Page 10 of In Her Dreams (Jenna Graves #7)

Jenna squinted against the afternoon sunlight as it bounced off the red brick buildings of Ozark State University.

The academic quadrangle stretched before her, students crisscrossing the pathways, some in a rush, others just strolling along.

She checked her watch—she was right on time for her appointment with Dr. Olivia Summers.

The Anthropology Department was housed in Blackwell Hall, a stately building with columns flanking its entrance and ivy climbing determinedly up its eastern wall.

Jenna hurried up the worn stone steps and through the main doorway.

She passed a bulletin board teeming with colorful flyers—study abroad opportunities, guest lecturers, departmental announcements—before consulting the directory.

Dr. Summers’ office was on the third floor.

As she climbed the stairs, Jenna’s thoughts drifted to the Pinecrest Police Chief.

Their last encounter had led to jurisdictional tensions that she didn’t want to repeat.

She hoped her visit to the University campus would go unnoticed by Chief Rudy Morgan.

The last thing any investigation needed was a pissing contest between departments.

The third-floor hallway was quiet, lined with closed doors bearing nameplates and office hours.

Academic cartoons decorated the bulletin boards, jokes that required at least a master’s degree to fully appreciate.

She stopped before a door with a wooden plaque reading “Dr. Olivia Summers, Ph.D. – Professor of Ethnology.” A strip of paper was taped beneath it, listing office hours and a scrawled note: “Knock LOUDLY.”

Jenna rapped firmly against the wood.

“Come in,” a voice called from within, muffled but confident.

The office that greeted Jenna was evidence of copious academic research.

Bookshelves lined every available wall, laden with volumes ranging from ancient leather-bound tomes to glossy modern paperbacks.

Papers were stacked on nearly every surface, yet there seemed to be a system to their arrangement.

Behind a desk that appeared to be an island in a sea of that organized chaos sat Dr. Olivia Summers.

Her appearance was a study in contrasts—intelligent eyes set in a face framed by hair that had partially escaped its bun, an expensive blouse marred by what looked like a fresh coffee stain near the collar.

She looked up at Jenna with an expression of wary curiosity.

“Dr. Summers? I’m Sheriff Jenna Graves from Genesius County.” Jenna extended her hand across the desk. I phoned and your teaching assistant gave me this time for an appointment.”

“Sheriff? That’s unexpected. My T.A. just mentioned an urgent matter that was related to my field of expertise.”

The professor’s handshake was firm and brief. “Please, sit down.” She gestured to a chair partially obscured by a stack of journals. “You’ll have to move those. Peer reviews—not as insightful as one might hope.”

Jenna carefully relocated the journals to the floor and sat down, taking the opportunity to observe Dr. Summers more closely. Despite her disheveled appearance, there was nothing unfocused about her gaze. It was sharp, assessing, the look of someone accustomed to piecing together complex puzzles.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice,” Jenna said.

“I’m pleased to be of help if I can, Sheriff Graves.” Dr. Summers leaned back slightly in her chair. “Though you were apparently somewhat vague about the details.”

Jenna nodded, choosing her next words carefully. “I’m investigating two deaths that occurred recently in Greenville. Both unusual circumstances.”

“Deaths?” Dr. Summers’ eyebrows rose slightly. “And you’ve come all the way to Pinecrest to talk with me about them? That’s quite a drive from Trentville, isn’t it? About an hour?”

“It is,” Jenna acknowledged. “But sometimes investigations require us to go where the expertise is located.”

“And what expertise of mine could possibly be relevant to deaths in Trentville?”

“I believe your background in ethnology, particularly your work on cultural artifacts and their significance, might help shed light on some objects we found at both scenes.” Jenna paused, watching the professor’s face. “Cassie Rivera suggested I speak with you.”

A flicker of amusement crossed Dr. Summers’ face. “Ah, Cassie. How is she? Still reading tarot cards and communing with what she believes are spirits?”

“She’s well,” Jenna said, noting the condescension in the professor’s voice. “She speaks highly of your academic credentials, despite your... differing perspectives.”

“Yes, Cassie and I have had some spirited discussions about the nature of belief versus empirical evidence.” Dr. Summers smiled thinly. “But I doubt you came here to discuss the philosophy of paranormal investigation.”

Jenna reached into her bag and pulled out her phone.

“You’re right, I didn’t.” She brought up the two photographs of dreamcatchers.

“These objects were found hanging on walls at the crime scenes. One near the body of Richard Winters, a local banker who died of apparent cardiac arrest. The other is with Anita Palmer, a first-grade teacher. So far, we don’t know where either of them acquired the items, or even whether their presence was significant.

But I felt the need to learn more about them. ”

Dr. Summers leaned forward, her academic interest visibly piqued. She studied the photos, her brow furrowing as she noted the intricate patterns.

“Interesting,” she murmured, leaning forward for closer examination. “I’ve never seen dreamcatchers quite like these before. The design is... quite unusual.”

Jenna felt a ripple of excitement at the professor’s response. “Unusual how?”

Dr. Summers glanced up, as if suddenly remembering Jenna’s presence. “Well, the traditional dreamcatcher is Ojibwe in origin, with a fairly standard structure. These have elements that don’t align with any Native American tradition I’m familiar with.”

She tapped the photo with one finger. “The materials, the binding technique, the symbolic additions—they appear to be a hybrid, perhaps someone’s adaptation.

Of course, individuals often labeled as new-agers are quick to incorporate their own interpretations into traditional practices.

My guess is that they aren’t of genuinely indigenous origin. ”

Jenna nodded, pressing her advantage. “Both victims died under unusual circumstances. Richard Winters had extreme claustrophobia that had worsened after his wife’s death. He was found in his bedroom, apparently having died of cardiac arrest, but with no obvious trigger for his heart condition.”

“And the teacher?” Dr. Summers asked.

“Anita Palmer had ornithophobia—an intense fear of birds.”

Dr. Summers leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And you believe these unusual dreamcatchers are somehow connected to their deaths?”

“I’m trying to determine if there’s a connection,” Jenna replied carefully. “The toxicology reports showed extremely high levels of cortisol and other stress hormones in Richard Winters bloodstream at time of death. Our coroner expects to find similar anomalies in Anita Palmer’s system.”

“Consistent with death by extreme fright,” Dr. Summers said, her tone academic. “And the proximity of these unusual artifacts to the bodies is... a striking coincidence.” She handed the photos back to Jenna, her movements deliberate.

Jenna felt frustration bubbling beneath her professional demeanor, as if she considered this visit a waste of her time.

“Dr. Summers, I understand you’re a scientist, not a psychic. But given your expertise in cultural artifacts and their significance, I was hoping you might have some insight into what these dreamcatchers could represent, or why they might be present at both scenes.”

The professor sighed with a smile, folding her hands on her desk.

“Sheriff Graves, I appreciate your thoroughness in pursuing every angle. But this might be more in Cassie Rivera’s realm than mine.

I deal with documented cultural practices, not.

..” She gestured vaguely at the photos. “...paranormal speculation.”

“I’m not asking for paranormal speculation,” Jenna countered, keeping her voice even. “I’m asking for your professional opinion on these artifacts.”

Dr. Summers was quiet for a moment, studying Jenna with an intensity that felt almost intrusive. “Very well. Speaking purely academically, these could be examples of what’s often called ‘sympathetic magic’—objects created to influence specific outcomes through symbolic representation.”

She pointed to elements in the Dreamcatcher designs. “These particular symbols and materials might be chosen to represent specific fears or anxieties. In many traditions, such objects are believed to either ward off negative influences or, conversely, to channel and direct them.”

The professor leaned back, her expression distant, professorial.

“But that’s mere anthropological theory.

I doubt it has any relevance to actual events in Greenville.

More likely, these are simply decorative items that happened to be present when these unfortunate people died of natural causes.

I suppose it’s possible that some sort of attack was triggered by their existing phobias through entirely mundane means.

But that’s a matter for a medical authority, not within my purview. ”

Jenna studied Dr. Summers’ face, sensing the deliberate distancing in her words. “And you’ve never seen dreamcatchers with these specific design elements before?”

“No,” Dr. Summers replied. “And I think I’d recognized them if they were at all common.”

“Do you know where the two people might have acquired them? Or where anyone might go looking for this kind of object?”

“No idea at all.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m afraid I have a class beginning in twenty minutes, Sheriff. Was there anything else?”

The dismissal was polite but firm. Jenna put away her phone, hiding her disappointment.

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Summers,” she said, rising from her chair. “If you think of anything else about these dreamcatchers, I’d appreciate a call.” She placed her card on the desk.

The professor nodded, already turning her attention to a stack of papers. “Of course. Good luck with your investigation.”

As Jenna stepped out of the office, a nagging suspicion gnawed at her.

Dr. Summers’ precise answers and scholarly evasions seemed almost like a shield, perhaps to keep Jenna at arm’s length.

Maybe it was because she had come on Cassie’s urging—a new-age psychic who probably felt like an affront to someone of Dr. Summers’ academic stature.

The campus had grown quieter as Jenna made her way back to the parking lot. Inside her vehicle, she sat for a moment, replaying the conversation in her mind.

What had she expected? That the professor would take one look at the dreamcatchers and exclaim, “Aha! These are death traps!”? Jenna smiled ruefully at her own thoughts.

She started the engine and pulled out of the parking space. As she navigated the winding campus roads toward the highway that would take her back to Trentville, she reached for her phone and connected it to the car’s Bluetooth system.

Jake answered on the second ring. “Hey, boss. How’d it go with the professor?”

“Academically informative and practically useless,” Jenna replied, merging onto the highway. “What’s happening there?”

“Special Agent Cody packed up and left about an hour ago,” Jake said.

“Apparently, he and his team are done with their investigation here in Trentville. They’re going to move on elsewhere.

He said he’d keep us in the loop if anything new develops, but I got the impression we shouldn’t hold our breath. ”

Jenna sighed. The slippery human trafficking group had left few clues and too many victims.

“Any progress on connections between Winters and Palmer?” she asked.

“Nothing solid yet. They used different doctors, different grocery stores, went to different churches, moved in different circles. They lived on opposite sides of town. If they knew each other, it wasn’t through obvious channels.” Jake’s voice held the mild frustration of dead ends.

She could hear Jake turning pages in his notebook.

“I paid another visit to both Anita’s roommate and Richard Winters’ daughter to see if I could get anything more from them.

Winters’ daughter suggested I pay a visit to Bruce Autrey, the assistant branch manager at Riverbend Trust. He worked closely with Winters, might know something about his personal life we haven’t uncovered yet.

I’m about to head over to the bank right now. ”

“I’ll be back in about forty minutes,” Jenna said. “Let’s regroup at the office and go through everything again. There’s something we’re missing. And Jake? Thanks for holding down the fort.”

“Always,” he replied, the single word carrying the weight of their partnership.

Jenna ended the call and focused on the road ahead. Fields and forests blurred past her window as she drove toward Trentville, the setting sun painting the landscape in rich amber hues.

The professor’s sensible responses left Jenna feeling somehow unsettled.

Her years as sheriff had taught her to heed that quiet alarm, the one that nudged her when things didn’t quite add up.

She could appreciate Dr. Summers’ academic skepticism.

Even so, Jenna couldn’t shake the notion that those peculiar dreamcatchers held the answer she sought.

But how was she ever going to solve their riddle?