Page 4 of In Her Dreams (Jenna Graves #7)

It was early afternoon when Jenna pulled her patrol car to the curb in front of the stately two-story Colonial with its pristine white columns and freshly painted shutters.

First the rescue operation at the abandoned mine, now this unexpected death.

She straightened her sheriff’s uniform and approached the house, noticing how the garden beds had been freshly mulched.

Richard had always been meticulous about his property, a habit that apparently hadn’t waned with age or widowhood.

Before she could ring the bell, the heavy oak door swung open. The housekeeper, Amy Parker, stood in the doorway, her usual crisp appearance softened by grief. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her gray-streaked hair pulled back in a hasty bun rather than her customary neat twist.

“Sheriff Graves,” Amy said, her voice catching slightly. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Hello, Amy. I’m sorry about Mr. Winters.”

Amy nodded, stepping back to allow Jenna entry. “Miss Rusty’s in the living room. She’s... well, she’s holding up.”

The familiar scent of lemon furniture polish and brewing coffee enveloped Jenna as she stepped inside, unlocking a flood of memories.

How many times had she visited this house over the years?

The Winters had been fixtures in Trentville’s social landscape, their home a gathering place for charity functions and holiday celebrations.

The foyer opened to a central hallway with gleaming hardwood floors.

Jenna’s gaze traveled up the curved staircase, her mind suddenly sixteen years back.

She and Piper had raced down those stairs in matching blue dresses, giggling as their mother called after them to slow down.

It had been the evening the Winters invited the Graves family to dinner—a celebration of Jenna and Piper opening their first savings accounts at Richard’s bank.

Richard had shaken their hands formally at the door, treating the twelve-year-old twins with the same respect he showed adult customers.

“The future financial wizards of Trentville,” he’d called them.

Later, over dessert, he’d explained compound interest with such genuine enthusiasm that even teenage Jenna had been captivated.

That evening had been a rite of passage, a welcome into the adult world by one of the town’s most respected citizens. None of them could have imagined that someday Piper would be gone without a trace, leaving a void that Jenna still carried.

Amy led her past a gallery of framed photographs that lined the hallway.

Jenna’s gaze caught on a recent one—Richard standing tall despite his seventy-plus years, his arm around Rusty at what appeared to be the hospital’s annual fundraising gala.

His smile looked genuine, not the forced expression he’d worn in the years immediately following his wife’s death.

The living room was bathed in natural light from floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the meticulously maintained backyard. Rusty Galvin stood as Jenna entered, setting aside a tissue box on an antique side table.

“Jenna,” Rusty said, her voice hoarse from crying.

They moved toward each other instinctively, embracing in the middle of the room.

“I’m so sorry about your dad,” Jenna said as they separated.

Rusty nodded, unable to speak for a moment. She was dressed in a navy cardigan over a simple blouse, her usually styled hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. The strain of sudden loss was etched around her eyes, adding years to her face.

“Amy’s bringing coffee,” Rusty finally managed. “Let’s sit in the dining room. I... I can’t stay in here. All I see is Dad reading in his chair every time I look over there.”

Jenna followed her friend through the arched doorway into the formal dining room with its imposing mahogany table. They sat across from each other at one end, the heavy curtains partially drawn against the bright morning sun.

“How long has it been since we really talked?” Rusty asked, absently smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from the tablecloth.

“Too long,” Jenna admitted, feeling a pang of guilt. “I saw you at the Christmas parade, but we barely had a chance to speak.”

“Before that, it was Mom’s funeral.” Rusty twisted the gold wedding band on her finger. “Life gets away from us, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Jenna agreed. “But I’m here now, Rusty. As your friend, not just as the sheriff.”

Amy entered with a silver tray bearing a coffee service—real china cups and saucers, cream in a small pitcher, sugar in a matching bowl. She set it down carefully, steadier now with the familiar task.

“Thank you, Amy,” Rusty told her. “That will be all for now.”

The housekeeper nodded and withdrew, closing the pocket doors behind her with a gentle click.

Rusty poured coffee with the smooth movements of someone raised with formal entertaining. “Black, right? You never did develop a taste for cream.”

“Some things don’t change,” Jenna said, accepting the cup. “How are you really doing, Rusty?”

Rusty’s composure wavered. “I keep thinking I’ll hear his footsteps on the stairs. Or his voice calling for Amy to bring him the newspaper.” She set down her cup, the china rattling slightly against the saucer. “It doesn’t seem real.”

“Tell me about this morning,” Jenna prompted gently.

Rusty took a steadying breath. “Amy found him. She always brings his morning coffee at seven-thirty, has for years.” Her words came in halting bursts, occasionally circling back or trailing off.

“When he didn’t answer her knock, she went in anyway.

He was... on the floor. By the foot of the bed.

She called me right away, and I came right over. ”

Jenna nodded, allowing her friend space to collect her thoughts.

“At first, we thought... well, with his heart condition, it seemed obvious,” Rusty continued. “The paramedics said it appeared to be cardiac arrest. No signs of struggle or injury. Dad’s doctor has been monitoring his arrhythmia for years, so everyone assumed it was just... his time.”

Jenna detected an undercurrent of uncertainty in Rusty’s tone. “But you’re not convinced?”

Rusty’s fingers tightened around her coffee cup. “It’s just... there are things that don’t make sense.”

“Like what?”

“Dad’s been different these past couple months.

After Mom died two years ago, he developed this terrible claustrophobia.

It was so bad he couldn’t even ride in cars anymore—he walked to the bank every day, no matter the weather.

” Rusty leaned forward, lowering her voice as though they were alone.

“But then, about two months ago, something changed. He said he’d had a breakthrough. ”

“Did he explain what kind of breakthrough?”

“That’s just it—he was frustratingly vague. Said he’d ‘found a way.’ I assumed he’d finally agreed to try therapy or medication, but whenever I asked directly, he’d change the subject.”

Jenna frowned. “That doesn’t sound like Richard. He was always so straightforward.”

“Exactly. He became secretive, but also... lighter somehow. Happier. It was nice to see, but strange too.” Rusty’s eyes met Jenna’s. “Would you... would you like to see his room? Where Amy found him?”

Jenna nodded, setting down her barely-touched coffee. “If you’re comfortable with that.”

They climbed the carpeted staircase in silence. The upper hallway was lined with more family photographs—Richard and Betty on their 30th anniversary cruise, Rusty’s wedding day, more recent photos of Rusty’s children.

The master bedroom door stood ajar. Rusty hesitated before pushing it open fully.

“I haven’t touched anything,” she said. “The paramedics put everything back the way it was after they... after they took him.”

The room was spacious yet intimate, with a king-sized bed dominating the center.

Large windows overlooked the backyard, where a stone patio gave way to carefully tended flower beds.

The bed was made with military precision, its navy blue comforter and precisely arranged pillows suggesting it had been restored to order after the morning’s events.

“He was there,” Rusty said, pointing to a spot on the hardwood floor between the bed and the door. “Like he’d tried to get up and collapsed before he could reach the door.”

Jenna scanned the room with a professional eye, taking in details—the reading glasses on the nightstand, the book laid face-down beside them, the empty water glass.

“Did anything seem out of place this morning? Anything unusual?”

Rusty’s gaze shifted to the wall opposite the bed. “That,” she said, pointing to an object hanging there. “I’d never seen it before.”

Jenna moved closer to examine it.

The circular item was intricately woven with what looked like animal sinew or thin leather straps.

Feathers hung from its lower half, along with rough wooden beads and what must have been animal teeth.

It was about a foot in diameter, with complex patterns woven throughout the interior web.

Whatever it was, the thing looked very much out of place in the traditional decor of the room.

At first, she thought it looked like a dreamcatcher.

But how could it be? She recalled the decorative round hangings she’d seen in the windows of various homes and shops.

They typically featured sparkling crystals, delicate beads, and brightly-colored feathers, clearly designed to foster spiritual growth, attract good luck, or, more often than not, simply add a touch of brightness to a room.

The object hanging on the wall, however, looked downright ugly to her.

Its woven design appeared tangled and chaotic, the dull, faded threads crisscrossing in a disordered pattern that seemed to repel rather than attract.

Even the feathers were ragged and dull, as if they had been plucked from a long-dead bird. And those pointy teeth …

Why on earth would Richard Winters bring home something like that?

“Amy said Dad hung it up there around the time he started feeling better,” Rusty explained. “But she didn’t know where it had come from.”

“May I take a photo?” Jenna asked, reaching for her phone.

“Of course.” Rusty wrapped her arms around herself. “I know this sounds crazy, but I keep feeling like that thing is... watching me. I almost took it down this morning, but something stopped me.”

Jenna captured several images from different angles, careful to get the intricate details. “It’s not crazy to feel uncomfortable after what you’ve been through today.”

They returned downstairs in silence, both women lost in their own thoughts. Back in the dining room, the coffee had grown cold in their cups.

“There’s something else,” Rusty said, her voice dropping to just above a whisper. “Something I didn’t discuss with the paramedics or Dr. Renault when he came to pronounce Dad.”

Jenna waited, giving her friend space to continue.

“His face, Jenna.” Rusty’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “When Amy found him, his expression... it wasn’t peaceful. He looked terrified. Like he’d seen something so horrifying that it...” She broke off, unable to finish.

“You think something frightened him?” Jenna asked carefully.

“I know how it sounds. But Dad’s heart condition was stable. He’d been doing so well lately.” Rusty wiped at her tears. “Maybe it was just the pain of the heart attack that caused that expression. But I can’t shake the feeling that something else happened in that room last night.”

Jenna reached across the table to take her friend’s hand. “I’ll look into it, Rusty. I promise. I’ll talk to Melissa Stark at the coroner’s office first thing.”

Relief flooded Rusty’s face. “Thank you. My husband thinks I’m just not coping well, that I’m looking for something more complex than a simple heart attack because I can’t accept Dad’s gone.”

“How is Lucas dealing with this?”

“He’s at our kids’ school now, telling them about their grandfather. He’ll be back soon.” Rusty squeezed Jenna’s hand. “I’m glad it was you who came, Jenna. Not just because you’re sheriff, but because you... you understand about losing family suddenly.”

The mention of loss—Piper’s disappearance, her father’s cancer—hovered between them, unspoken but acknowledged.

“I do understand,” Jenna said simply.

“Have you heard anything about …?”

Rusty’s voice faded before she finished her question. Jenna shook her head silently.

“I’m sorry,” Rusty said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay. I … keep hoping.”

Of course, there was much more to it than that. But those were the only words I could think of to say. Jenna and Rusty hugged.

As she prepared to leave, Jenna took one last look around the Winters home. The house felt different now, its warm memories overshadowed by the mystery of Richard’s final moments and the unsettling presence of the strange object upstairs.

Amy appeared with Jenna’s hat. “Will you find out what happened to him, Sheriff?”

“I’ll do my best,” Jenna promised, settling the hat on her head.

Stepping out into the afternoon sun, Jenna felt the weight of a new investigation settling onto her shoulders. Between the ongoing Harvesters case and now Richard’s unexpected death, this day felt gloomy in spite of the sunshine.

She slid into her patrol car and pulled out her phone, scrolling to the photos she’d taken of the strange circular object.

Whatever it was, it had appeared in Richard’s life around the time his claustrophobia improved.

Coincidence, or connection? Either way, her next stop would be the county coroner’s office.

Melissa Stark might have insights about Richard’s cause of death that went beyond the obvious heart failure.

Jenna wished she could believe that Richard had died of a simple heart attack. But something deep inside told her that wasn’t true.