CHAPTER FIVE
Jenna’s mind churned through the events of the morning as she drove toward Keir Kingsley's business on the outskirts of town.
Finding Claudia's body, the match with Piper's vision—all of it coalesced into a dark certainty that this case would test the limits of both conventional police work and her own unorthodox insights.
She glanced at Jake in the passenger seat. “I guess it’s time for a phone call that I don’t want to make.”
“Mayor Simmons?” he asked.
“That’s the one. Can you get her on speakerphone?”
“She's going to want details,” he said as he used his phone to place the call.
After a couple of rings, Mayor Simmons's crisp voice filled the car. “Deputy Hawkins, pleasant news, I hope.”
“Mayor,” Jenna cut in, keeping her eyes on the road, “it's Sheriff Graves as well. I'm afraid not.”
A brief pause. “I'm listening.”
“There's been another murder in Trentville. Claudia Kingsley was found dead this morning at her home.”
The silence on the other end lasted just long enough for Jenna to know that the mayor was processing the political implications. When she finally replied, Claire's voice had taken on the tone of official concern.
“My God. Details, please, Sheriff. When was she found? How did she die?”
“Claudia was found on her property at the edge of town. Dr. Stark’s preliminary findings indicate that she was killed sometime yesterday evening, probably with the injection of a toxin. The body was posed in a ritualistic manner.”
“Posed how?” Claire pressed.
Jenna took a deep breath, then told her, “Claudia’s body was found inside a large burlap bag, hanging from the branch of a tree. Some effort had been made to make the bag resemble a wolf.”
Clair’s gasp was quite real.
Jenna added tersely, “Mayor, I need your word that this information stays confidential. The last thing we need is panic or sensationalism contaminating the investigation.”
A sharp, humorless laugh came through the speaker. “Sheriff Graves, I appreciate your concern, but I will do and say whatever I think is best for the people of Trentville. That's my job. Just as it's your job to solve this case quickly and discreetly.”
When Jenna made no reply, Claire snapped, “Keep me updated. Hourly, if necessary,” then ended the call.
Jake said, “That went about as well as expected.”
“She's worried about optics,” Jenna muttered. “Always.”
Then Jenna’s phone rang. She handed it to Jake, who checked the screen. “Colonel Spelling,” he said.
“We’ll answer that one,” she said with relief. Colonel Chadwick “Chad” Spelling, Superintendent of the Missouri State Highway Patrol, was one of the law-enforcement people she genuinely respected—and one of only six people who knew about her gift.
“Colonel Spelling,” Jenna said when Jake accepted the call for her. “You’re on speakerphone, and Jake’s here too.
“Sheriff Graves,” his deep voice replied. “Deputy Hawkins. I've received word there's been another murder in Trentville. Thought I'd check in personally.”
“Yes,” Jenna confirmed. “Claudia Kingsley was found this morning. We're headed to speak with her estranged husband now.”
“Is there anything the Highway Patrol can assist with?”
“Not yet, but I may need your help as the investigation develops. The body was uniquely disguised and posed. Jake can send you the photos.”
They were all quiet while Jake passed along the images. After a few moments Spelling asked, “Have you had any dreams about this one, Sheriff?”
“No, I haven’t,” Jenna replied. “But there's something else you should know. My sister, Piper, is home after twenty years.”
“Your twin?” Spelling's surprise was evident. “The one who disappeared when you were teenagers?”
“Yes. And Colonel, she has abilities similar to mine, except she experiences them while awake. She did have a vision about having to cut open a wolf’s belly. So far, she hasn’t given us much to go on, but...”
“But the fact that she can do that is something,” Spelling finished for her. “Your gift has proven valuable. I suspect your sister's might be equally important.” He paused. “Sheriff Graves, I want you to know that if you need backup—officially or otherwise—you have my full support.”
The sincerity in his voice touched her. “Thank you, Colonel. That means a lot.”
After ending the call, Jake commented, “We're almost there.” He indicated a sign near the road that boasted “Creating Natural Beauty Since 2008,” though Jenna knew Keir Kingsley had only purchased the established business five years ago.
Kingsley Landscape Design occupied what had once been a small farmhouse on the outskirts of Trentville. When she pulled her cruiser into the gravel lot, neatly manicured demonstration gardens welcomed them with a burst of late-season blooms.
The business was a glass-fronted showroom attached to the original structure, the transformation from home to office space evident in strategic additions. A series of greenhouses gleamed in the midday sun behind it, and there was a larger outbuilding that likely housed equipment and supplies.
“Quite the operation,” Jake remarked, surveying the property as they stepped out of the vehicle. “For someone who always struck me as more talk than substance.”
“Keir knows how to present himself,” Jenna agreed. “Whether there's anything below the surface remains to be seen.”
They approached the entrance, stepping through double glass doors into a reception area that smelled of fresh soil and greenery.
Potted specimens lined the walls, each tagged with a description and care instructions.
A three-tiered fountain burbled softly in one corner, the sound of water creating an atmosphere of tranquility that Jenna knew was calculated to loosen clients' purse strings.
Several landscape design portfolios lay open on a reclaimed wood coffee table, surrounded by comfortable-looking armchairs.
Behind a curved desk of polished maple sat a woman with shoulder-length auburn hair, typing rapidly on a keyboard.
She looked up as they entered, and Jenna recognized her as Grace Thompson.
The woman who, according to town gossip, had been romantically involved with Keir Kingsley for at least six months before his separation from Claudia.
“Sheriff Graves,” Grace said, rising from her chair.
She wore a fitted green dress that matched the company's logo colors, with a silver pendant hanging at her throat.
“And Deputy Hawkins. We were expecting you.” Her eyes darted between them, anxiety crossing her features before she composed herself. “Thank you for calling ahead.”
“Ms. Thompson,” Jenna acknowledged. “We’re here to see Mr. Kingsley. I assume he’s available now.”
“Yes, he's in his office,” Grace replied, smoothing down the front of her dress in a nervous gesture. “He cleared his schedule after your call. He seemed... concerned.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?” Grace asked.
“No, thank you,” Jenna said. “We won't be staying long.”
“All right, then,” Grace replied a bit too quickly.
“This way please.” She led them through an archway into a hallway lined with framed photographs of elaborate gardens and landscaped estates—Keir's portfolio displayed for maximum impact. Jenna noticed that Grace’s steps were quick and tense, her shoulders rigid beneath the fitted dress.
“How long have you worked for Mr. Kingsley, Ms. Thompson?” Jenna asked as they walked.
Grace glanced back, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Almost three years now.” She paused before a door at the end of the corridor. “He's expecting you,” she said, knocking once before opening it.
Keir Kingsley's office was designed to be impressive.
One entire wall was glass, overlooking a Japanese-inspired garden complete with a small koi pond and carefully pruned bonsai trees.
The remaining walls held architectural drawings of landscape designs alongside certificates and industry awards.
His desk was a massive slab of live-edge walnut, positioned to frame him against the garden view.
Keir rose as they entered, a man in his early forties with the kind of sculpted good looks that came from both favorable genetics and careful maintenance.
His dark hair was artfully styled with just the right amount of silver at the temples to suggest experience without age.
He wore a tailored gray shirt with the sleeves rolled to reveal tanned forearms, khaki trousers, and leather boots that looked expensive but practical enough for site visits.
“Sheriff Graves. Deputy Hawkins.” His voice sounded like a man in charge of the meeting. “Please, have a seat.”
Jenna moved to one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, noting how Grace hovered uncertainly at the door. She turned and said, “That will be all for now, Ms. Thompson.”
Grace hesitated, looking at Keir, who gave a nod. “I'll be at my desk if you need anything,” she said, before slipping out and closing the door behind her.
“So,” Keir said, settling back into his chair, hands clasped before him on the desk. “What can I do for Genesius County's finest today?” The question was casual, but Jenna saw that those hands on the desk weren’t actually relaxed.
“Mr. Kingsley,” Jenna began, maintaining direct eye contact, “when I called earlier, you immediately asked if my visit had something to do with Claudia.” She paused, watching his reaction carefully. “Why would you think that?”
Keir shifted in his seat, the leather creaking softly beneath him. “We've been separated for three months, but she's still my wife. Was my wife for nearly fifteen years.” He rubbed his temple. “I worry about her.”
Jenna didn't miss his use of the present tense. “I see.”
“And I guess … as soon as you called about some sort of problem, my thoughts went straight to her. She’s on my mind a lot.”
Jenna didn’t doubt that to be true—but exactly in what way or for what reasons, she had yet to determine.
“Has something happened?” Keir leaned forward, brows drawing together. “Is Claudia all right?”
Jenna studied the lines of his face. “Mr. Kingsley, I'm sorry to inform you that Claudia was found dead this morning.”
The color drained from Keir's face. He blinked rapidly, his mouth opening and closing without sound. “Dead?” he finally managed, the word barely audible. “How? What happened?”
“She was murdered, Mr. Kingsley,” Jenna said, keeping her voice even as she watched shock ripple across his features. His eyes widened, hands gripping the edge of his desk. A convincing display of distress—but Jenna had seen enough guilty people perform grief to remain skeptical.
“Murdered?” Keir's voice cracked. “No. That can't—” He stood abruptly, turning toward the glass wall, his back to them as his shoulders heaved with what appeared to be a deep, shuddering breath. “When? How did it happen?”
“We're in the early stages of investigation,” Jenna said. “I'm not at liberty to share those details at this time.”
Keir turned back toward them, his composure cracking. “She's my wife. I have a right to know how she died!”
“Ex-wife,” Jake corrected quietly.
“We were separated, not divorced,” Keir snapped, then ran a hand through his hair, disturbing its careful styling. “I'm sorry. This is... it's a shock.”
“I understand,” Jenna said, though she wasn't yet convinced his distress was genuine. “Please, sit down, Mr. Kingsley. I need to ask you some questions.”
He sank back into his chair, looking suddenly diminished. “Of course.”
“When was the last time you saw or spoke to Claudia?”
Keir stared at his desk, as if the answer might be written in the wood grain. “A week ago. We met for coffee to discuss some financial matters. The house. Joint accounts.” He swallowed. “It was civil. Almost friendly.”
“And you haven't spoken since then? No calls, texts, emails?”
“No.” He looked up. “Sheriff, when you called earlier, I asked about Claudia because...” He trailed off.
“Because despite everything, I still care what happens to her.
The end of our marriage—that's on me. I've been carrying that guilt for months. And the idea of her living out there alone…that has bothered me, too.”
Jenna kept her expression neutral as she tried to gauge the sincerity of his remorse. Men like Keir rarely felt genuine guilt; they just disliked being caught.
“Mr. Kingsley, where were you yesterday evening, around dusk?”
His posture stiffened. “Are you suggesting I had something to do with this?”
“It's a standard question in a murder investigation,” Jake told him.
“I was at my apartment. In town.”
“Were you alone?” Jenna asked.
A flush crept up his neck. “No. I was with Grace.”
“The entire evening?”
“Yes,” he said, then reached for the desk phone. “You can ask her yourself.” He pressed a button. “Grace, could you join us for a moment?”
Less than thirty seconds later, Grace entered the office, her steps hesitant. “Yes?”
“Sheriff Graves wants to know where I was last night,” Keir said, watching Jenna rather than Grace. “Please tell her.”
Grace's cheeks colored. “He was at his apartment. I was there too.”
“All night?” Jenna asked directly.
Grace's gaze flicked to Keir, then back to Jenna. “Yes. All night. I’m … we’re …”
“We’re living together now,” Keir said, completing her thought.
Grace nodded, avoiding eye contact.
“Thank you, Ms. Thompson,” Jenna said. “That will be all for now.”
After Grace departed, Keir spread his hands in a gesture of openness. “I know that was awkward, but as you can see, I have an alibi. And while my relationship with Grace isn't exactly a secret in Trentville, I want to be clear that it didn't start until after Claudia and I separated.”
Jenna didn't bother challenging the timeline, which contradicted what she'd heard around town. “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm Claudia? Did she have any enemies, anyone she was afraid of?”
Keir leaned back in his chair, eyes distant as if searching through memories.
“Claudia was well-liked. She was a good teacher, involved in the community. She did weekly story hours for kids at the local library. She enjoyed all that, felt fulfilled.” His brow furrowed. “But there was... something …”
Keir fell silent for a moment.
“Something happened recently,” he said. “Something that really upset her.”
Jenna leaned forward, alert. “What was it?”
Keir met Jenna's gaze. “I don’t know exactly. But there was someone who terrified her.”