CHAPTER TWENTY
As Jenna slid behind the wheel of her cruiser in the Pinecrest Police Station parking lot, her mind sifted through fragments of evidence. Two women dead in similar circumstances, both connected to something they had yet to uncover.
Jake settled into the passenger seat beside her. “So, where to now, Sheriff? Who is it that you want to interview?”
Jenna didn't start the engine immediately. Instead, she turned to face her deputy. “Remember what Morgan told us about Rebecca Hartley?”
“That she was reported missing by a colleague at work?”
“Yes. Dana Schultz, her colleague at the Pinecrest Family Wellness Center. That's who we need to talk to next.”
“You think she knows something?” Jake asked.
“I think she might have the connection we're missing.” Jenna started the engine, the low rumble filling the silence between them.
“Rebecca was a child psychologist, working with kids in therapeutic settings.
If there's a link between her and Claudia Kingsley beyond the obvious similarities in how they died, Dana might know what it is.”
Jake nodded, already pulling out his phone. “I'll find the address for the wellness center.”
As Jake searched, Jenna's thoughts drifted back to the crime scenes. Both women had been found with fairy tale imagery staged around their bodies. Claudia Kingsley hung inside a burlap wolf's belly, and Rebecca Hartley was in a coffin-like freezer, holding an apple with one bite taken from it.
The details were too specific, too deliberate to be a coincidence. They repeated elements from the original Red Riding Hood and Show White stories. Whoever had killed those two women had a message to send, and Jenna was determined to decode it before anyone else died.
“Got it,” Jake said, breaking into her thoughts. “It's on Oakridge Drive, about fifteen minutes from here.” He paused, his expression growing cautious. “You know Morgan will be furious if he finds out we're still investigating on his turf.”
“Morgan can be as furious as he wants after we solve this case. Right now, I'm more concerned about stopping whoever did this before they strike again.”
“Still, we need to tread carefully.” Jake replied. “Morgan's not the type to forgive jurisdictional overreach, even if it leads to an arrest.”
“I know.” Jenna pulled out of the parking space, steering out of the police station lot. “We'll try to keep him in the dark until we've solved this thing, which had better be soon.”
“You have a theory brewing, don't you?”
“More than a theory.” Jenna kept her eyes on the road, but her mind was reviewing images. “The positioning of the bodies, the fairy tale elements – it's all too specific. This isn't random violence. It's methodical, planned, personal.”
“Definitely planned and methodical,” Jake agreed. “Personal how?”
“I'm not sure about that part yet,” Jenna admitted. “But I think these specific women were targeted for a reason. Something connected them to each other and to the killer. Something that made them significant enough to become part of whatever twisted narrative is playing out.”
They fell into thoughtful silence as Jenna drove through Pinecrest traffic.
“Do you think we'll find anything useful?” Jake asked finally, breaking the silence. “Dana Schultz might not know anything beyond what she's already told Morgan when they were discussing her as a missing person.”
“Maybe. But sometimes people remember details they didn't think were important when they're asked different questions. And Morgan might not have been looking for the same connections we are.”
“And I suppose Dana doesn’t know that Rebecca is dead,” Jake observed. “We’ll probably have to break that news ourselves. Never a pleasant task, but we’ve had to do it before.”
Jenna fell silent. Somewhere out there, a killer was watching, waiting, perhaps already planning their next move.
“We're going to stop this,” Jake said quietly, as if reading her thoughts. “Whatever is happening, whoever is behind it – we'll find them.”
Jenna met his gaze briefly, drawing strength from the steadiness she found there. “Yes,” she agreed. “We will.”
They were halfway to Pinecrest Family Wellness Center when Jenna's phone rang, the sharp electronic tone cutting through her thoughts. She glanced at the screen before answering. “It's Mom,” she told Jake, tapping the speaker button. “Hey, Mom. Is everything okay with Piper?”
“She's fine, physically,” Margaret's voice came through, tense with concern. “But Jenna, she's been hearing voices again. She woke up from a nap about twenty minutes ago, very agitated.”
Jenna exchanged a quick glance with Jake. “What are the voices saying now?”
“That's just it—it's odd. She keeps repeating the same phrase: 'She lives in the twilight.' She's written it down a dozen times.
A chill settled between Jenna's shoulder blades. “She lives in the twilight,” she repeated slowly. “Did Piper say anything else? Any context?”
“No, nothing else. Just that phrase, over and over.” Margaret sounded tired.
Jenna frowned, considering. “Tell Piper we're working on it. And Mom? Keep her inside today, okay?”
After saying goodbye, Jenna fell silent, turning the phrase over in her mind. “She lives in the twilight,” she murmured. “What do you think it means?”
Jake shook his head. “Could be literal—someone who's only active at dusk. Could be metaphorical—someone living between two worlds, or in some kind of limbo.”
Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of the Pinecrest Family Wellness Center. The building was modern, with large windows reflecting the afternoon sun and a small garden with benches at the entrance.
Inside, the reception area was painted in soothing blues and greens, with comfortable chairs arranged around low tables scattered with magazines. A young woman looked up from behind the desk as they entered.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her smile cautious as she noted Jenna's uniform.
“Sheriff Graves and Deputy Hawkins from Genesius County,” Jenna said, showing her badge. “We'd like to speak with Dana Schultz if she's available.”
The receptionist checked her computer. “Dr. Schultz is just finishing a session. She should be free in about ten minutes. Would you like to wait?”
“We would, thank you.” Jenna chose a seat with a clear view of both the entrance and the hallway leading further into the building. Jake sat beside her, thumbing through a psychology journal without really reading it.
“What are you hoping to learn from her?” he asked in a low voice.
“Any clue to whether Rebecca was targeted randomly or for a specific reason,” Jenna replied. “And whether that reason connects her to Claudia Kingsley.”
Before Jake could respond, a door opened down the hallway, and a woman in her forties with a short brown bob and glasses emerged, escorting a teenager to the reception desk. After scheduling a follow-up appointment and saying goodbye to her patient, the woman approached Jenna and Jake.
“Sheriff Graves? I'm Dana Schultz.” She extended her hand. “My receptionist said you wanted to speak with me.”
“Yes, thank you for making time,” Jenna said, rising to shake her hand. “This is Deputy Hawkins. Is there somewhere we could talk privately?”
Dana gestured toward her office. “Of course. Follow me.”
Her office was warm and inviting, with plants on the windowsill and children's artwork framed on the walls. Dana took a seat behind her desk, motioning for them to sit in the chairs opposite.
“Have they found Rebecca?” she asked immediately, hope in her voice.
Jenna hesitated, sharing a glance with Jake. “We have,” she said carefully. “But I’m afraid it’s not good news. She was found dead.”
Dana gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God. Rebecca. What happened?”
“That’s what we’re investigating. It looks like she was murdered.”
“Murdered? Are you sure it’s her?”
“We’re sure,” Jenna said. “I can’t give you any more details yet. The death is under investigation.”
Dana looked stricken, her face blanching. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.” Her voice shook. “Who would do this to her?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Jenna said. “Any information you can give us will help track the killer.”
Tears welled in Dana’s eyes. “Of course,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “I’ll answer anything you need.”
“Did Rebecca ever mention knowing a woman named Claudia Kingsley?” Jenna asked, watching Dana's face carefully.
Recognition showed in Dana's eyes. “Yes, she did, actually. They were both part of a focus group a couple of weeks ago. For a book that was being considered for publication by the Ozark State University Press.”
Jenna leaned forward, her pulse quickening. “Could you tell us more about this focus group?”
Dana adjusted her glasses. “The university press occasionally assembles focus groups to evaluate children's literature before publication. Rebecca was asked to participate because of her expertise in child psychology. They wanted her professional opinion on whether a particular book was appropriate for young readers. And I believe Claudia is a schoolteacher.”
“What was the book?” Jake asked.
“It was called 'Loyalynne,'“ Dana replied. “By Vivian Crane.”
The author’s name sent a jolt of recognition through Jenna. “Vivian Crane,” she repeated. “I read her books as a child. Fanciful stories with fairy tale elements. If I remember correctly, she grew up in Genesius County.”
“That's right. She lives in New York now.”
“I didn't know she was still alive,” Jenna admitted.
“She is, but she's been out of the public eye for decades. Apparently, she had some kind of breakdown and stopped publishing. 'Loyalynne' was supposed to be her comeback.” Dana's expression grew troubled. “But the focus group found it deeply disturbing.”
“In what way?” Jenna pressed.
Dana hesitated. “It was ostensibly a children's book, but with extremely dark content. The story centered on a living doll named Loyalynne who interacted with familiar fairy tale characters—Snow White, Little Red Riding Hood, Hansel and Gretel. But instead of following the sanitized versions most children know, Crane reverted to the original tales. She does her own illustrations and she actually enhanced the horror and violence of the originals.”
Jenna exchanged a glance with Jake. The connection with those old fairy tales was impossible to ignore.
“The focus group was unanimous,” Dana continued. “The book seemed to be the work of a deeply disturbed mind. It glorified violence and presented truly horrific scenarios as if they were normal. Rebecca was particularly concerned about the psychological impact it might have on children.”
“How did Vivian Crane respond to the rejection?” Jake asked.
Dana's eyes clouded. “She was there in person for the report—she'd flown in from New York specifically to hear the verdict. When they told her they wouldn’t recommend that the book be published, she became... unhinged. She screamed at the committee, accused them of censorship, of not understanding her vision.”
“What did she do afterward?” Jenna asked, feeling the pieces start to click into place.
“I don't know for sure,” Dana admitted. “Rebecca said she assumed Crane had returned to New York, but she wasn't certain.”
“Were there others in the focus group besides Rebecca and Claudia?” Jake asked.
“Three others, but they weren't local. They participated via video conferencing.” Dana shook her head. “I don't know their names or where they live.”
Jenna stood, her mind racing. “Thank you, Dana. You've been incredibly helpful.”
Dana looked between them. “Do you think this has something to do with Rebecca's death?”
“We're following every lead,” Jenna said, not wanting to alarm her unnecessarily. “If you think of anything else, please call me directly.” She handed Dana her card.
Outside in the parking lot, Jake turned to her. “You think Vivian Crane is behind this, don't you?”
Jenna's expression was grim, her eyes hard with certainty. “I'm sure of it. And I'm equally sure she didn't return to New York.” She unlocked the patrol car with a sharp click. “She's still here, Jake. And if we don't find her, she's going to kill again—if she hasn't already.”