CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jenna thought that the body in the freezer looked as though the woman was merely sleeping, just as Ernest had said, but the unnatural stillness and the frost clinging to her skin told a different, more sinister story.
In her lucid dream, Rebecca Hartley had complained about the cold and about being trapped.
And Piper had shivered from the imaginary cold at the crime scene yesterday.
Because of this, Jenna realized.
Her thoughts were interrupted by movement beside her. Chief Morgan stepped back from the freezer and advanced on Ernest with handcuffs already drawn. “Ernest Chase, you're under arrest for the murder of Rebecca Hartley.”
Ernest's eyes widened with genuine bewilderment.
"Murder? No, no, no. You're making a mistake.
" He didn't resist as Morgan secured the cuffs around his wrists, but his gaze darted frantically between the other officers and the freezer.
"She's just sleeping! Can't you see? She needs to stay cold and comfortable until it's time for her to wake up. "
Morgan continued reciting the Miranda rights while Jenna exchanged a troubled glance with Jake. The self-proclaimed Mr. Huntsman stood compliant but agitated as Morgan informed him of his right to remain silent.
“I understand my rights,” Ernest said as soon as Morgan finished. “But I’m trying to tell you. You need to understand—I didn't put her there.”
Morgan replied derisively, “If you didn't put her there, Ernest, then how did she end up in your freezer?”
“I came home two days ago after hunting. Been tracking a ten-point buck, you see.” Ernest's words tumbled out in a rush. “When I got back, I went to put away some venison and there she was, right on top of my meat packages. Not even frozen yet.”
“And you didn't think to call the police?” Morgan's voice dripped with skepticism.
“Why would I?” Ernest blinked, genuinely perplexed. “She wasn't really dead.”
“Was she breathing?” Jake asked. “Did she have a pulse?”
“Not that I could see. Of course I didn’t touch her.”
“But you didn't think she was dead?” Jake persisted.
“Course not.” Ernest leaned forward, as if sharing a confidence. “Why else would they put her in my freezer? It's to preserve her until the right time. Then she’ll get up and put on her fine robes to go on with her story.”
Jenna studied his face as she asked, “Who are 'they,' Ernest?”
The man shrugged his shoulders as much as the handcuffs would allow. “Aliens, I guess. Who else would it be?” He said it as if it were the most reasonable conclusion in the world. “They're playful like that, you know. Always testing us.”
Colonel Spelling moved closer, his expression unreadable. “Testing us how, exactly?”
Ernest's face lit up, pleased that someone was finally understanding.
“It's like Snow White, don't you see? I know she's not really Snow White,” he added quickly, as if they might have misunderstood.
“But there was a huntsman in that story.” He gestured toward himself with his chin. “And that's obviously me.”
Chief Morgan stared at him with his mouth hanging open.
“The huntsman in the story kept Snow White safe,” Ernest continued. “That's my job now too, at least until it's time for her to wake up.”
Morgan's patience had clearly run its course. He gripped Ernest's arm firmly. “That's enough. We're going to the station.”
As Morgan steered Ernest toward the door, he pulled out his radio with his free hand. “This is Chief Morgan. I need officers and a coroner's team at the Chase cabin immediately.” His voice faded as he guided his prisoner outside.
Jenna, Jake, and Spelling were left standing around the freezer in the suddenly quiet room. Outside, wind whispered through the trees, a counterpoint to the bizarre conversation that had just unfolded.
“Well,” Spelling broke the silence, “it sure looks like we've found our killer.”
Jenna shook her head, surprising even herself with the certainty she felt. “I don't think so. I believe him—at least the part about finding her here.”
“You’re serious?” Jake asked.
“Ernest Chase is certainly eccentric,” Jenna replied, studying the frozen body. “Surely delusional about certain things. But this...” She gestured toward Rebecca's remains. “This pose, the apple. It’s so carefully done. Calculated. It doesn't fit him.”
“Sheriff, with all due respect, he had a frozen corpse in his freezer and a fairytale explanation ready to go,” Spelling pointed out.
“Exactly,” Jenna said. “It's too perfect. Someone could be using his reputation, his eccentricities, against him.” She turned toward the door. “There's something I need to check before we leave.”
Outside, the autumn air felt crisp after the stagnant atmosphere of the cabin. Jenna pointed toward the tree line where she had noticed vultures circling earlier.
“This way,” she said, setting off toward a barely visible trail that led deeper into the woods.
Jake and Spelling followed her, their shoes crunching on fallen leaves. As they walked, an acrid smell began to permeate the air—putrid and unmistakable.
“What exactly are we looking for?” Spelling asked, his nose wrinkling at the stench.
Jenna didn't answer immediately. The trail opened into a small clearing, and there, just as she had expected, lay a pile of animal remains—entrails, organs, and bones in various states of decay.
Several vultures took flight as they approached, their massive wings beating heavily as they retreated to nearby trees.
“Ernest's gut pile,” Jenna said, gesturing toward the grisly sight. “Hunters often leave the entrails and organs in one spot after field dressing their kills.”
Jake caught on immediately. “You think whoever put Rebecca in the freezer also came out here and took organs from this pile?”
“Exactly.” Jenna circled the area, careful not to disturb anything more than necessary. “The liver and lungs found in Heritage Park—they weren't fresh human organs. They were deer organs, partially eaten by scavengers, collected and arranged under that cake stand the left on the picnic table.”
“It tracks,” Spelling admitted, surveying the scene. “Our killer could have taken animal organs from here, then placed them there.” He shook his head. “It's twisted, but it makes sense.”
Jenna asked, “Do you think that the man that Morgan just arrested would have done all of that?”
Jake shook his head. “Setting up that display in the park does seem kind of complicated for Ernest Chase to handle.”
“Then the question is, who did it?” Spelling asked.
“I don't know yet,” Jenna admitted. “But I'm certain of one thing—Ernest Chase is being set up. The real killer is still out there, and they're very clever.”
Jake looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. The gleam in his eyes told her he was ready to follow her lead, despite Morgan's dismissal, despite his own questions. This was why they worked well together—his trust in her instincts, even when they led them off the beaten path.
Spelling said slowly. “You might be right, Sheriff. But convincing Morgan won't be easy. He thinks he's got his man.”
“Then we'll have to find enough evidence to convince him otherwise,” Jenna said firmly.
They made their way back toward Spelling's cruiser, the woods around them suddenly seeming full of hidden threats.
Somewhere, a killer was watching, waiting, perhaps even planning their next move.
As Jenna slid into the passenger seat, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were being manipulated, pieces moved skillfully across a board in a game whose rules they hadn't yet deciphered.
*
Jenna, Jake, Spelling, and Morgan spent hours at the Pinecrest Police Station listening to Ernest Chase's increasingly bizarre tales of aliens, enchanted sleep, and his self-appointed role as protector.
The arrival of the public defender—a harried woman with a permanent frown—had finally brought the interview to a merciful end, leaving them all exhausted and no closer to untangling the truth from the fantastical web Ernest had spun.
“My office,” Morgan said curtly, already striding down the hallway without checking if they followed.
Jenna exchanged a glance with Jake before heading down the hallway.
Colonel Spelling fell into step beside them, his expression carefully neutral.
The corridor seemed longer than it had that morning, the walls closer somehow.
Jenna considered fragments of Ernest's statements, trying to piece them together into something that made sense.
“Well,” Morgan said once his office door closed behind them, “that was three hours of my life I'll never get back.” The police chief stood behind his desk, not offering them seats, his posture radiating impatience.
Jake commented, “He certainly stuck to his story.”
“Of course he did,” Morgan replied. “He's either crazy enough to believe it or smart enough to know an insanity plea when he sees one.”
“And he didn’t even seem to understand the questions about the animal entrails.”
Morgan snorted in contempt, but made no reply
Jenna crossed her arms. “You don't find it strange that his explanation hasn't changed since the moment we found her? No inconsistencies, no attempts to backtrack or improve his story?”
“What I find strange,” Morgan said, leaning forward with his palms flat on the desk, “is that we have a man who lives alone in the woods, calls himself 'Mr. Huntsman,' and had a frozen corpse in his freezer—and you're looking for ways to exonerate him.”
The tension in the room thickened. Jenna felt Spelling watching her carefully, gauging her response.
“I'm looking for the truth,” she said evenly. “And my instincts tell me there's more to this case than what we're seeing.”
Morgan snorted. “Your instincts. Right.” He straightened up and began arranging papers on his desk. “Look, I appreciate the assistance your departments provided in apprehending Chase, but we have this under control now.”
“Do you?” Jenna asked, unable to keep the edge from her voice.
“Because I'm not convinced Ernest Chase is physically or mentally capable of planning and executing these murders. And what about the other murder? Do you honestly believe Ernest drove to Trentville, killed Claudia Kingsley, and arranged that elaborate scene with her body?” Jenna pressed.
“I don't see why not,” Morgan replied coldly.
“Stranger things have happened. And whatever happened in Trentville, that's your jurisdiction, Sheriff Graves. It’s your case to solve.” He looked pointedly at his watch.
“Now, if you'll excuse me, I have paperwork to file.
We'll be in touch when it's time for your testimony regarding Chase's apprehension.”
The dismissal was clear. Jenna felt Jake's hand touch her elbow lightly—a subtle suggestion not to push further. She exhaled slowly, tamping down the frustration that threatened to bubble over.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Chief Morgan,” Spelling said, cordial despite the obvious tension. “We'll be in touch.”
As they filed out of the office, Morgan was already reaching for his phone, effectively ignoring their departure. The hallway felt cooler, the air less stifling than the atmosphere they'd just left.
“Well,” Jake muttered as they walked toward the exit, “he thinks he’s dismissed us from the case.”
Spelling's mouth twitched in what might have been a suppressed smile. “Chief Morgan has always been... territorial.”
“That's one word for it,” Jenna replied, pushing open the station's front door. The afternoon sun hit her face, a welcome change from the artificial lighting inside.
They paused on the steps. Officers and civilians moved around them, the everyday business of the station continuing despite the extraordinary events of the morning. Spelling checked his watch.
“I should head back to headquarters,” he said. “Perhaps it's best I don't know exactly what you two plan to do next.” His eyes met Jenna's, a glint of understanding passing between them. “You can contact me when you need me.”
“Thank you, Colonel.”
Spelling gave them a brief nod before heading toward his SUV. For a moment, Jenna and Jake watched him go, then turned toward their own vehicle.
“So,” Jake said as they crossed the parking lot, “I'm guessing you're not ready to leave Pinecrest just yet.”
Jenna's thoughts crystallized as they walked, the disparate pieces of the case shifting and rearranging themselves in her mind.
“No,” she said finally. “There's something we're missing. Ernest is odd, yes, possibly delusional about certain things, but he's not our killer.”
“Morgan's not going to help us prove that.”
“We don't need his help.” Jenna reached their car and paused, her hand on the door handle. “I know who we need to talk to next.”