CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Trentville Community Wellness Center was a long single-story building of red brick and large tinted glass windows.
As Jake pulled into a parking space near the main entrance, Jenna could make out the shapes of people moving in what appeared to be synchronized motions—a class of some kind in progress.
“I’ve known the director of the center for a long time,” Jenna told Jake. “Maybe Elena can help.”
They got out of the car and went inside the center, where lobby walls were decorated with local artwork and posters promoting wellness programs. A young woman looked up from the reception desk. “Sheriff Graves. How can I help you?”
“We’re looking for Elena Bowers,” Jenna replied.
“The director is finishing up her women’s self-defense class in Studio Three.” The receptionist gestured toward a hallway. “Should be done in about five minutes, if you want to wait.”
“We’ll head that way, thanks.”
They walked down the corridor, passing rooms where yoga mats lay stacked against walls and fitness equipment waited in orderly rows.
Jenna had been here a few times before—once for a community outreach event, and twice when the center had hosted blood drives.
The place always struck her as well-maintained.
A chorus of voices pulled her attention toward an open door near the end of the hall. Inside, a group of women of varying ages stood in a loose circle, their focus trained on their leader, who demonstrated a defensive stance.
“Remember,” Elena Bowers was saying, her voice clear and authoritative, “it’s not about matching strength for strength.
It’s about leverage and surprise.” She motioned for a volunteer, and a woman in her twenties stepped forward.
“Samantha’s going to grab my wrist, and I’ll show you again how to break that hold without using brute force. ”
Jenna leaned against the doorframe, watching as Elena deftly twisted her arm and body in a fluid motion that left her attacker off-balance.
Despite being in her mid-forties, Elena moved with the confidence of someone who had spent years honing her physical skills.
Her dark hair was cut short and she wore simple black exercise clothes that emphasized her lean, athletic build.
“Perfect,” Elena said, steadying the volunteer. “And that’s why we practice these moves until they become muscle memory. In a real situation, you won’t have time to think.” She glanced toward the door, noticing Jenna and Jake for the first time, then smiled and returned her attention to the class.
“Let’s wrap up for today, ladies. Practice those wrist breaks with a partner before next week. And remember, awareness is your first line of defense.” She clapped her hands once. “Great work today.”
The group began to disperse, some women gathering bags from the side of the room, others lingering to ask Elena questions. Jenna and Jake waited, exchanging brief nods with those who passed by.
Then Elena approached them, wiping her brow with a small towel. “Sheriff, Deputy. This is an unexpected surprise. Is it about what I think it is?”
“Derek Sullivan and Amanda Hartford,” Jenna confirmed. “We’re talking to people who might have had contact with them.”
“It’s awful, isn’t it? The whole town’s on edge.” Elena glanced around, noting a few remaining students gathering their belongings. “We can talk in my office.”
She led them down the hall to a modest space with a desk, several visitor chairs, and a wall of certifications and photographs. Jenna noticed a framed picture of Elena with a younger woman who bore a striking resemblance to her.
“That’s Sophie, isn’t it?” Jenna said quietly.
“My sister,” Elena said with a nod.
“She looks like you,” Jenna replied, recalling the story. Sophie Bowers had committed suicide four years ago after struggling with mental health issues. Jenna remembered Sophie well. She was a kind and generous soul who was especially close to Jenna’s mom, but she was deeply troubled.
The loss had hit Elena hard—it was one of those tragedies that had rippled through the community, prompting whispered conversations about signs that had been missed, interventions that had come too late.
Elena sat behind her desk and took a quick sip of water from a stainless steel bottle. “What can I tell you about Derek and Amanda? I didn’t know either of them very well personally.”
Jake said, “We understand they both attended anger management workshops here at the center.”
“Yes, I believe that’s right,” Elena replied as she put down her water bottle.
“Those sessions are run by Paula Boatman. She’s a licensed psychologist who volunteers her time here, and she’s very good at her practice.
In fact, Paula was an incredible help to me after Sophie died.
I don’t know how I would have gotten through that time without her professional guidance. ”
“Paula Boatman,” Jenna repeated, the name triggering a memory. “Wasn’t she the one who tried to launch that anti-bullying and mental health program for the schools a few years back?”
“Yes, the one that didn’t get fully implemented. There was some controversy about funding allocation, if I recall correctly. Paula took it hard. Actually, she’s here today. Setting up for one of her sessions right now, I believe.”
Jenna felt a prickle of interest. Paula Boatman had been publicly criticized for her handling of the anti-bullying program—accused of overstepping and mismanaging resources.
The whole thing had been messy, playing out both on TownCircle and in tense school board meetings.
Paula had eventually withdrawn from public view, and Jenna hadn’t heard much about her since.
“We’d like to speak with her, if possible,” Jenna said.
"Of course." Elena stood and beckoned to Jenna and Jake. "I'll show you the way. By the way, Jenna, I hear that your sister has returned. That's so amazing. I hope she's doing well."
“She’s … recovering,” Jenna said.
They followed Elena down another corridor to a room at the back of the building.
Through the window in the door, Jenna could see a woman arranging chairs in a circle.
Paula Boatman looked older than Jenna remembered—her brown hair now streaked liberally with gray, her frame thinner.
There was still a certain rigidity in her posture that Jenna associated with people who held themselves under tight control.
Elena knocked lightly before pushing the door open. “Paula? Sheriff Graves and Deputy Hawkins would like to speak with you.”
Paula turned, her expression shifting from surprise to something more guarded. “Sheriff. Deputy.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Elena. “Is everything all right?”
“They’re here about Derek and Amanda,” Elena explained, stepping into the room. “I confirmed that they attended your workshops.”
“Yes, they did.” Paula studied Jenna with keen eyes. “This is about their murders, I assume?”
“That’s right,” Jenna confirmed.
“I hope you can help them, Paula,” Elena said. She checked her watch. “I should let you all talk. I’ve got administrative duties calling my name.” She turned to Jenna. “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help with the investigation.”
“Thanks again,” Paula called after the director as she left.
Then she looked at her visitors and said, “Elena was the one who suggested I volunteer here when my school program fell apart. She recognized that I needed a way to channel my expertise.” With a tight smile she added, “Ironically, running anger management workshops proved to be exactly the therapy I needed for my own anger issues after that public failure.”
Paula gestured to the circle of chairs. “Please, have a seat. My group doesn’t start for a few minutes.”
They each took a chair, and Paula commented, “These murders have been deeply disturbing. Especially knowing that both victims participated in my workshops. I want to help however I can.”
“How long had Derek and Amanda been attending your sessions?” Jenna asked.
“Derek had been coming for about four months, on and off. More off than on, to be honest. Court-mandated after his last assault charge.” Paula’s expression remained professionally neutral.
“Amanda joined about two months ago. Voluntary, in her case. She was dealing with... significant anger issues related to her business failure.”
Jenna watched Paula closely as she spoke. There was a clinical detachment that made her assessments sound cold. That earlier comment about overcoming her “own anger issues” had also seemed performative rather than genuine.
“Did you notice any particular tensions between Derek and Amanda during these sessions?” Jake asked.
Paula shook her head. “They didn’t interact much, actually.
Different types of anger, different triggers.
Derek’s issues stemmed primarily from alcohol and impulse control.
Amanda’s were more complex—resentment, envy, a sense of injustice.
” She adjusted her glasses. “I try to create a safe space for people to express themselves, but I also maintain clear boundaries. Group therapy works best when it doesn’t become a venue for new conflicts. ”
“Were there any incidents during the sessions that stand out in your mind?” Jenna pressed. “Arguments, unusual behaviors, threats?”
Paula hesitated. “I’m usually bound by confidentiality, as I’m sure you understand.
But given the circumstances...” She sighed.
“Derek had an outburst about three weeks ago. Nothing physical, but he verbally lashed out at another participant who suggested his drinking was the root of his problems. Amanda, on the other hand, tended to direct her anger outside the group—at Heather Banning specifically, and at the community in general for what she perceived as abandonment.”
“Did either of them ever express feelings that made you concerned for their safety or the safety of others?” Jenna asked.
“Not in any way that exceeded the norm for people in anger management,” Paula replied carefully.
“Many participants express feelings of rage, resentment, even passing violent thoughts. That’s why they’re there—to learn healthier coping mechanisms. But I never observed anything in either Derek or Amanda that suggested they were at imminent risk of harming themselves or others. ”
Jenna leaned forward slightly. “We’d like a list of the other people who attended sessions with Derek and Amanda. Their lives could potentially be in danger.”
Paula’s posture stiffened. “That’s highly confidential information, Sheriff. These are people who come to me in trust, often at vulnerable points in their lives.”
“I understand your concern for their privacy,” Jenna said.
“But we have a killer who’s targeting specific individuals for reasons we don’t yet understand.
Your workshops appear to be the only connection between Derek and Amanda.
If there’s a pattern, we need to identify it before someone else dies.
One of these people might be the killer—or the next targeted victim. ”
Paula held Jenna’s gaze for a long moment, then gave in. “You’re right, of course. This is an exceptional circumstance.” She turned to a leather bag beside her chair and extracted a notebook. “I’ll write down the names of regular attendees from the past six months.”
After a few minutes she tore the page from her notebook and gave it to Jenna.
“There are twelve names, including Derek and Amanda. I’ve marked the three individuals who displayed the most significant hostility or resistance during sessions.
Not that I believe they’re in any danger—or pose any danger—but you asked for notable interactions. ”
Jenna scanned the list, recognizing several names from around town. “Thank you, this is helpful.”
“One more question, Dr. Boatman,” Jake said. “Where were you on the nights Derek Sullivan and Amanda Hartford were killed?”
Paula’s eyebrows rose slightly, but her expression remained composed. “I understand that you need to ask that. I was at home both nights with my husband, George. Last night, when Amanda died, we were home watching a documentary series we’ve been following.”
“Can your husband confirm that?” Jenna asked.
“Of course.” Paula reached for her phone. “Would you like me to call him now?”
Jenna nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
Paula dialed, putting the phone on speaker as it rang. A male voice answered.
“Hey, honey, what’s up?”
“George, I’m here with Sheriff Graves and Deputy Hawkins,” Paula told him. “They’re investigating the recent murders and need to confirm where I was last night and the night before that.”
There was a brief pause. “Oh, um, okay. Yeah, you were home with me both nights. The night before last was our movie night—we watched that thriller you’d been wanting to see. And last night we were catching up on that NASA documentary series.”
“You’re certain about that?” Jake asked.
“Absolutely,” George replied, his voice growing more confident. “Is everything okay? Paula’s not in any trouble, is she?”
“No trouble,” Jenna assured him. “We’re just being thorough. Thank you for your time, Mr. Boatman.”
After Paula ended the call, she looked up at them. “Satisfied?”
Standing as she noticed people beginning to gather outside the room, Jenna replied, “Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Boatman. If you think of anything else that might be relevant, please call me directly.” She handed Paula her card.
“Of course.”
Back in the car, Jenna buckled her seatbelt and sat in silence as Jake started the engine.
“You’re not buying her story,” Jake said as he pulled out of the parking lot.
“A husband’s alibi isn’t worth much,” Jenna replied.
“You think Paula could be our killer?”
“She has the psychological training to understand what drives people like Derek and Amanda. Rage. Envy. And she has a history of public humiliation that could have left her with deep-seated resentment.”
“Plus that comment about overcoming her own anger issues,” Jake added. “Seemed a little too convenient.”
“Too rehearsed,” Jenna agreed. “Like she was trying to preemptively remove herself from our suspect list. We should have someone watch her, just like we’re doing with Heather Banning.”
“I’ll arrange it when we get to the station.”
That felt right to Jenna. They had to keep an eye on any suspect, follow any lead, because she felt sure this killer would strike again, and probably soon.
Two victims, two colors: Red for rage. Green for envy. The yarn wasn’t just a signature—it was a message. But what color might come next? What meaning? What person struggling with strong emotions was already in terrible danger?