.
“Ms. Gifford,” Jenna said, guiding her a few steps away from the apartment door, “can you tell us exactly what happened this morning?”
Cathy nodded, visibly gathering herself. “Amanda and I walk together three mornings a week. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays. It was my idea—to give her some structure, get her out of the apartment. She’s been... struggling since losing her store.”
“And when you arrived this morning?”
“She didn’t answer when I knocked. That’s not too unusual—she’s not a morning person, especially lately. I have a key.” Cathy’s voice caught. “When I opened the door, it was dark inside. I called for her, checked the kitchen, then... I saw her on the bedroom floor.”
Jake’s expression softened with empathy. “Did you touch anything? Move anything?”
“I checked for a pulse.” A tear slipped down Cathy’s cheek. “I knew she was gone, but I had to be sure.”
“Of course,” Jake assured her. “That’s perfectly understandable.”
“Ms. Gifford,” Jenna said carefully, “did Amanda have any connection to Derek Sullivan? The man who was murdered earlier this week?”
Cathy’s brow furrowed in concentration. “Not that I know of. I mean, Trentville’s not huge, so everyone knows everyone to some degree, but I can’t think of any specific connection.”
She paused, then added, “Actually, wait. There might be something. Amanda mentioned seeing him at the Community Wellness Center a few months ago. She was attending a program there—anger management. The lawsuit and losing the store... it left her with a lot of rage.” Her voice broke slightly on the word.
“She said Derek was in her group. But that was back in June, I think.”
Jenna and Jake exchanged glances. Was a new puzzle piece falling into place?
“Thank you, Ms. Gifford. That’s extremely helpful,” Jenna told her. “We’ll need you to come to the station later to give a formal statement, but for now, is there someone who can stay with you? This is a lot to process.”
“My husband,” Cathy said. “He’s on his way. He’ll take me home.”
After thanking her again, Jenna and Jake headed back to their vehicle. “So the killer was able to pick the lock,” Jenna commented, “then locked the door when they left.”
“Cool-headed,” Jake observed. “So our next stop is Heather Banning?”
“And then the Community Wellness Center,” Jenna said as they buckled in.
As Jake pulled away from the curb, Jenna’s thoughts turned to Piper, probably still sitting in their old room, perhaps still feeling the echoes of Amanda Hartford’s final moments.
What would these communications do to her sister’s fragile recovery?
How many more would come before they caught this killer?
“You okay?” Jake asked, glancing over as he drove toward Main Street, where Banning’s Finds would be opening for the day.
“I’m worried about Piper,” Jenna admitted. “These episodes—they take a toll on her. And I’m afraid they’re only going to get worse before this is over.”
Jake’s hand briefly left the steering wheel to squeeze her arm, a small gesture of support that spoke volumes. “We’ll figure this out, Jenna. Both the murders and how to help your sister.”
Jenna tried to draw comfort from his certainty as they headed toward Heather Banning's shop, but her mind kept circling back to the same troubling thought: Why was her newly returned sister receiving a killer's twisted messages like a human antenna tuned to violence?