Elena smiled, sliding into the offered seat.“Everything looks lovely,” she said, placing her bag carefully on the floor, within easy reach.
“Well, some of us still believe in proper table settings,” Brenda said with a small sniff of satisfaction.“Standards matter, especially in small things.That’s what I always told my students.”She lifted the teapot, its floral pattern catching the light.“The world may be falling apart, but we don’t have to fall with it, do we?”
“No, we certainly don’t,” Elena agreed, watching as amber liquid streamed into her cup.The tea’s fragrant steam rose between them like a gossamer veil.“Though I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what holds communities together.What makes them strong.”
Brenda’s eyebrows lifted with interest as she set down the teapot.“Have you?Well, I can tell you, secrets are what’s tearing this town apart.Look at these murders—Derek Sullivan and Amanda Hartford.Both of them harbored darkness that should have been exposed years ago.”
“Do you really think exposure would have saved them?”Elena asked softly.
“Absolutely.”Brenda bit into a cookie.“Derek Sullivan’s alcoholism was an open secret, but no one confronted him properly.Amanda’s lawsuit against Heather was clearly a manifestation of deeper issues.If we’d had proper community oversight—”
“Proper community oversight,” Elena echoed.“Meaning you?”
Something in her tone must have carried more edge than intended, because Brenda paused, studying Elena’s face with sudden attention.
“Meaning the community as a whole,” Brenda clarified, though her expression had grown more guarded.“Though someone needs to moderate any discussion, of course.Someone with the proper perspective and experience.”
Elena nodded slowly, cradling her teacup between her palms.The porcelain felt delicate, fragile—much like the illusion of control Brenda had constructed around herself.How easy it would be to shatter it with a single movement.To reach into her bag now, to end this charade of civility.But there was a rhythm to these things, a proper sequence that demanded respect.
“I’ve always admired your dedication to Trentville,” Elena said, setting down her cup with a soft clink against its saucer.“Your willingness to take on difficult tasks that others avoid.”
Brenda’s face softened at the praise, her suspicion receding.“Thank you, Elena.Sometimes I feel very alone in this work.It’s nice to be appreciated.”
“I understand loneliness,” Elena said, her thoughts drifting to Sophie.“My sister felt it too, even surrounded by people who claimed to care about her.”
“Sophie was...troubled,” Brenda said carefully.“But talented with her knitting.I still have the scarf she made for the faculty Christmas exchange that last year.”
“She believed knitting was her way of connecting people,” Elena replied.
“A lovely sentiment,” Brenda agreed with the dismissive tone she reserved for ideas she found quaint but useless.“Though I prefer more direct methods of community building.Structure.Rules.Consequences.”
Elena reached down, finding the clasp of her handbag.“Yes,” she said softly.“Consequences are essential.”
“More tea?”Brenda offered, reaching for the pot.
Elena smiled.“Yes, please,” she said.“We have all night.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The clouds gathering over Wendell Gillis’s farm weren’t natural.Jenna recognized this immediately as she stood in the pasture where the man had once tended his crops.She was fully aware of what this must be, and also that something was terribly wrong.
“I’m dreaming,” she said aloud, testing her lucidity.The words were swept away by the rising wind.
In last night’s dream, sunshine had bathed these fields in golden light.Now, storm clouds churned, dark and threatening, while lightning flashed in the distance like a warning.Thunder rumbled across the landscape, vibrating beneath her feet.Even the air felt different—charged with foreboding like static electricity.
The dream-version of Wendell’s cabin was there atop the hill, dark against the turbulent sky.Wind whipped through his vegetable garden, bending plants nearly to the ground.
Another flash of lightning illuminated the landscape, turning everything stark white for a heartbeat.In that flash, Jenna caught sight of a figure running toward her from the direction of the barn—a man with white hair, moving with desperate urgency.
“Wendell,” she breathed, recognizing the old farmer despite the distance.
“Jenna!”His voice carried to her on the wind, thin and frantic.“She’s in danger!Piper’s in danger!”
Alarm shot through her as Wendell closed the distance between them, his face contorted with fear.He reached for her hands, and unlike in most dreams where physical contact felt muted or wrong, his grip was solid, his skin cold against hers.
“What do you mean?”Jenna demanded, tightening her hold on his weathered hands.“What’s happening to Piper?”
Wendell’s eyes darted toward the storm clouds, which now swirled in an unnatural pattern.“The darkness found her.Just like I feared.”His words tumbled out, fragmented and scattered like leaves in the wind.“Couldn’t keep her safe forever.Knew she’d have to face it someday.But not like this.Not now.”
