CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Frank Doyle cast occasional glances at the silent woman in the passenger seat of his car. As he wove carefully through the morning traffic of Trentville, Piper Graves just stared out the passenger window.
Frank had known Jenna’s twin as a young teenager, but after she’d returned he’d been struck by both the uncanny resemblance to Jenna and the strange sense of otherness that clung to Piper.
While Jenna could command attention with the sheer force of her personality, Piper reminded him of a figure in an old photograph, present yet somehow disconnected from the world around her.
“Beautiful day,” he offered, breaking the silence that had stretched between them since leaving the Graves home ten minutes earlier. “September’s always been my favorite month in Missouri. Not too hot, not too cold.”
Piper nodded, a slight movement that acknowledged his words without inviting further conversation.
“Dr. White is good people,” he continued, determined to draw her out. “Known her since we were both youngsters. Her family’s been in Trentville almost as long as mine. I’m glad you’re seeing her. She’s sure to be a great help.”
This time, Piper turned slightly toward him, her green eyes—so like Jenna’s—focusing briefly on his face before drifting away again. “Mom said you’ve been helping Jenna with her investigations,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “With solving those murders.”
“Not officially,” Frank corrected gently. “I’m retired now. Just offering perspective when she asks for it. So your Mom told you about the case?”
“Yes,” Piper replied. “Mom told me about the deaths, and what those things I said had to do with them. And Mom also said that Jenna has experiences something like mine.”
“Your mom explained all of that to you, too?”
“Jenna told me, but then she had to leave. Mom filled in a lot of the details. Like it only happens for Jenna when she’s asleep. And only dead people talk to her. And that it helps her solve crimes.”
Piper’s next words came so softly that Frank almost missed them.
“But it could be my fault they got killed—these two people the last couple of days.” A single tear traced down her cheek. “I never should have come back.”
Frank’s foot jerked involuntarily toward the brake before he caught himself.
He glanced sharply at Piper, who had drawn her knees up to her chest, making herself smaller in the passenger seat.
He steered the car onto a side street and pulled over, putting the vehicle in park before turning to face her directly. “Piper, look at me.”
Reluctantly, she met his gaze, her eyes swimming with unshed tears.
“Those deaths are not your fault,” Frank said firmly.
“The only person responsible for murder is the one who commits it. Period. Sometimes knowing things others don’t can feel like a burden.
Like you’re carrying something heavy that nobody else can see.
But knowing is not the same as causing something to happen. ”
“You sound like you understand.”
“I’ve known other people with gifts similar to yours. My grandmother, for one. She knew things she shouldn’t have known. Saw things no one else could see.”
“Was she afraid of her gift? Did she think she was...” Piper’s voice faltered.
“Crazy?” Frank supplied gently. “No. Frightened sometimes, sure. But not crazy. Just tuned to a different frequency than most folks.” He allowed himself a small smile. “She called it her ‘extra sense’—like having eyes in the back of her head, only better.”
“Wendell, too. He had visions, heard voices,” she said. “He said that was why I was drawn to him. Do you …?”
“I don’t have a drop of it myself. Until you came home, I hadn’t met anybody except Jenna who does, other than my grandmother. What I do know is that having a sense about things—even terrible things—doesn’t make you responsible for them. If anything, it might help us stop more from happening.”
“How?”
“Your sister is a damn good sheriff,” Frank said.
“Best I’ve ever seen, and I don’t say that lightly.
But even the best investigators need every tool they can get.
She uses the messages she gets for the good of everybody.
But her insights don’t cover everything.
They haven’t told her about these new murders.
What you’re experiencing—your messages or feelings—could be exactly what Jenna needs to catch whoever’s doing this. ”
Piper wiped at her tears. “You think what I... sense could help her?”
“I do think so. But first you should talk to Dr. White about how you can deal with them,” Frank advised.
“She’ll help you sort through what’s happening.
Then you and Jenna can put your heads together.
” He reached across the console and squeezed her hand briefly.
“You’re back with your family now, and we all welcome you here. ”
Some of the tension seemed to ease from her shoulders, and Frank took that as his cue to resume their journey. He pulled back onto the road, and they drove the remaining distance in a silence that felt less oppressive than before.
Trentville Memorial Hospital soon rose before them, a four-story brick building with wings extending like arms from the central structure.
Frank found a parking space near the main entrance and led Piper through automatic doors into the antiseptic-scented interior.
He nodded to the security guard, a former deputy who’d retired, and guided Piper toward the bank of elevators.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and they stepped inside.
Frank pressed the button for the third floor, watching as the numbers above the door lit up in sequence.
The psychiatric wing was painted in soothing shades of blue and green, with landscape photographs hanging at intervals along the corridor.
Frank led Piper past a small waiting area where two people sat thumbing through outdated magazines, to a door with a discreet brass nameplate: “Dr. Samantha White, M.D., Psychiatry.”
Frank knocked gently, and a moment later, the door swung open to reveal Dr. White—a tall woman in her mid-sixties with silver hair cropped close to her head and kind eyes behind tortoiseshell glasses.
She wore a simple navy pantsuit rather than a white coat, her only concession to her medical role the stethoscope peeking from her pocket.
“Frank,” she greeted warmly, then turned to Piper with a gentle smile. “And Piper. It’s good to see you again.”
Piper nodded, accepting the doctor’s extended hand.
Dr. White stood back, gesturing toward her office. “Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable.”
Before Piper could step forward, Frank cleared his throat. “Actually, Doc, I was hoping I could have a quick word with you too.”
“Of course,” Dr. White said smoothly. “You can come in with us for a few minutes, and then I’ll talk with Piper alone.”
They followed Dr. White into her office, closing the door.
The room was exactly as Frank remembered from his occasional visits over the years—bookshelves lining two walls, a window overlooking the hospital gardens, a desk positioned to allow the doctor to sit beside patients rather than across from them.
The overall effect was one of comfortable authority rather than clinical sterility.
“What’s troubling you, Frank?” Dr. White asked, gesturing for her visitors to take two comfortable chairs while she settled into her own chair.
“Some stuff has been happening since you last saw Piper. More of her … communications. But these are different.”
Dr. White’s expression remained neutral, but her eyes sharpened with interest. “Go on.”
“Yesterday, she told us ‘Red is for rage’ just before Jenna got the call about Derek Sullivan’s murder.
His body was found wrapped in red yarn.” Frank paused, watching recognition dawn on the doctor’s face.
“And this morning, Piper said ‘Green is for envy.’ Then we learned that Amanda Hartford was found strangled and wrapped in green yarn.”
“I see,” Dr. White said thoughtfully. “And Piper, were you aware of these connections?”
“No,” Piper replied softly. “Not until Mom explained them this morning.”
“I just wanted to make sure you understood,” Frank said, “because Piper’s worried that she brought some kind of darkness with her when she returned to Trentville.”
Dr. White nodded slowly. “Not an uncommon reaction for someone experiencing what she perceives as dangerous psychic phenomena. The sense of responsibility can be overwhelming.”
“You don’t seem surprised by any of this,” Frank observed.
A smile touched the doctor’s lips. “Frank, I’ve known your family for six decades.
I remember your grandmother Esther very well.
My own grandmother spoke of her with great respect.
And I’ve suspected for some time that Sheriff Graves has her own version of it.
There are rumors about how she solves cases—knows things she shouldn’t possibly know. ”
“Jenna does have abilities,” Frank confirmed quietly. “But different from Piper’s. I’ll get out of here now and let you two continue this conversation.”
As Frank got to his feet, Piper looked up a bit anxiously.
“I’ll be sitting right outside until you’re finished,” Frank said. “It’s going to be okay, Piper.”
Frank stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
He settled into the waiting chair, suddenly feeling every one of his sixty-five years.
The weight of responsibility felt heavy—for Jenna, for Piper, for all three Graves women who seemed caught in some terrible pattern of mystery and pain.
He’d failed to find Piper when she went missing twenty years ago. He’d watched Greg Graves die without ever knowing what happened to his daughter. He’d seen Margaret withdraw into a shell of grief and alcohol before slowly emerging in recent months.
And now Piper had returned, but instead of the happy ending they’d all hoped for, there were new mysteries, new fears. A killer who wrapped victims in colored yarn. And Piper sensing when those murders had happened.
He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
Somewhere in Trentville, a killer was selecting victims, choosing colors, planning.
And here in this hospital corridor, an old ex-sheriff sat powerless, waiting for a damaged woman to emerge from therapy while her sister hunted a murderer.
Frank found himself, for the first time in years, saying a silent prayer—that Piper’s return to Trentville would not end in greater tragedy for the Graves family.
That Jenna’s strength wouldn’t falter under this new burden.
That the darkness, whatever it was, could be pushed back into the shadows where it belonged.