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Jenna’s hands trembled slightly as she pulled her uniform shirt over her head, the fabric catching on her damp skin.

The images from her lucid dream clung to her consciousness like cobwebs—Sandra Reeves singing into that antique phonograph, unaware she was dead, describing what had happened to her in what she believed was her own dream.

“Jenna?” Jake’s voice was rough with sleep but instantly alert. “Everything okay?”

“I need to see you. And Frank. It’s important.” She tried to keep her voice calm, professional, but the urgency bled through.

“Another dream?” he asked quietly.

“Yes. I’ll explain when I see you. Can you pick me up in twenty? I’ll call Frank.”

“On my way.”

Jenna ended the call and immediately dialed Frank. He answered on the fourth ring, his voice carrying the gravel of early morning.

“Frank, it’s Jenna. I need to talk to you. Can Jake and I come over?”

“Is this about the same murder case?” Frank asked. “Something new?”

“Yes, but it’s complicated. I can’t explain over the phone.”

A beat of silence, then Frank’s voice softened. “I’ll put on coffee.”

“Thanks. We’ll be there soon.”

She set the phone down and finished dressing, her movements automatic while her mind replayed fragments of the dream. Sandra’s voice, hauntingly beautiful as it filled that strange dreamscape packed with audio equipment. And the song—Piper’s favorite.

Jenna splashed cold water on her face, the shock of it momentarily clearing the fog of fatigue. She hadn’t slept well even before the dream invaded her night, and she’d gotten very little sleep the night before. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, showing the toll this case was taking.

Soon the familiar rumble of Jake’s squad car sounded outside her window. She grabbed her badge, gun, and jacket, locking the front door behind her.

Jake waited in the driver’s seat, his face betraying concern beneath his professional demeanor. The interior smelled of coffee—he’d brought a thermos, and he’d already poured two cups. Steam rose from the travel mugs wedged in the console.

“Thought you might need this,” he said, nodding toward the coffee as she slid into the passenger seat.

“You’re a lifesaver. Frank’s making a pot for us, but I need to wake up before we get there.”

Jake pulled away from the curb, navigating the quiet streets of early morning Trentville. “So, another lucid dream?”

Jenna took a long sip of coffee before answering. “Yes, and it’s got me in a real quandary. I need to talk to both you and Frank about it. Need your help figuring out what to do.”

“That bad?”

“That complicated.”

She stared out the window at the town slowly coming to life—a newspaper carrier tossing papers onto porches, a few dedicated joggers braving the crisp morning air. “I think we have another victim. Actually, I’m sure of it.”

“I was afraid of that,” Jake replied, but he didn’t press her for details. They drove the rest of the way to Frank’s house in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

They parked in Frank’s driveway and hurried toward the house, where the front door swung open just before they reached it. As they greeted Frank and stepped inside, the savory aromas of coffee and something else cooking greeted them.

“Come on in,” Frank said as he headed back to the kitchen. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

They followed him to the warm oasis where they had sat and talked and eaten sandwiches just last night. Frank moved with surprising agility between the stove and counter, spatula in hand, dressed in worn jeans and a faded Trentville Sheriff’s Department sweatshirt that predated Jenna’s career.

“Figured you two probably haven’t eaten this morning,” Frank said, expertly flipping an omelet. “Can’t solve murders on empty stomachs. It’s time the two of you learned the importance of regular meals.”

The domestic normalcy provided a stark contrast to the reason for their visit. Jenna felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly as she slipped into one of the familiar wooden chairs at his kitchen table.

“You didn’t have to cook for us, Frank,” she protested weakly.

“Sure I did.” He slid perfectly folded omelets onto three mismatched plates. “Besides, gives me something to do while you tell me what’s got you showing up at my door at the crack of dawn.”

Jake settled beside Jenna, accepting the plate Frank handed him with a nod of thanks. “Smells amazing.”

Frank poured coffee into three mugs—one advertising a fishing tackle shop, another from the Trentville Fire Department fundraiser, and the third bearing a faded Missouri State University logo. The coffee was dark and rich, steam carrying its robust aroma across the table.

“Now,” Frank said, setting the coffee pot back on its warmer and taking his seat, “what was this latest dream all about? Who visited you?”

Jenna took a fortifying sip of coffee before setting her mug down. “Sandra Reeves.”

Frank’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Sandra Reeves? The singer?”

Jenna nodded, pushing her omelet around her plate. “It was strange, even for these dreams. I was surrounded by audio equipment—phonographs, radios, recording devices. Like I was standing in the middle of Howard Mitchell’s collection.”

“So this was related to the dream about Marcus Derrick?”

“Well, yes,” she replied. “I mean, that one was radio parts, and the equipment in this one was different, but both included a lot of old stuff.”

“Some kind of connection,” Jake muttered. “But go on, what happened?”

“Then I heard singing—a woman’s voice performing ‘Whispers of Forever.’“

Frank’s eyes widened slightly. “That was Piper’s favorite song.”

“You remember that?” Jenna asked, surprised.

“Course I do. You two would play that record until your father threatened to throw the turntable out the window.” Frank’s smile was tinged with sadness. “Beautiful song.”

“It is,” Jake agreed. “My mother was a fan too.”

Jenna continued, describing how she had found Sandra among the equipment, singing into the horn of an antique phonograph. “She played her recording back to me, then put on a different cylinder with ‘In the Good Old Summer Time’ and sang along with it too.”

“Was she...” Jake searched for the right words. “Did she know she was dead?”

Jenna shook her head. “No. Like Marcus, she didn’t seem to know where she was.

Although she wasn’t alarmed like he was.

” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “But she told me something important. She described being attacked by someone she couldn’t identify and choked with a cord.

Said she was bound with cords to something hard. ”

“Bound?” Frank repeated, his brow furrowing.

“Yes. She thought it was a dream she’d had—waking up tied to something. But the way she described it...” Jenna pushed her plate away, her appetite vanishing. “I think she was describing her own murder and what happened right after she was dead.”

The kitchen fell silent except for the gentle ticking of the old wall clock and the distant singing of birds outside the window. Morning sunlight streamed through the curtains.

“The dream ended before I could get any more details,” Jenna added. “But I’m certain of what it means. Sandra Reeves has been killed and her body tied up somewhere, just like Marcus Derrick.”

Jake set his fork down, his omelet half-eaten. “When was the last time either of you heard anything about Sandra Reeves? I haven’t seen her name in years.”

“That’s because she pretty much disappeared from public view,” Frank said, leaning back in his chair. “She was big in the 90s, had a couple of hits. But her voice started failing her—a problem with her vocal cords, I think. She moved back to Pinecrest about five years ago.”

“Pinecrest?” Jenna asked sharply. “You’re sure she’s in Pinecrest?”

Frank nodded. “Born and raised there. After her singing career ended, she opened a recording studio. Melody Forge, I think it’s called. She works with local musicians, helps them record demos. Keeps a low profile these days.”

Jenna’s mind raced. “Her body is somewhere, bound to something solid. Given what happened the first time, possibly a radio tower or something similar.”

“Damn it,” Jake muttered.

“We need to contact Pinecrest PD,” Frank said. “Let them know—” He stopped, realization dawning. “Except we can’t tell them how we know.”

“Exactly.” Jenna ran a hand through her short hair. “How do I explain this? ‘Check your radio towers because a dead woman told me in a dream that’s where she might be?’“

“What about Colonel Spelling?” Jake suggested. “If another body’s been discovered, he’d be looped in.”

Jenna nodded, reaching for her phone. “If Sandra’s body has been found, that’s the first thing he’ll mention.”

She dialed Spelling’s number, putting the call on speaker so Jake and Frank could hear.

“Sheriff Graves,” Spelling answered crisply. “I was about to call you.”

Jenna’s pulse quickened. “Colonel. Any developments I should know about?”

“Indeed. Chief Morgan and I will be spending the day building our case against Harris Lynch. The evidence is compelling.”

Jenna’s eyes met Jake’s across the table. “So nothing new has come to your attention? No other... incidents?”

“Nothing beyond what we discussed yesterday. Morgan is confident Lynch is our man. I’m yet to be convinced, but I’m open to the possibility.”

Jenna knew that, if her dream was accurate, Harris Lynch wasn’t the killer. But she couldn’t say that.

“I see,” she managed. “Keep me updated.”

“Will do, Sheriff.”

The call ended, leaving the kitchen in uncomfortable silence.

“Lynch couldn’t have killed Sandra,” Jake said, voicing what they were all thinking. “He’s been in a cell since soon after Marcus Derrick’s body was found.”

“But we can’t tell Spelling that because we can’t explain how we know Sandra’s dead,” Frank added, his expression grim.

The ticking of the clock seemed to grow louder, punctuating the gravity of their situation. Frank, usually ready with advice, looked as perplexed as Jenna felt.

“So what’s our next step?” Jake asked, pushing his plate away.

“We need to go to Pinecrest,” Jenna decided. “If Sandra’s body is anywhere in that area, bound to something like she described, there is a serial killer at work. We need to figure this out before he strikes again.”

“Jurisdictional nightmare,” Frank warned. “Pinecrest PD won’t take kindly to Genesius County Sheriff poking around without cause.”

“I know.” Jenna rubbed her temples, feeling the beginning of a headache. “But what choice do we have? We can’t sit on this information.”

“Could call in an anonymous tip,” Jake suggested. “Get them searching without revealing how we know.”

“And if they don’t take it seriously?” Jenna countered. “Or worse, if they do and find her body but miss crucial evidence because they’re not looking for the right things?”

The three of them fell silent, each weighing the impossible situation.

“We check it out ourselves,” Jenna finally said. “Quietly. If we find something, then we figure out a plausible way to explain our presence and the discovery.”

Frank nodded slowly. “Not by the book, but neither is this whole situation.”

They finished their coffee, the remainder of their breakfast forgotten. As Jenna and Jake prepared to leave, Frank walked them to the door.

“Be careful out there,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of years of similar warnings. “Whatever’s happening in Pinecrest, it could be bigger than anything we’ve seen before.”

“We will,” Jenna assured him, squeezing his arm gently.

As they stepped onto the porch, the morning sun cast a different light on the day. Jake walked on ahead, giving Jenna a moment with Frank.

“You remember what I said about you two?” Frank asked quietly, his eyes flicking toward Jake.

Jenna felt heat rise to her cheeks. “This isn’t the time, Frank.”

“Yeah, well don’t drag things out with excuses, Jenna.” Frank’s expression softened. “Life’s short. Don’t waste it pretending not to feel what you feel.”

She didn’t respond, but Frank’s words followed her down the steps to where Jake waited by the patrol car.

For a moment, as Jake held the passenger door open for her, their eyes met.

Something unspoken passed between them—concern, partnership, and something deeper that Jenna wasn’t ready to think about yet.

The moment broke as Jenna slid into the seat.

Jake closed her door and circled to the driver’s side.

As they pulled away from Frank’s house, Jenna pushed aside the complicated emotions stirred by Frank’s words.

The case demanded her full attention. The truth about Sandra Reeves—and whoever was responsible for her death—was waiting in Pinecrest.

The patrol car headed down the quiet county road, carrying them toward an investigation they couldn’t officially conduct, searching for a victim they couldn’t explain knowing about, racing against a killer they couldn’t identify … hoping to save the life of a target as yet unknown.