CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As Jenna guided her cruiser past the Pinecrest welcome sign, the town's leafy streets dappled with morning sunlight filtering through trees showing their early autumn colors.
In the passenger seat Jake ended another call with Colonel Spelling, his face settling into the focused expression she'd come to recognize as his professional mask.
They were stepping into another jurisdiction with half-formed theories and evidence that originated in dreams—the kind of situation that made career law enforcement officers like Chief Rudy Morgan hostile before a single word was exchanged.
“Spelling's already at the station,” Jake said, sliding his phone into his pocket. “He wants us to meet him in Morgan's office.”
Jenna took a turn toward the downtown area. “I bet Morgan's thrilled about that.”
“About as thrilled as a cat in a bathtub.” Jake's mouth quirked in a humorless smile. “Spelling says Morgan's been briefed on Claudia Kingsley's case, but he's skeptical about any connection to Rebecca Hartley.”
“Of course he is.” Jenna's voice carried an edge of frustration. The brick buildings of Ozark State University's campus came into view. Students moved along pathways between ivy-clad buildings, their normalcy somehow jarring against the darkness of her thoughts.
Jake shifted in his seat to face her. “How much do we tell him?”
“About Piper? Nothing.” The answer came reflexively. “About my dream? Also nothing.”
“That doesn't leave us with much.”
“We've got the organ discovery at Heritage Park and its similarity to the Snow White story. That's concrete, at least. We stick to the facts, the patterns. Those old fairy tales don’t depend on me. Morgan doesn't need to know how we connected them to this case.”
Jake was quiet for a moment. “It's going to be hard to explain why we're so convinced Rebecca Hartley's disappearance is connected to Kingsley's murder without mentioning your sister's... communications.”
“I know. But Morgan already thinks I'm some kind of freak with my case insights. If we start talking about Piper hearing voices from dead people, he'll shut us out completely.”
“We could say we received an anonymous tip.”
Jenna shot him a sideways glance. “You want to lie to a Police Chief with a Highway Patrol Superintendent in the same room?”
Jake's laugh was short and dry. “When you put it that way, no. But we need something.”
“We'll say we're exploring possible connections based on the fairy tale elements.
That we did our research with an authority at a Trentville bookstore.
Claudia Kingsley was killed in a way that resembled Red Riding Hood.
The organs at the park suggest Snow White.
Another woman is missing. It's unusual enough to merit investigation.”
They fell silent as Jenna navigated the final turns toward the Pinecrest Police Department.
The building stood solid and imposing, its modern glass and brick facade a sign of Cable County's more generous budget compared to Genesius County's modest resources. They spotted Spelling’s black SUV parked in the lot.
Jenna pulled her cruiser into a visitor spot and cut the engine.
As he unbuckled his seatbelt, Jake told her. “Just remember, Morgan's territorial, but he's not stupid. He knows your track record.”
Jenna appreciated Jake's attempt at reassurance.
She gathered her bag, which contained a small notebook where she'd jotted down the details from her conversation with Piper that morning. She couldn’t reveal how Piper had heard voices saying, “the huntsman,” but she had to keep it in mind.
They got out of the car and entered the station together.
The station's interior was cool and quiet, the morning shift settled into their routines.
A uniformed officer at the front desk recognized them—or at least recognized their badges—and directed them down a hallway toward the Chief's office without requiring them to sign in.
The smell of industrial cleaner and fresh coffee reminded Jenna that some aspects of law enforcement were universal regardless of jurisdiction.
They found Colonel Spelling waiting outside Morgan's office, his tall figure straight-backed and commanding even in a casual stance. His silver-streaked hair was neatly combed, his uniform immaculate. When he caught sight of them, a fleeting look of relief crossed his face.
“Good morning, Colonel,” she said.
“Sheriff Graves, Deputy Hawkins,” he greeted them. “Chief Morgan is expecting us.”
Jenna read the subtle warning in his eyes: tread carefully. She nodded in acknowledgment.
Spelling rapped his knuckles against Morgan's door, and a gruff voice called them in. Chief Rudy Morgan sat behind a desk that looked too small for his frame, his close-cropped gray hair catching the fluorescent light. His eyes, sharp and unwelcoming, tracked them as they entered.
“Sheriff,” he said by way of greeting, the word carrying no warmth. His gaze swept to Jake, acknowledging him with even less enthusiasm, then settled on Spelling. “Colonel.”
“Chief Morgan,” Jenna responded. “Thank you for meeting with us.”
Morgan gestured to the chairs across from his desk. “Didn't have much choice in the matter.” His gaze flicked meaningfully to Spelling, who took a position leaning against the wall rather than sitting.
The office was well organized, with commendations framed on one wall and a large county map on another. A window behind Morgan offered a view of the station's parking lot, the morning sun casting his silhouette across the desk.
“Colonel Spelling has already filled me in on your... theory.” Morgan's tone made it clear what he thought of their hypothesis. “About Rebecca Hartley's murder having something to do with …fairy tales?”
“Yes,” Jenna confirmed, settling into the chair as Jake took the one beside her. “But not the stories as we tell them today. The original versions told by the Grimm brothers were much bloodier.”
“So now you’re an authority on fairy tales?”
“No, but we consulted someone who is. For example, the evil queen tells the huntsman to kill Snow White and bring her organs as proof that she’s dead.
The huntsman lets Snow White go free and brings back the lungs and the liver of a boar he kills.
In the old tale, the queen actually cooks those organs and eats them. ”
“And we believe there might be a connection to Rebecca Hartley's disappearance,” Jake added.
Morgan leaned back, his chair creaking under his weight. “Based on what? Some organs found in a park? They don’t even prove a murder has been committed. My forensics team has already determined they came from a deer, not a human.”
“That’s good to know,” Jenna said evenly. “But the staging is significant—the liver and lungs displayed that way, so carefully arranged in a cake stand as though they were meant to be served as food. That’s definitely a call to attention. And it mimics that part of the older ‘Snow White’ story.”
Morgan's expression remained skeptical. “And you think this is enough to connect it to a missing person?”
“The timing and the thematic element are too coincidental to ignore,” Jake interjected. “Especially given the connections we found between the murder of Claudia Kingsley in Trentville and the older ‘Red Riding Hood’ tale.”
Morgan's jaw tightened. “So you're suggesting some psychopath is out there killing people based on children's stories?”
“Not those stories as we’ve usually heard them,” Jake replied. “But very likely on the older versions.”
“That's what the evidence suggests,” Spelling said from his position against the wall. His voice carried the authority that even Morgan couldn't dismiss. “And that's why we need to coordinate our investigation.”
Morgan exhaled heavily, his displeasure evident. “Alright. Let's see what we've got.” He reached for a folder on his desk and flipped it open. First he showed them a picture that Jenna immediately recognized as the woman she had seen in her dream, struggling to get out of a glass coffin.
“Rebecca Hartley, forty-two, child psychologist,” Morgan said.
“She was reported missing by her friend and colleague at the Pinecrest Family Wellness Center, Dana Schultz. Last seen leaving her office Thursday evening. Car found still in her usual parking spot at her home yesterday morning. No signs of forced entry, no personal items missing from the vehicle.”
He pulled out several photographs and placed them on the desk where Jenna and Jake could see them. “These are the organs found at Heritage Park early this morning by a woman walking her dog. This was on one of the tables in a picnic shelter, a white sheet placed over the whole thing.”
Jenna leaned forward. The images showed a liver and lungs, dark and glistening, arranged inside the cake stand. There was something disturbingly deliberate about the placement, the organs positioned almost ceremonially.
“And you're certain they're deer organs?” she asked, studying the photographs.
Morgan told her, “The lab confirmed it. Size, structure—definitely deer. Not human.”
“What can you tell us about how they were preserved or transported?” Jake asked.
Morgan shrugged. “Not much. They weren't fresh—probably a day or two old by the time they were found. No unusual chemicals detected. Could've been carried in a cooler, a bag—nothing distinctive left behind.”
Jenna flipped to another photograph showing the organs on an examination table under bright lights. She pointed to several areas where the tissue appeared ragged and torn. “These look like bite marks.”
Morgan nodded reluctantly. “We think they were probably scavenged by dogs or wild animals before they were collected and placed in the park.”
“If these came from a hunted deer, the hunter didn't immediately dispose of all the unwanted parts,” Jenna said, her mind working through the implications.
“It's archery season,” Morgan pointed out. “We've got dozens of licensed hunters in the area, plus God only knows how many unlicensed ones. Most of them have proper disposal methods for their kills, but not all.”
“So these organs were left out in the open, where they could be easily retrieved, but also where animals might get to them. That suggests someone who lives near a place that could be used for disposing of animal remains,” Jenna continued, drawing from her knowledge growing up in rural Missouri. “A gut pile on their property, maybe.”
Morgan's expression shifted slightly, annoyance giving way to grudging consideration. “That would narrow it down some. We'd be looking at hunters who live in the more isolated areas, particularly the woods surrounding Pinecrest.”
“How many people would that include?” Jake asked.
Morgan scratched his chin, thinking. “Maybe a dozen properties that fit that description. Mostly cabins, a few larger homes. People who want privacy.”
“Would your department have records of who those residents are?” Spelling interjected. “Particularly anyone with hunting licenses?”
“We could compile that,” Morgan admitted. “But it's still a stretch to connect a deer's organs in a park to a missing woman, even with your fairy tale theory.”
Jenna hesitated, knowing she was about to step onto thin ice. What Piper said about her voices echoed in her mind: They kept saying 'the huntsman' over and over. She needed to introduce the term without revealing her source.
“There's another element to consider,” she said carefully. “The character in ‘Snow White’ who spares her and brings the animal organs to the queen is specifically called the huntsman.”
She watched Morgan's face, measuring her next words.
“It's not a term we commonly use these days.
Most people would say 'hunter.' The use of 'huntsman' is deliberate, old-fashioned—it ties directly to the fairy tale. And the same term is used for a character in the ‘Red Riding Hood’ tale that matched the murder in Trentville.”
When Morgan made no reply, she asked him, “Does that term—huntsman—mean anything to you in relation to the hunters in this area?”
Morgan's expression shifted, his eyebrows drawing together as recognition brightened his eyes. The surprise that crossed his face was genuine, his defensive posture momentarily forgotten.
“Actually,” he said slowly, “that rings a bell.”