CHAPTER THREE
The county cruiser hummed along the tree-lined road leading to the outskirts of Trentville.
Fall had begun to paint the landscape in earnest, daubing the oaks and maples with rust and gold.
On any other morning, Jake might have appreciated the view.
Today, it felt like driving through someone else’s watercolor.
The radio crackled with routine dispatch chatter, but he barely registered the words.
As he took the final turn toward Calloway House, he was trying to push away thoughts of Piper’s disappearance and the hollow sound in Jenna’s voice during their call just a few minutes ago.
Her father had told her in a dream that Piper had gone missing.
Jake knew it was good that Piper herself hadn’t come to her—that would have meant that Piper was dead.
But now Jenna had to deal with the loss of her sister again.
“She’ll be okay,” he muttered to himself, though the words rang hollow in the empty car. Because he knew Jenna better than that. The disappearance of her twin would consume her, just as the original vanishing had shaped the last twenty years of her life.
But that hadn’t been the only dream that Jenna had described.
Jake kept mulling over something else she’d told him about her dreams—that she’d met a woman with a candle in the dark, and there had been a barking dog named Biscuit.
Did that have anything to do with the death of the woman at Calloway House, the one he was on his way to investigate?
He’d been told that it looked like an accident, but Jenna’s dream made him wonder.
The light at an intersection ahead turned red, and Jake eased the cruiser to a stop.
Traffic in Trentville was seldom heavy, but today’s delay felt like an eternity.
His mind wandered to Jenna—not to the sheriff, but to the woman whose cheek he’d once brushed with his lips.
Like their quick hugs and occasional hand holding, that gesture had been impulsive, a moment of warmth after they’d closed a difficult case.
The light changed, and Jake accelerated through the intersection, his thoughts still tangled around the complications of their relationship.
They’d acknowledged their mutual attraction, but had decided to put it aside for now.
That left so much unsaid between them—professional boundaries blurred by partnership and friendship.
He’d come to Trentville seeking quiet after the chaos of police work in Kansas City, not expecting to find someone like Jenna, with her sharp mind and quiet determination.
Certainly not expecting to develop feelings for his boss.
And definitely not expecting to find himself believing in the supernatural abilities she’d revealed to him.
Those lucid dreams where the dead spoke to her, giving clues that had helped solve more than one case—the skeptical cop in him had struggled with that revelation.
Yet after what he’d witnessed, he couldn’t deny the evidence of his own eyes.
Somehow it all made him more eager to pursue the relationship that had barely gotten started. He knew the extent that Jenna felt alone, and was coming to recognize how much he’d like to fill that emptiness in her life and his.
Jake shook his head, remembering his first weeks in Trentville when he’d scoffed at such stories.
The locals loved their ghost tales—the old mine shaft where lost souls wandered, the abandoned farmhouse where lights appeared in empty windows.
Calloway House topped them all, with its Gothic architecture and storied history.
The mansion appeared around the final bend, and Jake slowed the cruiser.
Morning light caught the limestone facade, transforming the building from foreboding to merely imposing.
The Shannon estate, built by the coal baron Pete Shannon in 1878, now renamed after its current owner’s family.
The irony wasn’t lost on the townspeople: Boyd Calloway, descendant of Amos Calloway, the man Shannon had supposedly cheated and driven away, now owned the very symbol of Shannon’s power and wealth.
Of course, this purchase had rekindled the spookiest legend about the place—that the ghost of Pete Shannon himself still stalked its halls some nights.
Jake pulled into the circular drive, noting a coroner’s van already parked there.
The lawn was immaculate, the restored ironwork gleaming, every detail speaking to the money that had been poured into transforming the crumbling mansion into luxury condominiums. Yet something about the place still felt wrong to Jake, as though the building itself resented its modern inhabitants.
He killed the engine and sat for a moment, gathering his thoughts. What would he have made of all this—the supposedly haunted mansion, Jenna’s lucid dream—before he came to Trentville? Before he’d seen the impossible with his own eyes?
“Get a grip,” he muttered to himself, grabbing his notepad from the passenger seat and stepping out into the crisp October air. He told himself not to let his imagination work overtime. Jenna’s dreams were real but that didn’t mean every old ghost story was true.
When Jake reached the front door, he encountered a man in his late forties, his face lined with concern. Jake recognized him from the case file photos they’d pulled after Boyd Calloway reported vandalism last month—Nolan Greer, the building superintendent.
“Deputy Hawkins?” Nolan extended a hand, his grip firm but quick to withdraw. “Didn’t expect the sheriff’s department for this. Pretty clearly an accident, from what I can tell.”
Jake studied the man’s face. “I’m just checking in, making sure everything’s properly documented. Standard procedure.”
“Sure, sure.” Nolan glanced toward the coroner’s van, then back to Jake. “Damn shame about Mrs. Marsh. Told her a hundred times to call me for maintenance issues. Stubborn woman.”
“Mind showing me where it happened?”
Nolan led him into the building, through a grand foyer that maintained much of its nineteenth-century opulence despite the modern security panel discreetly mounted near the restored staircase.
Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor, and Jake noted the mix of antique furnishings and contemporary touches—a blend that somehow emphasized rather than disguised the building’s age.
“Mrs. Marsh was in unit three,” Nolan said, gesturing down a wide hallway. “Second floor, east wing. Got the original master suite with the turret. Best views in the building.”
The elevator ride was brief and silent. As they stepped out onto the second floor, Jake could hear the muffled sounds of voices and movement from the end of the hallway. But before they reached the unit, another sound cut through the quiet—sharp, insistent barking.
“That’s Biscuit,” Nolan said with a grimace. “Mrs. Marsh’s dog. Little ankle-biter hasn’t shut up since we found her.”
Jake nearly missed a step. “Biscuit?”
“Yeah, some kind of terrier mix. Been driving the other residents crazy for months.” Nolan didn’t seem to notice Jake’s reaction as he used a master key to open the door to unit three.
The barking intensified as they entered.
The condo was tastefully decorated in neutral tones with splashes of burgundy and gold, each piece of furniture carefully chosen and arranged.
Sunshine streamed through tall windows, casting long rectangles of light across a plush area rug.
A small, wiry Yorkshire terrier darted from behind a sofa, barking furiously at the intrusion.
It circled their feet, its entire body vibrating with the effort of its warnings.
“Biscuit, quiet!” Nolan snapped, but the dog only barked more insistently, focusing particularly on Jake.
Jake crouched down, extending a hand for the dog to sniff. “Hey there, Biscuit,” he said softly, his mind racing. Jenna’s dream—a woman with a candle, and a dog named Biscuit. This couldn’t be coincidence. The little dog cautiously approached, finally allowing Jake to scratch behind its ears.
“Animal control’s coming for him later,” Nolan said. “Mrs. Marsh has a daughter in Chicago who’ll take him eventually—I hope.”
Jake straightened, trying to keep his voice casual. “So, what exactly happened here?”
“Through here.” Nolan led him past the main living area toward a narrow hallway at the back of the condo. “Each unit has its own laundry room. Mrs. Marsh was trying to change a light bulb in there. Looks like she fell off the step stool and hit her head on the corner of the table.”
The laundry room was cramped, made even more so by the presence of two members of the coroner’s team.
A woman’s body lay covered with a sheet on the floor, a dark stain visible near where her head would be.
A metal step stool lay on its side nearby, and a light bulb had rolled into the corner, its packaging torn open.
One of the coroner’s team, a young man Jake recognized from previous cases, looked up as they entered. “Deputy Hawkins. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Just checking things out,” Jake replied, his eyes taking in every detail of the scene. The corner of the laundry table was smeared with what was unmistakably blood. A single overhead fixture was missing its bulb. Everything about the scene supported the accident theory.
Except for Jenna’s dream.
“Can you walk me through what you think happened?” Jake asked.
The technician shrugged. “Pretty simple, really. Victim came in to do laundry, noticed the bulb was out. Instead of calling maintenance”—he glanced at Nolan— “she grabbed a step stool, got up there, lost her balance, fell backward, and caught the corner of the table with the back of her head. Blunt force trauma. Probably died instantly.”
Jake nodded, making a show of taking notes while his mind worked through the implications.
Why would Donna Marsh appear in Jenna’s dream if her death was just an accident?
The dead who sought out Jenna were usually murder victims, people with unfinished business, at the very least, secrets that needed revealing.
“She should’ve just called me,” Nolan said, shaking his head. “That’s what I’m here for. Just stupid, trying to do it herself.”
Something in the man’s tone made Jake look up sharply. There was annoyance there, certainly—but not much grief or shock for someone who had just discovered a resident’s body.
“When did you find her?” Jake asked.
“About seven this morning. I was doing my rounds, checking the common areas. Heard the dog barking like crazy from inside the unit, more than usual. Got no answer at the door or on her phone. Used my key to check if everything was okay, and found her.” Nolan gestured toward the body. “Called it in right away.”
“And no one else saw or heard anything unusual last night?”
Nolan frowned slightly. “Not that I know of. Mrs. Marsh lived alone, kept to herself mostly. Why? You don’t think this was something more than an accident, do you?”
Jake kept his expression neutral. “Just being thorough. Where’s Dr. Stark?”
The technician answered, “Conference in Jefferson City. Won’t be back until tonight. But honestly, Deputy, this is pretty straightforward. We were just about to transport the body straight to the funeral home.”
Jake studied the scene again. Everything pointed to an accident. Everything except the dream that only he knew about and didn’t dare try to explain.
“I’d like Dr. Stark to examine her personally when she returns,” Jake said. “Can you hold the body at the morgue until then?”
The technician blinked in surprise. “Sure, but— “
“It’s just procedure,” Jake cut him off, not wanting to explain further, especially not in front of Nolan. “I’ll let the sheriff know.”
They finished processing the scene in uncomfortable silence. Jake took several photos with his phone, made additional notes, and verified Nolan’s contact information. Biscuit followed them throughout the condo, quieter now, but watching Jake with what seemed like desperate intensity.
Before leaving, Jake paused by a side table where framed photos showed a smiling Donna Marsh with various family members.
In one, she held a younger Biscuit, her face bright with affection.
Jake felt a pang of sadness for the woman he’d never met, whose death might be more than the simple accident it appeared to be.
“I’ll be in touch if we need anything else,” Jake told Nolan at the door. “And I’ll make sure animal control knows to treat Biscuit well.”
Outside, Jake stepped away from the building’s entrance, needing space to think. The morning had warmed slightly, but he felt a persistent chill. He walked to his cruiser but didn’t get in, instead leaning against the hood and staring up at the imposing facade of Calloway House.
The building seemed to stare back, its many windows like watchful eyes. Jake tried to reconcile everything—the apparent accident, Jenna’s dream, the dog named Biscuit. Too specific to be coincidence. Jenna’s abilities had never led them wrong before.
Jake sighed heavily. He hated to bring this to Jenna now, with Piper missing and her world once again thrown into chaos. She needed to be focused on finding her sister, not investigating what everyone else would dismiss as a household accident.
But he couldn’t keep this from her. Not when her dream had specifically pointed to this woman, this place. He hesitated for another moment, watching as a cloud passed over the sun, temporarily darkening the limestone walls of Calloway House. Then, Jake pulled out his phone to make the call.