CHAPTER TWENTY
“Jake, I need you to go down and deal with the others,” Jenna said.
“What should I tell them?”
“Only what you have to,” Jenna said. “Just that there’s been another death—Boyd Calloway. That’s about all we know at this point, anyway.”
Jake left. Jenna stood at the edge of the king-sized bed, watching as Harold Winslow’s hands moved with expertise over Boyd Calloway’s still form. The eldest member of the Trentville City Council, Harold was also a retired physician. Jenna considered it lucky to have him here.
Of course, Jenna had seen death before—too many times in her four years as sheriff—but each one was different.
A car accident victim’s face still wore the expression of someone who hadn’t understood what was happening.
A drowning had left its subject looking as though he’d simply decided to lie down.
But most of the murder victims she’d seen hadn’t looked that peaceful.
Their faces often reflected the horror of unexplained attack.
She thought that Boyd Calloway looked like a man who had been afraid of something, who had died in serious pain—a look that raised some questions. Was that expression the result of a natural, though painful, attack, or had he experienced something intentional?
Cindy Ruhl sat in a delicate wingback chair by the window, her hands clutching the arms tightly.
She’d stopped crying a few minutes ago, but her mascara had left dark trails down her cheeks.
Every few moments, her gaze would dart to the bed, then quickly away, as though she couldn’t quite reconcile the man lying there with the one she’d known.
“Heart attack, I’d say,” Harold said, straightening up with a soft groan.
At eighty-two, he was still the most respected physician in Trentville, even in retirement.
“Or possibly a stroke. Maybe both.” His voice carried the weight of certainty, though Jenna noticed he’d left himself some wiggle room.
Cindy’s voice cut through the silence, brittle and sharp.
“I knew this would happen. I kept telling him.” She pushed herself up from the chair.
“His doctor warned him after the last attack. Said the stress of the business was going to kill him if he didn’t slow down.
” She wrapped her arms around herself, looking small and vulnerable in her designer clothes.
“But he wouldn’t listen. Not to the doctor, not to me. ”
“Ms. Ruhl,” Jenna said, softening her tone, “I know this is difficult, but I need to ask you a few questions. When was the last time you saw Mr. Calloway alive?”
Cindy twisted the gold bracelet at her wrist. “Yesterday evening in Kansas City, just when he was getting ready to drive here. I had a soirée to attend last night, so we agreed that I’d come here this morning on my own to join him for the meeting.
And,” she choked back a sob, “maybe just enjoy this old place for a while.”
Jenna glanced around the room, then walked around to the far side of the bed. She saw a sleek black cellphone lying face-down down on the carpet
“Did he usually keep his phone on the nightstand?” she asked Cindy.
“Always. He checked his emails before bed and first thing in the morning.”
Jenna found nothing mysterious about the cellphone. If Dr. Winslow’s diagnosis was correct, Boyd might have grabbed it to call for help when the pains began, only to accidentally drop it.
Jenna photographed the phone in place, marked the location, and bagged it for forensics to check out. Then her gaze traveled to the lamp on the side table
Under the lampshade, she saw that the light bulb was missing. The socket gaped empty.
“That’s odd,” she murmured.
“What is?” Harold asked, glancing up from where he sat on the edge of the bed.
“The bulb’s been removed from this lamp.” Jenna pointed, careful not to touch it.
Cindy frowned. “Maybe he took it out because it was too bright?”
“Maybe,” Jenna murmured. It was a small detail, probably meaningless, but her intuition whispered that it mattered.
Might someone has wanted to make sure that Calloway couldn’t turn on that lamp?
She thought of asking whether Calloway might have died of fright, but decided to wait.
That question was better suited for Dr. Stark.
The sound of the door opening drew her attention. Jake stepped in, his sandy hair slightly mussed. His eyes met Jenna’s.
“The crowd’s calming down,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I’ve got Officers Baldry, Hutson, and Delgado keeping everyone in the common areas for now. Most of them are pretty shaken up. I called Dr. Stark, and she’s on her way with a team.”
“Good work,” Jenna said. Then her eyes fell again on Cindy Ruhl, who seemed to be slipping into a state of shock.
Turning to Dr. Winslow, she said quietly, “Harold, could you take Ms. Ruhl somewhere else? Officer Delgado can help you take care of her.”
Dr. Winslow gently helped Cindy to her feet and led her out of the room. Jake called Delgado to let her know about the doctor and his charge.
Jenna and Jake were now alone in the room with Boyd Calloway’s corpse.
“What are you thinking? “Jake asked, but before she could reply her own phone vibrated in her pocket.
She pulled it out, frowning at the unknown number on the screen. Under normal circumstances, she’d let it go to voicemail, but with a dead body in the room and a house full of suspects—or witnesses, she corrected herself—she couldn’t afford to miss anything.
“Sheriff Graves,” she answered.
“Sheriff, this is Chief Joel Harmon, Piltdown Police Department.”
The name caught her off guard. Piltdown was nearly three hundred miles away, in the northwest corner of the state, near the Iowa border. She’d never had any dealings with their department.
“Chief Harmon,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
There was a pause on the line, and when he spoke again, he sounded confused. “This is going to sound strange, Sheriff, but I need to confirm something. Do you have a sister named Piper?”
Jenna’s free hand shot out to brace herself against the wall as her knees threatened to buckle. “Yes,” she managed, the word barely audible. “Yes, I do.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Well, she’s here at the station looking the worse for wear, and she’s asking to speak with you.
She says she’s your sister, and—” He stopped, and Jenna could hear muffled conversation in the background.
When he came back, his voice had softened. “Sheriff, I’m putting her on the line.”
The world narrowed to the phone pressed against her ear. Then—
“Jenna? It’s me. It’s Piper.” The voice was thin, uncertain, but unmistakably her sister’s.
“Oh my God.” Jenna’s voice broke. “Piper? Is it really you?”
“I’m really Piper again,” her sister said, and Jenna could hear the tears in her voice. “I’m through being Emma. I’m ready to come home, Jenna. For good this time.”
Jenna sank into the nearest chair, her legs finally giving out. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“I‘m at the police station in Piltdown. I’m safe.” Piper took a shaky breath. “Dad came to me in a vision, Jenna. He helped me remember.”
“Dad?” Jenna whispered. Did this mean that her sister had the same experience?
“I know it sounds crazy, but—” Piper stopped. When she spoke again, her voice had changed, taking on more urgency. “Listen, I know you’re working a case…”
“How could you possibly know—”
“Dad told me. He said to warn you: ‘Be careful of a ghost that’s not really a ghost.’”
Jenna gasped. Last night, in a lucid dream that had felt all too real, Pete Shannon’s spirit had warned her with eerily similar words: “Don’t believe in ghosts.”
“There’s more,” Piper continued. “My... my voices shared something with me. They said, ‘The walls are alive.’ I think they meant wherever you’re investigating now. They said to look for something small and black in a place where it shouldn’t be.”
Jenna struggled to make sense of what she was hearing. Piper had always been sensitive—perhaps more so than Jenna herself—but this was something else entirely. “Piper, are you sure—”
“I know how it sounds,” Piper cut in. “But the voices said you should know.”
Jenna took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll call Frank right now. He’ll come to Piltdown to get you. Wait for him right there in the police station.”
“Thank you.” The relief in Piper’s voice was palpable. “And Jenna? I’m sorry. For everything.”
“We’ll talk about it when you’re home,” Jenna said softly. “I love you, Piper.”
“Love you too.”
The call ended, and Jenna sat motionless, phone still clutched in her hand.
“Jenna?” Jake’s voice broke through her daze. He was crouched in front of her, his eyes filled with concern. “What happened? Who was that?”
“My sister,” Jenna said, the words feeling strange in her mouth. “It was Piper. She’s... she’s coming home.”
Understanding dawned in Jake’s eyes. He reached out, squeezing her hand. “That’s great, Jenna.”
She was still trying to process it all. With an effort, she pulled herself back to the present.
There was a dead man in the room, a potential crime scene to secure, and a house full of people who needed to be questioned.
And somehow, in the middle of it all, Piper had reached out with a warning strangely similar to one Jenna had received.
“I need to call Frank,” she said, already dialing. The call connected after two rings.
“Hi, Jenna Marie,” Frank’s voice came through, gruff but warm. “What’s going on?”
“Frank.” She kept her voice steady through force of will. “Piper’s in Piltdown. At the police station. She wants to come home and I’m tied up at Calloway House. There’s been another death here.”
The silence on the line stretched for several heartbeats, then: “I’m on my way to get Piper. I’ll leave right now.”
They clarified the location, and then the call ended. “What great news,” Jake commented. “And she’s fully aware of who she is?”
“Yes. That’s what she said.”
Jenna stood, tucked her phone away and forced herself back into professional mode.
“I need to do my job here,” she muttered as she moved to the window, looking out at the grounds of Calloway House.
The morning had grown brighter. From this height, she could see the edge of the forest that bordered the property, the trees a dark mass against the clear blue sky.
After a few moments, she turned back to the room, this time paying attention to the space itself rather than the body—the massive four-poster bed with its rumpled covers, the antique furniture, the heavy drapes. Everything was opulent, tasteful, and somehow oppressive.
Her eyes caught on the dark wooden paneling that covered the lower half of the walls. She’d noticed it before, of course, but now she looked at it with new attention.
The walls are alive.
Piper’s words echoed in her mind. What could that possibly mean? Jenna stood looking at the most decorative wall. The wood was rich and dark, polished to a soft sheen. She began to notice details she hadn’t before—an intricate inlay pattern woven throughout the paneling.
It was a vine motif, she realized, winding its way across the wall in an elaborate design.
Thin lines of brass formed the stems and leaves, creating a delicate tracery against the dark wood—beautiful work, clearly done by a master craftsman.
And nestled among the leaves were clusters of grapes, each one a small, rounded bead of mother-of-pearl that caught the light with a violet glow.
Grapes.
The word triggered a memory—last night’s dream, still vivid in her mind. Pete Shannon had offered her a bunch of grapes. “Would you care for one?” he’d asked, pointing to a single black grape among the purple. “Try it. You’ll like it.”
And Piper had told her to look for something small and black.
Jenna scanned the wall scanned the wall closely. There—near the corner of the room—a cluster of inlaid grapes with a single black one among them. Not mother-of-pearl like the others, but onyx, dark and gleaming.
She moved toward it, aware of Jake’s curious gaze following her. Without pausing to explain, she reached out and pressed the black grape with her index finger.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a soft click that seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room, the entire panel shifted, sliding back a couple of inches.
“What the—” Jake started, moving to her side.
Jenna didn’t answer. Her heart was pounding as she grasped the edge of the panel and slid it open, revealing a dark space beyond.
“Thank you, Piper,” she whispered.