CHAPTER ELEVEN
The afternoon sun slanted through the windshield as Jenna guided her patrol car through Trentville's quiet streets.
As she drove, she was considering connections and possibilities—fairy tales and murder, wolves and woods, predator and prey.
The image of Claudia Kingsley's body lingered in her mind—the violence of it, the strange arrangement, the ancient story being retold through flesh and blood.
Beside her, Jake sat in contemplative silence, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, no doubt processing the same disturbing thoughts about what they'd just learned from Leith Walsh at the Dénouement Café.
“Little Red Riding Hood,” Jenna murmured. “It sounds absurd when I say it out loud.”
“Absurd, but it fits. Or at least the old version does.”
“We should update Colonel Spelling,” she said, forcing herself back to the practical. “Can you get him on the phone?
Jake was already reaching for his cell. He placed the call, putting it on speaker as the ring tone filled the car's interior. Three rings later, the colonel's crisp voice answered.
“Spelling here.”
“Colonel, it's Deputy Hawkins and Sheriff Graves. You're on speaker.”
“Sheriff, Deputy. I was wondering when I'd hear from you again. I take it there have been developments in the Kingsley case?”
Jenna exchanged a glance with Jake before responding. “Yes, sir. Significant ones. We've identified what appears to be a thematic element to the murder.”
The line went quiet for a moment. “Go on,” Spelling finally said.
“We have reason to believe that Claudia Kingsley's murder was staged to evoke the original Grimm brothers version of the Little Red Riding Hood story,” Jenna continued, the words sounding strange even to her own ears.
A pause from Spelling's end. “That's... not what I expected to hear. Walk me through how you made this connection.”
Jenna recounted their visit to the Dénouement Café, how Leith Walsh's interests in fairy tales had revealed parallels between the murder and the story told by brothers Grimm—the woods as a place of danger, the red hood or cap, the wolf consuming the victims, the evisceration.
“And of course there are differences, too. The old story is gory, but those victims got out alive.”
“But why would anybody be basing a murder on a story that’s — what — about 200 years old?”
“The older versions of these stories weren't sanitized,” Jenna explained, “they were warnings, often brutal ones.”
“And you believe your killer is sending a warning?” Spelling asked.
“Or just starting a whole new story collection,” Jake suggested. “One that might not be finished. Claudia might be only the first victim in a sequence.”
“Have you found any connection between Claudia Kingsley and fairy tales?” Spelling asked. “Was she a collector, a scholar, something that would make her specifically targeted for this narrative?”
“Nothing obvious,” Jenna admitted. “She was an elementary school teacher, so fairy tales could have been part of her professional world, but nothing stands out as making her a specific target for this theme.”
“I see. And you're sure about this interpretation? It seems... theatrical.”
“That's exactly what concerns us,” Jenna said, slowing the car as they approached a red light. “The staging suggests someone with a flair for the dramatic, someone who wants their work to be recognized as part of a larger narrative.”
“Or someone who believes they're enacting justice through these stories,” Jake added. “Many fairy tales are about punishment for transgressions.”
Spelling fell silent again. The light turned green, and Jenna accelerated through the intersection, the station now visible a few blocks ahead.
“This changes things,” Spelling finally said. “If you're dealing with a killer who's framing murders around fairy tales, we need to consider whether they have a sequence in mind—a collection of stories they plan to tell.”
“That's our fear,” Jenna confirmed.
“I'll put together a team of analysts who specialize in pattern recognition and symbolic crimes,” Spelling said, his voice taking on the brisk efficiency that came with decision-making. “In the meantime, I want regular updates, Sheriff—as frequently as things develop.”
“Understood, Colonel.”
“My offer stands—whatever resources you need, just say the word.”
“We will,” Jake assured him as Jenna pulled into the station parking lot.
“Good hunting, then.” The line went dead as Spelling hung up.
“Spelling might have a hard time accepting this,” Jake said, “but he knows your... insights are valuable.”
“Let's hope those insights come through on this case, too. Because so far, I’ve got nothing—no dreams, anyway. And that’s the only time that the dead speak to me, at least give me some clues about what’s going on.
And right now, all I can think is that somewhere in Trentville, someone might be planning their next fairy tale murder. ”
Jenna cut the engine. As they stepped out of the car, the sheriff's building loomed before them, solid and ordinary—a stark contrast to the fantastical horror they were investigating.
Jenna pushed through the station's heavy glass door, Jake close behind her. As they approached her office, she spotted a figure sitting in the chair outside her door, legs crossed casually as if he belonged there.
Ethan Pierce.
The reporter from the Gateway Herald turned toward them with the smile of a predator who'd been patiently waiting for his prey to return.
“This day just keeps getting better,” Jenna muttered to Jake, who responded with a grimace of understanding.
Pierce stood as they approached. “Sheriff Graves,” he called, his voice carrying that precise balance of friendliness and professional distance. “Deputy Hawkins. Glad I caught you.”
Jenna stepped past him and into her office, not bothering to hide her irritation. “Mr. Pierce. I don't recall scheduling an interview.”
“The news waits for no one,” he replied with that television-ready smile. He remained standing just outside her office door. “And a murder in our little town is certainly news—especially one as... distinctive as this.”
Jenna resisted the temptation to slam the door in his face. She exchanged a quick glance with Jake, whose expression had hardened into the neutral mask he wore when dealing with difficult civilians.
“I'm afraid we're in the middle of an active investigation,” Jenna said, moving behind her desk. “Whatever you're looking for, this isn't the time.”
Pierce remained standing in her doorway, undeterred.
“I've already heard about the body in the woods, Sheriff. The unusual…suspended state of the remains.” When Jenna glared at him, he lowered his voice, but continued.
“What I haven't heard is how you're connecting these dots. Because you have your own special ways of finding patterns that aren’t visible to others.”
This wasn't the first time Pierce had hinted at Jenna’s abilities.
“Mr. Pierce,” Jake said sternly, moving to stand beside Jenna, “unless you have information that might assist our investigation, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”
The reporter's gaze shifted between them, assessing. “Information flows both ways, Deputy. The public has a right to know if there's a dangerous killer in their community—especially one with such... theatrical tendencies.”
“How exactly did you learn about the details of Claudia Kingsley's murder, Mr. Pierce?” Jenna asked.
“Sources, Sheriff. As I've always told you, I protect my sources.”
“Well, your 'sources' are compromising an active investigation,” Jenna replied, her patience evaporating completely. “And right now, you're interfering with police business.”
Pierce held her gaze for a long moment before relenting.
“I understand. But this conversation isn't over, Sheriff.” He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a business card, placing it precisely in the center of her desk.
“When you're ready to give the public the information they deserve—or when you need a sympathetic ear to explain your... unconventional methods—you know where to find me.”
Pierce backed away from the door, his eyes never leaving Jenna's. “I'll be working on the story with or without your input. Wouldn't you rather have some control over the narrative?”
“Goodbye, Mr. Pierce,” Jenna said firmly.
With a final, enigmatic smile, the reporter turned and left. Jake closed the office door behind him, then leaned against it, exhaling sharply.
“How the hell does he know about the state of Claudia's body?” he asked, his voice low with concern. “That detail wasn't in any public statement. And Spelling sure wouldn’t let it leak.”
Jenna sank into her chair, a bitter taste in her mouth. “Because our dear mayor can't keep her mouth shut when there's a chance to control the story.” She reached for her phone, fury building inside her.
Jake's eyebrows rose. “You sure about that?”
“Who else has both access to details and a political agenda?” Jenna punched in Mayor Simmons's number with more force than necessary.
Mayor Claire Simmons answered, her voice crisp. “Sheriff Graves. What can I do for you?”
“You can explain why Ethan Pierce knows details about a murder that weren't released to the public,” Jenna snapped, not bothering with pleasantries.
A brief pause. “I don't appreciate your tone, Sheriff.”
“And I don't appreciate you undermining my investigation by leaking information to the press.”
“Information sharing is part of maintaining public trust,” Claire replied, her voice cooling several degrees. “The citizens of Trentville deserve to know what's happening in their community.”
“What they deserve is for us to catch this killer without interference,” Jenna countered. “Pierce obviously knows too many details about the condition of Claudia Kingsley's body.”
“Perhaps your department has security issues to address.”
“Cut the crap. You're playing politics with a murder investigation.”
“I'm doing what's best for this community,” Claire insisted, her voice rising slightly. “A killer who stages victims’ bodies is the kind of threat people need to be aware of.”
“What they need is for us to do our jobs without having to worry about sensationalist press coverage compromising evidence. That’s all that I need to explain to you, Claire.”
At that, the line went dead and Jenna realized that the mayor had hung up. She slammed her own phone down in frustration. The fairy tale murder, Piper's visions, the pressure from Claire and Pierce—it all swirled together into a problem that seemed impossible to solve.
“She actually admitted it,” Jenna said. “God, Jake, how are we supposed to work this case with Claire feeding information to the press?”
Before Jake could answer, the phone rang again. Jenna snatched it up, expecting the mayor calling back with more self-righteous arguments.
“Sheriff Graves,” she answered tersely.
“Jenna, it's Frank.” The familiar, gruff voice of her mentor immediately diffused some of her anger. “Got a minute?”
She softened her tone. “Of course, Frank. What's up?”
“I'm still at your mom's with Piper,” he said. “Thought you should know—your mom told Piper about your conversation earlier.”
Jenna closed her eyes briefly, remembering the phone call with her mother. “About her visions being helpful with this case?”
“Yeah,” Frank's voice lowered slightly. “And Piper got real quiet after that.”
Concern replaced Jenna's earlier anger. “Is she okay?”
"She's managing," Frank replied. "But Jenna... she feels left out. Like she's being kept in the dark about something that involves her, maybe she should be included, at least a little. Her sensitivity might be helpful."
Jenna's gaze met Jake's across the desk.
Including Piper in the investigation was risky.
Although it was true that Piper had gained some control over the voices that threatened to overload her, she was still fragile, still learning to manage her abilities.
But Frank was right about one thing: if Piper's visions were connected to the case, shutting her out might do more harm than good.
“I'll think about it,” Jenna said, then reconsidered. “Actually, no. You're right. Jake and I will come over now.”
“You sure?” Frank sounded surprised.
“Yes. We'll be there soon.”
After hanging up, Jenna sat in silence for a moment, weighing the decision she'd just made.
“You think bringing your sister into this is wise?” Jake asked gently.
“I don't know if it's wise,” she admitted, standing and gathering her keys. “But I do know we're getting nowhere fast on this case. What if Piper's voices could help us stop another murder?”
Jake studied her face, then nodded slowly. “Okay. I'm with you. Let’s go see what Piper can tell us.”