Page 33 of In Her Path

Just the house settling, she told herself. Old houses made noises. It was nothing to worry about.

Still, the hair on her arms rose. She’d lived in this house for thirty years. She knew its sounds, its rhythms. This had been different—sharper, more deliberate.

Or was that just her imagination?

Diane turned back to her screen and tried to focus on the library budget. The numbers swam before her eyes. She read the same paragraph three times without absorbing it.

Her mind returned to her ongoing quarrel with Claire. “Fiscal irresponsibility,” she had publicly called the mayor’s infrastructure bill. The phrase had landed well with the voters—it was concise, memorable, and positioned her as the responsible adult in the room. But Claire had counterpunched effectively: “Playing politics with our children’s future.”

Three council members had already committed privately to backing her challenge to Claire in the next mayoral primary. The local paper’s editor, Agnes Freelander, had hinted that the editorial board would look favorably on her candidacy.

Now she would need to accelerate her plans. With Curtis dead and the investigation ongoing, the political landscape was shifting daily. She needed to lock down her supporters, reach out to potential donors, prepare a statement for the Gateway Herald.

The thought sent a jolt of adrenaline through her system. This was what she lived for—the strategic thinking, the careful positioning, the thrill of watching a plan come together. In these moments, she felt truly alive, not just going through the motions of daily existence.

Another sound came from somewhere behind her—closer this time, a soft whisper of movement. Diane’s body tensed. She turned, expecting to see Gerald standing in the doorway, confused and disoriented as he sometimes was after waking from his medicated sleep.

The doorway was empty. The hall beyond was dark.

“Gerald?” she called, her voice sharper than she’d intended. “Is that you?”

No answer came. The house had gone quiet again, the silence somehow wrong.

Diane rose from her desk, her chair scraping against the hardwood. She stepped into the hallway and peered into the darkness. Nothing moved in the shadows. She told herself it was only her nerves, her imagination running wild in the aftermath of Curtis’s murder.

She turned and moved back into her office. In that moment of lowered guard, she felt a sharp, cold impact at the base of her skull. There was no time to cry out, no time to understand what was happening. Her body went limp, and she collapsed onto the floor.

A surge of realization crashed over her …

The back door …

… I forgot to check …

… again!

Her last thought was that she had spent her final hours working alone in a dark house, and that no one would find her until morning.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The dream came to Jenna in that hazy threshold between deep sleep and waking, her mind sliding into full lucidity. She stood on the edge of a clearing, the landscape before her an impossible blend of her childhood backyard and somewhere else—a place she couldn’t name but felt she should recognize. Morning light filtered through trees that weren’t quite trees, casting dappled shadows across the soft grass beneath her feet.

This was the sensation she’d come to recognize: knowing that a dream had found her, which meant it had something important to show her. She inhaled deeply. The air carried the sweet scent of honeysuckle mingled with something darker—the sharp, mineral smell of the lake where her father had taught her to fish.

“Jenna Marie.”

The voice—his voice—sent a ripple of warmth through her chest. She turned to find her father standing a few yards away, looking just as she remembered him before the cancer had taken hold: tall and straight-backed, his hair a rich chestnut with just a hint of gray at the temples. He wore his favorite fishing vest—the one with dozens of pockets for lures and tackle—though no rod was in sight. His eyes, so much like her own, crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

“Dad.” The word caught in her throat. Five years since he’d died, and still each appearance in these dreams left her breathless. “It’s good to see you.”

He stepped toward her, the grass barely bending beneath his feet. “I wish I could stay longer.” His voice held the familiar gentle cadence that had lulled her to sleep countless times during childhood thunderstorms. “You’re going through a difficult time.”

“You could say that.” Jenna tried to keep the bitterness from her voice. “Trentville’s got another murder. And I can’t see where it’s coming from or where this is leading. Could be another serial killer.”

Her father’s expression softened. “Things will change, Jenna. For the better. They always do if we’re brave enough to see them through.” He reached for her, his hand stopping just short. In these dreams, they rarely touched.

“The darkness grows and fades in cycles. It feeds on fear, on isolation.” His voice took on the serious tone she remembered from childhood lectures. “But it can’t survive when strong people pull together. When they stand united against it.”

“You mean Jake and me? And Piper?” Jenna asked, the names feeling strange together.