CHAPTER SIX
Jenna leaned forward slightly, her attention fixed on Keir Kingsley.
His expensive office chair was tilted back just enough to suggest casual confidence, but his eyes betrayed him—darting between her and Jake, then down to his manicured hands.
Jenna thought maybe he was stalling, and patience had never been her strongest virtue.
“Mr. Kingsley,” she prompted. “You said your wife was afraid of someone. Who?”
Keir swallowed hard. A bead of sweat traced the edge of his hairline. He adjusted his tie and cleared his throat.
“Look, maybe this sounds crazy,” he finally said. “But Claudia told me quite seriously that she was afraid of her acting teacher.”
Jenna felt a jolt of recognition. She knew immediately what acting teacher Keir meant.
She had never met the man personally, but she knew of him.
Gregory Ashton, the director at Trentville’s Mountain View Theater, had blown in from New York like a storm front three years ago, bringing with him airs of Broadway and leaving behind a trail of both admirers and detractors.
His reputation in town was divided between those who thought he was brilliant and those who considered him some sort of sadist who ought to be fired.
Jake asked Keir, “Do you mean Gregory Ashton?”
Keir looked relieved that they knew the name. “Yes. Gregory Ashton.”
“Tell us about that,” Jenna said, keeping her voice even. “When did she mention this fear to you?”
“When we met for coffee last week. The meeting I mentioned earlier—about the house and finances.” His eyes found a spot on the wall behind Jenna's head. “She seemed... I don't know. Different. Quieter.”
“Different how?” Jake asked.
“Jumpy. Distracted.” Keir's brow furrowed. “At first I thought it was just the awkwardness of our situation. But then she mentioned that she had dropped her acting class. And the way she said it … her expression …”
Jenna tilted her head slightly. “Had she been taking classes with him for long?”
“About four months. It was supposed to be her thing, you know? After we...” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely between himself and the door, where his girlfriend and office manager waited.
“She had always wanted to try acting. Book club wasn't enough for her anymore, she said. She was really excited about it, at first.”
“But something changed,” Jenna supplied, watching him closely.
“She wouldn't say exactly what happened,” Keir replied.
“Just that she'd quit the class and wasn't going back.
When I pressed, she said Ashton wasn't what people thought he was.” He frowned, the memory visibly troubling him.
“She kept looking over her shoulder while we were talking. I'd never seen her like that before.”
Jenna knew that Ashton had a reputation for being cruel to his students, but cruelty alone didn't typically inspire the kind of fear Keir was describing.
“Did she elaborate at all?” Jake asked. “Give any examples of what she meant?”
Keir shook his head. “No. I tried to get her to talk more about it, but she shut down.
Said she shouldn't have mentioned it at all.” He tugged at his tie, adjusting it though it sat perfectly straight.
“I thought maybe he'd been too harsh with her critique or something. Claudia was sensitive about her performances. But this seemed... different. I could see that she was actually afraid.”
“Did she mention any other students who might have had similar experiences?” Jenna asked.
“No names. Just said she wasn't the only one.” Keir looked up, something hardening in his eyes. “I should have pushed harder, shouldn't I? Made her tell me what was wrong?”
His question was heavy with implications. Jenna didn't answer it directly—couldn't offer the absolution he seemed to be seeking.
“Was that the last time you spoke with her?” she asked instead.
“Yes.” His voice turned hollow. “She said she'd call me about finalizing some paperwork, but she never did.”
Jenna exchanged a quick glance with Jake, a silent confirmation that they were thinking the same thing: they needed to visit the Mountain View Theater immediately.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Kingsley,” she said, rising from her chair. Jake followed her lead. “We'll be in touch if we have any more questions.”
Keir stood too, his movements stiff. “You think this is important, don't you? That it might be connected to what happened to her?”
“We follow every lead, Mr. Kingsley,” Jake replied.
They moved toward the door, Jenna's mind already racing ahead to their next steps. The hallway seemed longer on the way out—those lovely portfolio photos seeming less impressive now.
Grace Thompson sat at her desk, phone pressed to her ear. She looked up as they passed, her face still flushed, eyes widening with what Jenna recognized as a mixture of fear and guilt. She mumbled something into the phone and quickly hung up.
“Sheriff,” she said, the word coming out breathy and strained. “Deputy. Are you... finished?”
“For now,” Jenna said, noting how the woman's hands trembled slightly as she straightened a stack of papers. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
Grace nodded too quickly. “Of course. Anything we can do to help.”
Jenna held the woman's gaze a moment longer than necessary, watching her squirm under the scrutiny. Of course Jenna knew that her demeanor might mean nothing more than embarrassment over her adulterous relationship with her boss, perhaps also some guilt for having helped break up a marriage.
Then Jenna turned away, Jake a half-step behind her as they pushed through the glass doors and into the crisp autumn air, leaving behind the perfumed atmosphere of Kingsley Landscape Design for the honest Missouri morning air.
“Mountain View Theater next?” Jake asked as they crossed the parking lot.
Jenna nodded, unlocking their vehicle with a chirp that cut through the quiet. “Let's see what Mr. Ashton has to say for himself.”
They climbed in, then Jenna started the engine and cranked up the heat, letting it idle for a moment as she gathered her thoughts.
“What's your read on Kingsley?” she asked, pulling out onto the main road.
Jake's face tightened in consideration. “Nervous. More than just the usual discomfort of being questioned. The way he kept adjusting his tie, avoiding eye contact when talking about Grace.”
“I noticed that too,” Jenna said, taking the turn that would lead them out of town toward the theater. “And Grace was practically vibrating with anxiety when we passed by her desk.”
“Could be guilt about their affair, could be something else. The timing of his separation from Claudia is convenient. Three months gives him enough distance to establish an alibi, but not so much that he's completely disconnected from her life.”
“And his alibi is weak. Grace would lie for him in a heartbeat—you saw how she looked at him.”
“Like he hung the moon,” Jake agreed with a wry grin. “I've seen that look before. Makes people do stupid things.”
Jenna smiled at the familiar hyperbole. And Jake was right about infatuation turning people stupid.
The trees along the roadside thinned as they passed the outskirts of Trentville, revealing expanses of farmland punctuated by the occasional house set back from the road.
Jenna's mind was already thinking ahead to what they might find at the theater, but she forced herself to stay focused on the immediate concerns.
“We should have someone keep an eye on Kingsley,” she said. “If he was involved, he might try to cover his tracks now that he knows we're investigating.”
“What about Grace Thompson? She’s as nervous as he is.”
“Both of them,” Jenna agreed. “At least they’re likely to be in the same place most of the time.”
Jake was already pulling out his phone. “I'll call it in.”
While Jake spoke quietly with dispatch, arranging for officers to monitor Keir and Grace's movements, Jenna felt a tug of worry about her sister. Piper's vision of vultures and a wolf's belly had been more than just a nightmare—it had been a glimpse of Claudia Kingsley's terrible fate.
As Jake ended his call, she gestured to her phone in the cupholder. “Would you mind calling my mom? I want to check on Piper.”
Jake dialed the number and put it on speaker. When Margaret Graves answered, her voice sounded tinny through the speaker.
“Jenna?”
“Hi, Mom. I'm driving, so you're on speaker with me and Jake.”
“Hello, Mrs. Graves,” Jake added.
“Oh, hello.” Her mother's voice softened slightly. “Frank is here. He came by to check in on us. He brought some of that coffee you like—says he'll leave it for you.”
Jenna smiled despite herself. Frank was her friend and mentor, the former sheriff of Trentville.
He was also one of the six people who knew about Jenna’s gift, and he also knew that Piper was manifesting similar abilities.
Frank's small gestures of care never failed to warm her heart.
“That was nice of him. How's Piper doing?”
There was a pause, and Jenna could almost see her mother's face, the worry lines deepening around her eyes.
“She's quiet today. Subdued. She asked about you, about your work.” Another pause.
“She mentioned her vision again—the vultures, cutting open a wolf's belly.
She's worried it might have something to do with a crime. She mentioned a woman's disappearance.”
Jenna exchanged a quick glance with Jake. The specificity of Piper's vision still unsettled her—how could her sister have seen such details without being there?
“Mom,” Jenna said carefully, “I can't go into specifics right now, but...yes, it did mean something. It was relevant to a case we're working on.”
“Oh.” The word was heavy with understanding. “What should I tell her? She'll want to know.”
Jenna hesitated, weighing her options. Part of her wanted to shield Piper from the brutal reality of Claudia Kingsley's death, but keeping her sister in the dark might do more harm than good.
Piper had spent too many years lost in confusion and fear, disconnected from reality.
Honesty, painful as it might be, was a tether to the real world.
“Tell her that her vision meant something after all,” Jenna said finally. “And tell her that it was helpful. I'll explain more when I get home. I think it's important she knows she's not imagining things.”
“I understand,” her mother replied, and Jenna could hear the relief in her voice. “Be careful, Jenna Marie.”
“I will. Love you, Mom.”
After ending the call, Jenna turned to Jake. “One more call. Can you dial Dr. White for me?”
Jake complied, and moments later, Dr. Samantha White's calm, authoritative voice filled the car.
“Sheriff Graves, this is unexpected.”
“Dr. White,” Jenna began, “I'm calling about Piper. She had a communication—a vision—that turned out to be connected to our current case. A murder victim.”
There was a measured silence before Dr. White responded. “I see. Can you tell me about the nature of this vision?”
Jenna described Piper's imagery of vultures and the wolf's belly, careful to keep the details clinical despite the horror they evoked.
“And this corresponded to the actual crime scene?” Dr. White asked.
“Yes. Details she couldn't have known through conventional means.”
Dr. White sighed softly. “This is concerning, but I don’t find it entirely surprising.
Piper's sensitivity has always been acute. Please keep me informed of any developments, and try to make time to see her today if possible. These episodes can be extremely distressing, especially when validated by real events.”
“I will,” Jenna promised. “Thank you, Doctor. And I don’t need to tell you …”
“Yes, I know. I won’t tell anybody the details of the murder.”
“Thanks.”
The call ended, and the Mountain View Theater appeared around the next bend, an imposing structure of stone and glass nestled against the backdrop of rolling hills that gave the venue its name. Jenna pulled into the parking lot, noting several other parked vehicles.
As they approached the front entrance, the theater loomed over them, its stone facade weathered to a soft gray, massive timber beams jutting from beneath a sweeping glass atrium that reflected the autumn sky like a still mountain lake.
Jenna pulled open the heavy glass door, stepping into the lobby with its soaring ceilings, walls adorned with framed vintage playbills and photographs of past productions.
Then they heard it—a sound that cut through the hushed atmosphere. A woman's voice, raw with emotion, rising and falling in great heaving sobs that echoed from somewhere deep within the building.
Jake muttered a question, “Someone rehearsing a part?”
Jenna shook her head slightly. This wasn't the controlled crying of an actress in rehearsal. This was real pain, unfiltered and primal—the kind that tore from a person's chest without permission.
“This way,” she replied, following the sound toward the main auditorium doors.