Page 24 of In Her Dreams (Jenna Graves #7)

Jenna maneuvered her sheriff’s vehicle into a visitor’s parking space at Ozark State University, her mind still processing what they’d learned at Thompson’s Apothecary.

The carefully tended plants under grow-lights in his basement had included a hallucinogenic called ka’lutma that was used in ancient rites in connection with fear.

“You really think Summers is the person we’re looking for?” Jake asked, unbuckling his seatbelt. His expression was thoughtful, skeptical but open.

“I don’t know,” Jenna admitted, killing the engine. “But she’s the common thread. She knows about this stuff—the plants, the rituals. More than that, she lied to us about knowing about any of it when she was actually buying ka’lutma from Thompson.”

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the brick buildings, and students moved between classes with the unhurried pace of summer semester.

But beneath the campus’s tranquil surface, Jenna sensed something darker.

She had yet to grasp a reason for those connections she saw forming between the deaths, ka’lutma, and Dr. Olivia Summers.

They crossed the campus quad toward Blackwell Hall, the four-story brick building that housed the anthropology department.

Seeing the elevator doors standing open, she led the way into that instead of the stairs.

She watched the floor numbers light up one by one.

When the doors opened, they stepped into the corridor where she had visited Summers before.

The office door still bore the note “Knock LOUDLY,” but their rapping produced no reply.

“Dr. Summers? Sheriff Graves and Deputy Hawkins.” Her voice echoed slightly in the empty hallway.

After another moment of silence, Jenna tried the handle. Locked.

“Main office?” Jake suggested, gesturing down the hall where a frosted glass door was labeled “Department of Anthropology.”

The department office was a hub of activity—phones ringing, a photocopier humming, student assistants moving about with stacks of papers. Glass cases displayed artifacts from various cultures—clay pots, woven baskets, primitive tools, all meticulously labeled and organized.

Behind a reception desk sat a woman in her fifties, reading glasses perched on her nose, her gray-streaked hair pulled back neatly.

Jenna approached, badge already in hand. “Excuse me, I’m Sheriff Graves from Genesius County, and this is Deputy Hawkins. We’re looking for Dr. Olivia Summers.”

The secretary’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the badge. “Oh! Um, I’m sorry, Dr. Summers isn’t here. She canceled her afternoon class and left for the day.”

“Did she say why?” Jenna pressed.

“Not specifically.” The secretary’s brow furrowed. “She called about two hours ago, said something had come up and asked me to post a notice for her Survey of Mesoamerican Cultures class. It was unusual—she rarely cancels.”

“Did she mention where she was going?” Jake asked.

“No. Just that she wouldn’t be back today.”

Jenna exchanged a glance with Jake. “Could you try reaching her by phone? It’s important that we speak with her.”

“Of course.” The secretary picked up her desk phone and dialed. She waited, eyes on her computer screen. “It’s going straight to voicemail.” She tried again with the same result, then looked up apologetically. “I’m sorry. That’s strange—she usually answers.”

“Does she live on campus?” Jenna asked.

“No, she has a house about twenty minutes from here. In Oakridge Estates.”

“Could you give us that address?”

The secretary hesitated. “I... I’m not sure I should—”

“It’s in connection with an ongoing investigation,” Jake said, his tone gentle but firm. “Multiple deaths.”

The secretary’s face paled. “Oh. I see.” She typed something into her computer, then wrote an address on a Post-it note and handed it to Jenna.

“Thank you,” Jenna said, pocketing the address. Outside in the hallway, she and Jake paused. “Well, that’s not suspicious at all,” Jake muttered. “Cancels class, disappears, phone off.”

“Could be nothing,” Jenna said, though she didn’t believe it. “Could have a doctor’s appointment, family emergency.”

“Or she could be running.”

They walked back toward the elevator, their footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

“We could check out her house,” Jake said, pressing the down button.

Jenna nodded absently, her mind racing. Something was tugging at her thoughts, connections forming just below the surface of conscious realization.

The dreamcatchers in the victims’ bedrooms. The ka’lutma plants in Thompson’s basement.

Dr. Summers’ research on indigenous shamanic practices.

And something else—something from earlier that day.

The elevator arrived, doors sliding open with a soft ding. They inside the elevator, and Jenna leaned against the wall, her eyes unfocused as she sorted through mental fragments.

“What is it?” Jake asked, recognizing the look.

“Dr. Walsh,” Jenna said suddenly. “This morning, when we interviewed him. He was terrified.”

“Well, yeah. Guy practically jumped out of his skin when we walked in.”

“No, it was more than that.” Jenna’s mind raced back to their meeting with the psychiatrist. “He was hiding something. And he specializes in sleep disorders—problems that our victims had.”

The elevator reached the ground floor. As they crossed the lobby, Jenna pulled out her phone.

“You’re calling Walsh?” Jake asked, pushing open the building’s heavy door.

“His office,” Jenna confirmed, scrolling through her contacts. “We need to talk to him again.”

Outside, the campus hummed with afternoon activity. Students lounged on the grass, laptops open. A frisbee arced through the air between two laughing young men. It all seemed so normal, so disconnected from the darkness Jenna was beginning to suspect lurked beneath the surface.

She found the number for Dr. Walsh’s practice and dialed. After three rings, a woman’s voice answered.

“Trentville Psychiatric Associates, how may I help you?”

“This is Sheriff Jenna Graves,” she said, making eye contact with Jake as they walked toward their vehicle. “I spoke with Dr. Walsh this morning, and I need to follow up with him on an urgent matter.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Oh, Sheriff Graves. I’m afraid Dr. Walsh isn’t available. He, um, he canceled all his afternoon appointments about an hour ago.”

Jenna stopped walking, her pulse quickening. “Did he say why?”

“No, not really. He just... he seemed upset. Agitated. He said he wasn’t feeling well and needed to go home.” The secretary’s voice lowered. “Between you and me, I was worried. I’ve never seen him like that before. I’ve tried calling him, but he’s not answering his cell.”

Jenna’s eyes met Jake’s. “Thank you. Can you give me Dr. Walsh’s home address?”

After getting the address and ending the call, Jenna stood motionless, the pieces finally clicking into place.

“Walsh bolted too,” Jake said, not really a question.

“Yeah. And he was scared.” Jenna started walking again, faster now. “Walsh treats sleep disorders. Olivia Summers researches shamanic rituals, and her specialty involves consciousness-altering practices.”

“And they both disappeared within hours of each other,” Jake added, keeping pace. “After we started asking questions.”

Jenna pulled out of the parking space. As they drove away from campus, Jenna’s mind raced.

The pieces were falling into place, revealing a picture darker than she had imagined.

If she was right, if Summers was behind these deaths and Walsh knew enough to be afraid for his life, they might already be too late.

The image of Walsh, trembling slightly during their interview, eyes darting to the door like a cornered animal, burned in her memory.

Jenna pressed harder on the accelerator, hoping they weren’t already too late.