CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The patrol car already parked in front of Nancy Billings's small bungalow told Jenna that the call about Ida Billings's disappearance had been taken seriously. She pulled her cruiser to a stop at the curb and cut the engine.
“Looks like Miller and Chen beat us here,” Jake observed, unbuckling his seatbelt.
“Let's see what they've found,” she said, stepping out of the vehicle.
Nothing appeared amiss from the outside of the one-story home with its neatly trimmed hedges and mums blooming in ceramic pots on the front porch.
Jenna saw no sign of struggle or forced entry.
Just a normal house on a normal street, where an elderly woman had vanished without explanation.
At eighty-five, Ida Billings was among Trentville's most vulnerable residents, and the clock was already ticking.
The front door opened before they reached it, revealing a female officer whose expression lightened at the sight of them.
“Sheriff,” she acknowledged. “Ms. Billings is inside. We've taken her initial statement, but there's not much to go on.”
“Thanks, Miller,” Jenna replied, stepping past her. Jake followed Jenna into the house.
The interior was warm and slightly stuffy.
Family photos lined the walls of the entryway, tracking the progression of time through faded snapshots of picnics and holidays.
Jenna's gaze lingered briefly on a black-and-white portrait of a young woman who bore a striking resemblance to the older Ida Billings she saw from time to time—same determined set of the features, same direct gaze.
In the living room, Nancy Billings sat stiffly on the edge of a floral sofa, her bank teller's uniform still crisp despite the obvious distress on her face. A male officer stood near the window, notepad in hand.
“Ms. Billings,” Jenna greeted the younger woman. “I'm Sheriff Graves, and this is Deputy Hawkins. I understand your grandmother is missing?”
Nancy’s hands were twisting a tissue into shreds. “Yes. I came home during my lunch break to check on her, like I always do. She wasn't here. That was almost three hours ago now. I can’t imagine … she never …”
Jenna glanced at the two officers, then back to Nancy. “Would you mind if my deputy and I spoke with you alone?”
Nancy shook her head. “No, that's fine.”
With a subtle nod from Jenna, the officers excused themselves, mentioning they would check the perimeter of the property again. As the front door closed behind them, Jenna took a seat in an armchair across from Nancy while Jake remained standing, his keen eyes already surveying the room.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” Jenna prompted gently.
Nancy drew a deep breath, visibly collecting herself.
“I work at First Regional Bank downtown.
Every day around 1:30, I take my break and come home to check on Grandma.
She's generally fine on her own, but I like to make sure she's eaten lunch and taken her medication.” She gestured vaguely toward a small pill organizer on the side table.
“When I got here today, she wasn't in the house. I called for her, checked the backyard, even looked in the basement, though she rarely goes down there anymore.”
“And this was unusual?” Jenna asked, though she already knew the answer.
"Not entirely," Nancy admitted. "Grandma still takes walks when the weather is nice.
She's more mobile than most people her age.
But she's usually back within an hour, and she always leaves a note.
There's a small whiteboard right there beside the refrigerator in the kitchen. Nothing written there today."
Jake stepped into the kitchen doorway. Then he turned to Jenna. “No message,” he confirmed.
Jenna asked Nancy. “When did you start to worry?”
"I waited here about forty-five minutes.
Called her friends and neighbors. No one had seen her.
Then I drove around the neighborhood, thinking maybe she'd fallen or gotten disoriented.
" Nancy's voice wavered slightly. "When I couldn't find her, I came back and called the police. It's not like her to just vanish."
“Does your grandmother have any medical conditions we should be aware of? Dementia, memory issues?”
“No, nothing like that. A few ordinary physical ailments, but she's sharp as a tack. Remembers things from fifty years ago better than I remember last week.” A ghost of a smile flickered across Nancy's face, then vanished. “That's why this is so strange. It has never happened before.”
“Has she mentioned wanting to go anywhere specific lately? Visit an old friend, perhaps?”
Nancy shook her head. “No. Her routine is pretty set these days. She reads, watches her programs, does a bit of gardening in the yard. Sometimes we drive out to her old house in Gildner on weekends, but she wouldn't go out there alone.”
From the corner of the room, Jake cleared his throat softly. “Sheriff?”
Jenna turned to see him standing near a bookshelf, his attention fixed on a collection of colorfully bound volumes. She rose and joined him, instantly recognizing the whimsical illustrations on the spines.
“Vivian Crane,” she murmured, running a finger along the row of children's books. “The Moonflower Garden, Whispers in the Attic, The Secret Lighthouse ...” She'd read these books as a child, captivated by their blend of wonder and gentle lessons.
“You know these stories?” Jake asked quietly.
“These are the ones Mom used to read to me and Piper. They were our favorites.” Jenna turned back to Nancy. “Your grandmother is a fan of Vivian Crane?”
Nancy looked puzzled by the change in subject. “Yes, she's collected her books for years. What does that have to do with her disappearance?”
“Maybe something, I don’t know yet.” Jenna held up one of the volumes. “This is quite a collection—some of these are hard to find now.”
“Oh, Grandma's been following Vivian Crane since the beginning. They knew each other, actually. Vivian was just a little girl when Grandma first met her. She still talks about how talented Vivian was, even then.” Nancy's expression softened with recollection.
“Grandma was so proud when Vivian started publishing books. She bought every single one.”
“They stayed in touch?” Jenna asked uneasily.
“Not really. Grandma followed her career from afar. She often wonders whatever happened to Vivian, actually. It's been years since her last book came out. Grandma sometimes says she hopes Vivian is still alive and writing somewhere.”
Jenna exchanged a significant glance with Jake. Before she could pursue this line of questioning further, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out, recognizing her mother's number on the screen.
“Excuse me a moment,” she said, stepping into the kitchen for privacy. “Mom? Is everything okay?”
Her mother's voice came through, tight with concern. “Jenna, it's Piper. She's... having an episode.”
“What kind of episode?”
“She woke up from a nap about twenty minutes ago, completely agitated.
She keeps saying her voices are telling her, 'The witch has gone home.
' And she's warning me to 'watch out for the flames.
'“ A pause, then: “Jenna, she's seeing them, those flames.
She says they're all around us, that she can even feel the heat. I've never seen her like this before.”
Jenna pressed her free hand against a cool countertop, steadying herself. “Is she in any immediate danger? Do you need me to come there?”
“No, no. She's calmer now. I gave her the medication Dr. White prescribed. But she was insistent that I call you right away, that it was important you know about the flames.”
“Okay. Keep her there, and call me if anything changes. I'll be in touch as soon as I can.” Jenna ended the call and returned to the living room, her mind racing.
Jake raised an eyebrow in silent question.
“We need to move quickly,” Jenna said, turning back to Nancy. “Ms. Billings, you mentioned your grandmother's old house in Gildner. Can you tell me exactly where that is?”
Nancy blinked at the abrupt return to that topic. “The Billings house? It's just outside Gildner proper. Been in the family for generations—one of the original frontier homesteads in the county. Why?”
“And this house is currently empty?”
“Yes. Grandma couldn't maintain it anymore after Grandpa died. That's why I moved back from Chicago five years ago—to take care of her. We visit occasionally to check on things, but no one lives there. She didn’t want to sell it, but it’s really not in good condition for anyone to live there anyhow.”
“Is it in a wooded area?”
“Well, yes. I mean, there are lots of trees around it. And woods adjoining the property.”
Jenna leaned forward. “I need the exact address.”
Nancy's confusion deepened, but she complied.
“It's 1427 Old Mill Road. About a quarter mile past the Gildner town sign, there's a gravel drive with a wrought-iron gate.
Can't miss it. But I don't understand—you think Grandma went there?
She couldn't have. She doesn't drive anymore, and it's much too far to walk.”
“We're going to check it out,” Jenna said, not quite answering the question. “Jake, let's go.”
As they headed for the door, Nancy called after them: “Sheriff Graves? What's happening? Do you know something about my grandmother?”
Jenna paused, weighing how much to reveal. “We're following a lead, Ms. Billings. That's all I can say right now. We'll call you as soon as we know more.”
Jenna's steps were quick as they returned to the cruiser, Jake matching her stride for stride.
“Want to tell me what's going on?” he asked once they were out of earshot. “You think that Vivian Crane has taken Ida Billings? To that old house? But why?”
“Piper just sent a message through Mom,” Jenna said, sliding into the driver's seat and starting the engine.
“She said 'The witch has gone home.' In Hansel and Gretel, the witch lives in a house in the woods.
Ida Billings's old house is outside town, probably isolated, and Nancy confirmed the wooded location.”
Jake looked at her for a moment, then asked, “What else?”
“Mom said that Piper is warning us about dangerous flames. In the story, the witch tries to cook the children in her oven.” Jenna flipped on the lights and siren. “If I'm right about what all of this means, we need to get there fast. She might not have much time.”
As the cruiser accelerated through Trentville's streets, Jake requested another patrol car to meet them at the Billings house. “Sheriff,” he said quietly, “Even pushing it, we're still looking at twenty-five minutes to Gildner.”
Jenna turned on the flashing lights and the siren.
Her thoughts raced faster than the vehicle cutting through the afternoon traffic.
Gildner was an unincorporated settlement with no sheriff, no police department of its own, an all-volunteer fire department, no one to rescue Ida Billings sooner than they could.
“Spelling?” she asked aloud, keeping her focus on the road ahead.
Jake put through a call to the Highway Patrol Colonel. “Spelling? It's Hawkins. We need some backup near Gildner. Urgent situation out there. Can you spare anyone?”
“Gildner?” Spelling replied, sounding strained. “That's a stretch. I don't have anyone in the area just now.”
“Nothing closer than Trentville?”
“Afraid not,” Spelling said, his voice edged with tension. “I can get a car there, but it's gonna be about forty-five minutes.”
Jake described the location of the old Billings house.
“Got it,” Spelling said. “I’ll get someone there, at least for backup.”
As they left Trentville, Jenna pressed down harder on the accelerator. The cruiser surged forward, eating up the miles, but Piper's warning still echoed in her mind: “Watch out for the flames.”
What exactly did those flames signify? Were they metaphorical, flames representing the burning rage that had driven Vivian to kill before?
Based on the previous murders, a literal fire seemed more likely.
Jenna's imagination supplied horrifying possibilities—Vivian forcing the elderly woman into an old wood-burning fireplace or stove, or perhaps setting the entire house ablaze with Ida trapped inside.
The road to Gildner wound through the autumn-painted countryside.
Under different circumstances, Jenna might have appreciated the beauty of the maple trees blazing red and gold against the clear blue sky.
Today, all she saw was the minutes ticking by, each one potentially bringing Ida Billings closer to whatever fate Vivian Crane had planned for her.
And as the siren of their patrol car rang through the air, Jenna was afraid that they might already be too late.