Page 22 of In Her Dreams
CHAPTER EIGHT
Even with the cruiser’s air conditioning running full blast, Jenna could still smell death on her clothes—not the actual scent, but a phantom reminder of what she’d witnessed in Anita Palmer’s bedroom.That look of terror, so similar to Richard Winters’.That dreamcatcher, with its twisted design.Too similar to be coincidence.
As she drove toward Cassie Rivera’s house, the road wound through the older section of Trentville, where Victorian homes with peeling paint stood shoulder to shoulder with carefully restored craftsman bungalows.
“You know,” Jake said from the passenger seat, “I respect your thoroughness, but Cassie Rivera?I mean, dreamcatchers and mysterious deaths are right up her alley, but we need facts, not crystal ball readings.”
Jenna shot him a sidelong glance.“Cassie knows things.Not because she’s psychic—” she emphasized the word with gentle mockery, “—but because people talk to her.Half the town sits in her living room, spilling their secrets.”
“While she charges them sixty bucks an hour to hear that Venus is in retrograde?”
“Seventy-five now.Inflation.”Jenna allowed herself a small smile.“And it’s not like we’re flush with leads.Two deaths, two weeks apart.Both victims died of apparent heart failure induced by extreme fear.Both had those...things hanging in their bedrooms.We need to know what they are.”
Jake sighed.“I still think we should be focusing on rational explanations.Toxicology reports, personal connections—”
“We are,” Jenna said, turning onto Magnolia Street.“But I’ve learned not to dismiss any avenue just because it seems unconventional.”
“Fair point,” he replied.“But just because you have … unusual insights … that doesn’t mean that every supposed psychic is real.Or any other one at all, as far as I’m concerned.”
Jenna felt a comforting warmth at knowing how much he now believed in her.She understood that reaching this level of trust must not have been easy for him.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I’ve known Cassie since high school.She might come off as eccentric, but she’s observant.She notices patterns.And she doesn’t panic easily.”
They pulled up to a small Craftsman house painted a cheerful yellow with deep purple trim.Wind chimes hung from the porch eaves, their gentle tinkling barely audible from the car.A stone path lined with blooming lavender led to the front door, where a wreath of woven branches and dried flowers greeted visitors.
“Very subtle,” Jake muttered.
Jenna turned off the engine.“Be nice.I mean it, Jake.”
He raised his hands in surrender.“Professional and respectful.Scout’s honor.”
They approached the house, and Jenna felt the familiar sense of stepping into another world.Cassie had cultivated her space to feel separate from Trentville’s practical, small-town sensibilities.Here, even the air seemed different—expectant, charged with possibility.
Before Jenna could raise her hand to knock, the purple door creaked open, revealing Cassie in a swirl of vibrant colors.Her black hair was twisted into a haphazard bun, with rebellious strands cascading around her face like ivy.She wore a tunic that seemed to shimmer with every movement, its blue and green hues reminiscent of peacock feathers.Loose linen pants billowed around her legs as if caught in an invisible breeze.Her wrists were adorned with an array of bangles that chimed softly, creating an eerie melody as she extended her arms wide in a welcoming gesture.
“Jenna!I was just thinking about you!”Her bright smile faltered slightly as she registered Jake’s presence and their solemn expressions.“Oh.This isn’t a social call, is it?”
Jenna shook her head.“Mind if we come in?We have some questions.”
“Of course.”Cassie stepped back, ushering them into the house.“I just brewed some tea.Lemongrass and ginger.Good for clarity.”
The interior of Cassie’s home was exactly as usual—comfortable chaos.Bookshelves overflowed with volumes on astrology, dream interpretation, and world religions.Crystals of various sizes and colors caught the light streaming through the windows.Several dreamcatchers—nothing like the ones from the crime scenes—hung from the ceiling, gently rotating in the air current.
The scent of incense hung in the air, mingling with the earthier smell of herbs drying in the kitchen.Cassie led them to a sitting area where an assortment of mismatched but comfortable furniture surrounded a low table made from a slice of tree trunk, its growth rings preserved under clear resin.
“Sit, sit,” Cassie insisted, gesturing to a deep purple couch.She disappeared briefly into the kitchen, returning with a tray holding a teapot and three mugs.Steam curled from the spout, carrying the promised scent of lemongrass and ginger.
Jake settled uncomfortably at the edge of the couch, looking like he was bracing for an interrogation.Jenna sat beside him, accepting a mug of tea from Cassie, who then curled herself into an armchair across from them, tucking her feet beneath her.
“Now,” Cassie said, her brown eyes suddenly sharp and focused, “what’s happened?”
Jenna took a steadying breath.“Did you hear about Richard Winters’ death?"
“Yes.”Cassie nodded solemnly.“Heart attack, wasn’t it?Betty’s been gone, what, two years now?Poor man.I did a reading for Mrs.Harmon—you know, from the florist shop?—and she mentioned he’d been looking tired lately.Said he’d taken up walking more, though.Seemed to be doing better.”
“Did Mrs.Harmon mention anything else?”Jenna asked.“About his habits, his health, any changes in behavior?”
Cassie tapped her chin thoughtfully.“Just that he seemed a little more social lately.More...at peace, I think she said.Like he’d finally started to move forward after Betty.”
