Chasing Ghosts

Book 5: McKenna Mystery Series (10 books)

by Kate Anslinger, Lighthouse Pen, Virtual Voice

Genres: Police Procedurals; Crime Fiction; Supernatural suspense

Synopsis

Are there always two sides to every one person?

In book five of the McKenna Mystery series, Grace finds herself in a tangle of one woman's lies.

When a gothic, angsty teen girl shows up in her visions, she's forced to dissect the past of Amy Brooks, do-gooder and doctor's wife who runs a non-profit for pregnant and grief-stricken women. One of those women happens to be a newcomer to Bridgeton, by the name of Charlotte Anderson. It doesn't take Grace long to discover a rare bond between Amy and Charlotte, but as she digs deeper into their Southern past, she uncovers all that has been left unsaid. Grace's own impending pregnancy is gripping her deadline tighter than ever before, as she works restlessly to solve the crime and stop Amy before someone else gets hurt. In Chasing Ghosts, Grace has to step away from Bridgeton for the first time, to expose a ruthless criminal.

 

 

 

 

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Release date: May 19, 2022

Publisher: Independently published

Print pages: 236

Sample

 

CHAPTER 1

The girl’s mouth was contorted into an angry frown, made angrier by the black lipstick that covered her lips in uneven strokes.
Beady blue eyes were pushed into her face like an afterthought, too small to emit any expression and lost in the thick liner that
dipped in smudges beneath them. A black winter hat greeted her eyebrows, pulled tight and giving way to choppy dark strands of
hair that hit the collar of a black and white flannel shirt. The skin on her chin and right cheek was dotted in bumps and covered in
varying shades of red as if she had tried to cover up teenage acne. Her face transformed into a real-life Edvard Munch Scream
print, with waves of orange, black, and yellow dancing behind her head and blotchy red streaks spilling down her neck.
THE WAITING ROOM WALLS WERE CLOSING IN ON GRACE. SHE LOOKED down at her stomach, which seemed to be growing by the
second. Baby McKenna, a title she had insisted on after Mark won the battle over waiting to find out the gender, was
growing by leaps and bounds, stretching the skin of her belly like a nylon being pulled over a basket‐ ball. When the
fetus reached the size of a kumquat in week ten, Mark celebrated the moment by posting a picture of the fruit. Over the
weeks, the post images changed from turnip to eggplant, and now here she was in week thirty with a butternut squash
in her lap.
“Grace McKenna.” The Nurse Practitioner who Grace had known as Taylor, emerged from the doorway that greeted
the waiting room. Grace’s watch read five minutes until ten. Of course, they took her early on the day that Mark was
running late. She gripped the wooden arms of the chair and pushed up to a standing position, bracing herself for the
forward rocking that came with the added frontal weight. Guiding the strap of her crossbody bag so it was centered
between her thriving breasts, she reached down for her winter coat, allowing it to fall slack over her forearm.
“Sorry, I’m here!” Mark stormed through the entrance door of the waiting room, stomping the snow off his boots. The
chins of several other pregnant women tilted upward, taking in Mark’s boyish appearance. He pulled his snow cap off,
revealing a full head of haphazard hair. His chin and cheeks were sprinkled with stubble, intentionally overgrown to
keep up with the beard trends that were taking over thirty-something men everywhere. He tucked the hat in his coat
pocket and took one long step across the waiting room, leaving behind a trail of snow that had slid off the back of his
jacket. The Boston weathermen had predicted a snowstorm that would pick up pace as the day went on, and for once
their forecast was accurate. “Traffic was bad.”
While gripping an iPad with both hands, Taylor held the door open with her backside. The girl looked far too young to
be the one calling the shots on pregnancy health but maybe that was just because Grace was getting old. She would be
forty this year, which meant that her pregnancy was considered geriatric, a term that nearly brought her to tears when
she first heard it mentioned.
As Taylor guided them down the long corridor, Grace took in the pale pink walls and cleanliness of the facility. Boston
Regional Maternity Center was recommended to her by Emily Clark, neighbor and close friend. The medical facility
was more of an institution and was well attended by Boston’s elite. While that was far from a prerequisite for Grace, she
was getting used to the top-notch treatment and highly sought-after staff with prestigious credentials.
“So how are you feeling, Grace?” Taylor led them into a room that was nearly the size of Grace’s bedroom. A flatscreen
television was planted sleekly on the wall in the event that a patient required entertainment during the fifteen-minute
exam. A circle of lemon and lime slices floated like bright swimming inflatables at the top of a glass pitcher on a
decorative end table. Black and white prints of nude pregnant women in tasteful positions were evenly dispersed and
mounted on the four walls. Unlike the antiseptic feel of average exam rooms, this one felt like a place where a small
group could gather over tea and share in pleasant conversation. Two of the corners were taken up by grey and white
gliders and a rose gold rectangular area rug provided a hint of color, pulling the calming decorative scheme together.
Taylor used a finger to swipe across the iPad screen as Grace made her way over to the scale, prepared for yet another
weigh-in.
“Good. Fat. But good.”

“Well, according to your last weigh-in you are right on track.” Taylor’s gaze met Grace’s as a professional smile peeled
across her lips.
“So, I’m cleared to keep eating chocolate cookies dipped in Nutella?”
Taylor raised her eyebrows and motioned for Grace to step onto the scale. As if she could lower the needle by stepping
on slowly, Grace eased onto the scale avoiding any sharp movements.
“One pound up from last week. Perfect.”
Grace backed up and went through the motions of hefting herself up on the exam table, as Taylor retrieved a remote
from the front pocket of her scrub shirt. With one press of a button, a cart was rolling across the room toward her.
Taylor slipped a blood pressure cuff from the robotic cart. As she opened the cuff, the sound of static penetrated the air,
the Velcro separating in a scratchy burst. She effortlessly wrapped the cuff around Grace’s navy-blue cotton maternity
shirt, pulling it securely around her bicep, bringing to life the steadily drumming pulse. She had jumped into action
during bloody accidents and had seen her fair share of bodily fluid, breaks and bullets, but when it came to the pulse in
her own body, she was a weakling.
Mark stood beside the exam table, before Grace lifted her chin in the direction of one of the gliders, signaling to him
that he could sit down and relax. Grace was grateful for Mark’s presence in their baby’s life already, but he was a bit on
the overprotective side. If he was this involved while she was simply getting her blood pressure taken, how would he be
when their baby’s head was starting to crown? The thought made Grace want to laugh and cry at the same time.
“Blood pressure looks good. Anything else going on?” Taylor went to work pulling a pair of gloves over her dainty
fingers. She marked the end of the task with one last pinch of the rubber, releasing a snapping sound onto her skin.
“Nope. Not that I can think of.” Grace always hated that question. She never knew how much she should share. Was it
necessary to share the rancid gas her body had been producing, the heightened arousal she had been experiencing? It
was as if she was a walking pressure point, affected by every move Mark made. “Just a little heartburn, that’s all.”
“Completely normal. Just let us know if it gets so bad that you can’t eat or sleep, okay?”
“Will do.”
As Taylor went to work feeling Grace’s ankles for swelling, Grace pulled her shirt up, exposing the oversized bowling
ball that was protruding over the wide waist of her maternity work pants. Her bellybutton was no longer pushed
inward and instead it was flush with the rest of her abdomen. The thought of it pushing outward filled Grace with
irrational feelings, which caused her mind to spiral out of control. What if it never goes back to normal? What if my body is
never the same again? Grace was never one to base her happiness solely on her looks, but she had heard horror stories
from other mothers claiming they spent years peeing their pants and fighting the sagging skin where their bellies had
expanded. Her growing concern about how she would perform as a working mother fueled her anxiety levels above all
else.
Taylor molded her hands over Grace’s belly, gently pressing in all the rehearsed areas. She pulled a thin measurement
tape out of her pocket and stretched it out from sternum to the top of Grace’s pubic line.
“How’s she growing?” Mark asked.

Before Taylor could respond, Grace reacted. “What makes you so certain it’s a girl?”
“Just a gut feeling, that’s all.”
Taylor released the end of the tape measure, letting it curl back into position. “Baby is growing great. Based on my
measurements, she–or he, is at ten and a half inches.”
“That seems small. Is it?” Mark shot back.
“I can assure you that the baby’s measurements are right where they should be.”
Mark nodded. When it came to this baby, he was all business.
“Are you ready to hear the heartbeat?”
“Always.” From the start, Mark conveyed his fascination over the drumming sound of the heart. With jaw dropped and
head tilted to the side he’d stare at the machine, as if he was watching an alien dance across the screen. The first time
Grace saw the tiny flicker, her stare was locked in place, the sight of her expanding and contracting uterus and the fetus
that was swirling around like a tiny astronaut lost in space. And the emotion that filled her heart when the nurse had
settled on a spot, freezing it in place for a picture they would keep forever. She’ll never forget seeing the microscopic
flame flickering amongst the movement of her pear-shaped womb. It was in that moment that Grace realized how all it
would take was a heavy wind to put that flame out. And while she still had plenty to learn about motherhood, she
quickly learned why mothers were often compared to protective bears. It was in that moment her responsibility in all
areas of her life was amplified, coated in a frightening and exciting vulnerability. This was taken up a notch when she
thought about the possibility of her child inheriting her gift. Would her baby be able to see flashes of a crime when she
or he looked into the eyes of a criminal? Would her baby have to face a life of being unpredictably thrown into a crime
scene?
Like so many times before, Grace watched as Taylor shook the bottle of ultrasound gel, stating the rehearsed warning
about its cold temperature on her skin. Then, as if she was stirring a bowl of brownies, she maneuvered the wand along
Grace’s abdomen, stopping suddenly and pressing gently closer to the left side of her round stomach. With one click on
the machine, the heartbeat came to life.
“How does it look? That sounds fast,” Mark inquired as he squeezed Grace’s hand, his nerves making an appearance in
his clammy grip.
“Perfect. One hundred and forty beats per minute. The baby’s heart is going strong and right where we want it to be.”
Taylor used a soft cloth to wipe away the gel. Grace pulled her shirt down and over her bulging belly. She hopped off
the table, anxious to get back to work for the day.
“Don’t forget your urine test on the way out,” Taylor reminded her as she opened the door for them.
“How could I forget?” Sarcasm peeled Grace’s lips up into a smile as she passed Taylor. The bigger her belly got, the
more challenging it became. She would find herself maneuvering the mini plastic vessel blindly below her stomach,
trying to get the pee in the cup as if she was shooting hoops with a blindfold on.
“With that said, I gotta head back to the gym.” Mark looked down at the alarm that was dancing on the white Apple
Watch wrapped around his wrist.

“And just like that you leave me in the dust, all because a pee test isn’t as glamorous as a heartbeat.”
“Not true.” He stood in front of Grace in the hallway outside the exam room and pulled her head towards his lips. “I’d
love to watch you take a pee test, but I have Jodi at eleven. You know how she gets if I’m late.”
“Already leaving me for another woman.” Grace turned toward the lab desk, on a mission to retrieve the cup. She
turned back and waved to Mark, as he blew her a kiss, walking backward in the opposite direction. Jodi was Mark’s
neediest client, calling him at all hours of the night to pick his brain about more than diet and exercise. If she wasn’t
over sixty and utterly annoying, Grace would be concerned. The woman was a knockout. Even before she hired Mark
as her trainer, she was as fit as a twenty-three-year-old. Mark’s good listening skills had a tendency to get him cornered
into conversations and his kindness caused these conversations to go on far longer than he desired. The man was the
true definition of a people pleaser.
At the lab counter, she was given a small cup that was hugged by a white sticker with her personal information. She
confirmed the details and turned down a hallway that passed by the waiting room, which had filled up significantly
since her arrival. Maybe it was the lunch time rush. The two patient bathrooms were occupied so she leaned against the
wall and looked down at her nails, pushing the cuticles back to pass the time. A fast click of the doorknob in front of her
sent a jolt through her body, pulling her gaze upwards. A young woman who looked to be just as pregnant as her,
spilled out the door‐ way, focused on the cup of urine in her hand. With a little hop, she adjusted the large bag on her
shoulder, holding the cup out in front of her as if she was walking with a hot bowl of soup.
Grace stepped forward as the girl started to turn the corner, nearly causing a collision of pregnant bellies. “Sorry!” The
girl looked up; half of her face hidden by a curtain of light brown hair. She used her free hand to push the curtain open,
revealing two hazel eyes bookmarking a plump nose that gave her a girlish look. A tiny diamond broke up the pale skin
tone on her left nostril, sparkling just enough to provide some texture while maintaining class. The skin on her round
face was flawless with the exception of a light brown spot on her forehead. Grace recognized it as melasma, a common
pigmentation change in pregnant women. The hormones in Grace’s body tended to focus their work more on internal
issues like heartburn and gas, and she had been spared the splotchy brown spots.
“No worries.”
“I was so determined to not drop this.” The girl held up the cup as if she was about to make a toast.
“Trust me, I totally get it.” Grace smiled.
“How far along are you?” The girl’s gaze scanned Grace’s frame, as if comparing bumps.
“Thirty weeks, you?”
“Not far behind you. Twenty-seven.”
“We’re almost there.” Grace placed a hand on her belly, trying not to compare herself with the girl across from her. She
looked as if she had a basketball beneath her shirt, while everything else was in its proper place, unlike the expanding
hips and thighs that Grace had witnessed on her own body.
“Thankfully.” The girl moved her gaze toward the cup in her hand, just as Grace’s eyes caught the print on the label. C.
Anderson. “Well, I better deliver this to its new owner.” She gave Grace one last smile, showcasing a perfectly placed
dimple on each cheek.

Next up in line, Grace pushed the heavy bathroom door open and went to work unfastening her many layers. As she
positioned herself over the plastic cup, she thought about the many awkward things that women had to endure when
they were pregnant, and she was certain that after she had this baby, she’d have a new appreciation for her body when it
wasn’t housing another human being. Lost in the dreamy thoughts of being able to drink as much caffeine as she
wanted to one day again, she had gotten too comfortable straddling the cup and undershot the amount of pee that she
had in her. The next thing she knew, the yellow liquid was spilling over the top of the cup and drips were landing in the
crotch of her black maternity leggings. “Shit!” she whisper-yelled as she maneuvered the cup onto the handrail beside
the toilet, letting the leftover urine trickle into the bowl, where it belonged. Pee was covering her hands and she could
already feel the discomfort she’d feel when she pulled up her pants.
After she cleaned herself up, she breathed a sigh of relief as she walked to the lab desk to hand in her urine sample.
Another appointment checked off her weekly to-do list which meant that she was that much closer to Baby McKenna’s
birthday. It had only been three months since they moved into their new house, when Grace and Mark received the
news that a surprise baby was on the way, due on May third. With the work involved in having a new home and the
uptick of responsibilities Grace had taken on at work as a result of Lt. Sullivan’s retirement, time was flying by.
The hallway in front of the lab desk spilled out into the waiting room. Grace walked double-time through the room that
was outlined in chairs, broken up by mauve wooden tables covered in pregnancy magazines, perfectly placed and spread
out like Japanese fans. A familiar set of eyes peered over a Fit Pregnancy magazine. Grace recalled the upturned hazel
globes belonging to the young girl she almost belly bumped outside the bathroom. The girl locked her gaze on Grace as
she lowered the magazine down to her lap, removing the veil from the bottom half of her face. Her head tilted to the
side as her lips pulled into a friendly smile aimed right at Grace. “Hello again,” she said casually.
“Hi there.” Grace walked past her. “Good luck with the rest of your pregnancy–”
“Charlotte. My name is Charlotte.” The name rolled off her tongue edged in a raspy inflection; the kind that Grace had
always admired. A smoky voice without the smoke, was how her mother had described it as.
“I’m Grace, nice to officially meet you.” Grace’s voice caught the attention of the woman sitting next to Charlotte.
Looking up from her phone, the woman shifted in her seat and moved her gaze from Grace to Charlotte and back again.
Her pale blue eyes scanned Grace from head to toe, before they landed and locked, drilling a set of visions into Grace’s
memory. And just like that, Grace was thrown into another world thanks to the gift that she was born with. Her ability
to see evil when she looked into the eyes of a criminal had haunted her since she was a young child. Bits and pieces of
clues thrown at her like misshaped puzzle pieces, transforming her everyday life into a murder scene. There was no
escape until she solved it, alone, without the help of the police department. And this was the reason she was weary of
every human she came into contact with, always prepared to unlock a secret with just a glimpse.
A set of beady blue eyes overpowering the face of a teenage girl tore Grace from the present moment. The girl’s mouth
was contorted into an angry frown emphasized by black lipstick that matched her shoulder-length straight black hair.
The skin on her chin and right cheek was dotted in bumps and covered in varying shades of red as if she had tried to
cover up teenage acne. Her neck and collar bone area were covered in blue and red blotches that looked like fingerprints
pressed into her skin. A black winter hat with a white bat was pulled down to her eyebrows, enhancing the eyeliner that
dipped in smudges beneath her eyes. The dead ends of her hair sprouted out the bottom of the hat and hit the collar of a
black and white flannel shirt. Her face, filled with fright, transformed into an Edvard Munch Scream print upon an
orange and red wavy background.
A new instinct kicked in and without thought, Grace’s hand went straight to her stomach, holding it like she was
protecting a glass snow globe from falling to the floor and shattering. And as soon as she recognized how she had
executed a mama bear's intuition naturally and without a second thought, it dawned on her just how challenging

motherhood would be. The baby that was rapidly growing in her womb would always come between her and the
victims.
If Charlotte noticed alarm on Grace’s face, she didn’t show it. Instead, she smiled and tilted her head to the side,
introducing the woman next to her. “Amy, this is Grace, we met by the bathroom. And we just happen to be a couple
weeks apart in our pregnancies.”
A marked pause interrupted the space between them before Amy spoke. With a shifty gaze, Amy’s eyes rose from
Grace’s shoes all the way up to her hairline. “It’s nice to meet you, Grace.” Her words ended in a hiss as she dropped a
pair of crossed hands on a set of crossed legs decorated in pressed khaki pants. A pale blue cashmere sweater held tight
to her perky breasts and was offset by a crisp white collar that peeked out the top like bird wings. Her posture was
awkwardly erect, as if she was one of those mannequins strategically placed in department stores, free of any natural
slump.
Naturally, Grace was inquisitive about the connection between the two women. Amy looked too young to be
Charlotte’s mother, but too old to be a supportive friend accompanying her to her appointment. An older sister? A cousin?
Whoever Amy was, Grace was now aware that the woman was responsible for the harm of the teenage girl who
showed herself in the vision. Just as the conspicuous silence following the introduction was about to get awkward, a
nurse emerged from the hallway and called out a name. Grace turned to see an older woman in the pale pink scrub
uniform, haircut and highlighted in a style that was popular in the mid-nineties, when Jennifer Aniston set the example
with long, face-framing layers. The nurse scanned the room, and with some force behind her voice she tried again.
“Charlotte Anderson.”
“Well, that’s me.” Charlotte started to push herself up off the chair, until Amy hopped up and reached an arm across her
back, guiding her to an upright position until she was face to face with Grace.
“Easy there, Charlotte. Precious cargo.” Grace stepped out of the way as Amy guided Charlotte to the nurse, like a
mother ushering her toddler. As the connected duo passed by, Grace recognized the embarrassment that had come to
the surface on Charlotte’s face.
“I’ll see you around and if I don’t, good luck with your pregnancy.” Charlotte swiveled her head, locking eyes with Grace
as Amy continued to shepherd her down the hall, keeping the two of them at a snail’s pace.
“You too.” Grace waved a hand, committing Amy’s silhouette to memory.
NO MATTER how many times Grace had navigated her way through the tunnels that carved out Boston’s underground,
she still braced herself when she made the sharp turns and drove alongside big trucks. She took a deep breath in,
reciting the mantra courage inside and exhaled as she whispered fear outside.
By the time she crossed the town lines, she had only two minutes to get to the high school before the mental health talk
commenced at the school. Every year, the week before school let out for February break, community health experts
spearheaded a five-day seminar in which they tackled teen hot topics such as sex, bullying, drugs and alcohol, and
mental health. The two-hour sessions were designed to encourage students to ask questions that promised not to be
judged or criticized. In previous years, there had been some heated discussions between students and the experts and
Grace’s role was to serve as an additional layer of support. While many students had grown to view Grace as a fixture at
the school, she was still under the impression that many of them feared her presence and kept tight-lipped during these
seminars. Her long-time colleague, Barb, had assured her that with her pregnant belly now in the mix, the kids would
feel more comfortable spouting off their drama in front of her.

The wheels on Grace’s Jeep squealed as she pulled into her designated school parking spot with speed. She didn’t have to
look at her watch to know that she was a few minutes late. The outside of the school was lifeless, free of the stragglers
that could typically be found on the front steps killing time in between classes. Even the secret vaping spot, a hidden
section of space between the building and a row of thriving shrubs, was empty. Grace scanned the vaping nook as she
took the steps two at a time, making a mental note to discuss the nico‐ tine cartridges that were sprinkled on the dirt at
the base of the shrubs. Teenagers would always find a way to partake in illegal activity, Grace thought to herself as she
swiped her badge to get into the building.
Even though it had been over a year since the high school was rebuilt, it still had the new construction aroma. The
combination of chemicals from fresh paint, sealants, flooring and sheetrock penetrated Grace’s hormonal nostrils as she
stepped into the building. While the smell indicated that the school was still new, there were scuff marks on the grey
paint, haphazard slashes of black at the bottom of the walls above the taupe border that sat flush with the white terrazzo
flooring.
A navy-blue circle stood out on the floor, cradling the Bridgeton High School logo, the profile of an angry-looking
Viking with yellow braids and a moustache that extended well beyond his chin. The lobby was quiet with the exception
of Grace’s rubber-soled boots hitting the surface in steady clomps.
After she hefted the auditorium door open and ensured that it closed silently, she marched toward her designated seat in
the first row closest to the aisle, making it easy for quick getaways. The giggles and whispers of teenage girls peppered
the air, and playful banter bounced between students, background noise to the serious conversation that was taking
place on the stage.
The speaker was a young woman with trendy, dirty-blonde beach curls resting on her shoulders in texturized tips,
arranged in a way that made her appear professional with a carefree and hip edge. Grace thought that was exactly what
these kids would respond best to, considering half of them had the same hairstyle. The girl wore a red short-sleeve
shirt, with C.A.R.E presented across her chest. Community, Action, Respect, Engage. Grace, knowing the acronym by heart
from past events, ran her gaze along the row of other speakers all wearing matching shirts and sitting on folding chairs
beside the podium.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” Grace nearly jumped out of her seat, responding to the tap on her shoulder. She whirled
around to see Avree Edmonton, Psychology teacher and school counselor, and someone who Grace had recently grown
close to.
“Hey!” Grace whisper-yelled, motioning toward the empty seat beside her. Without hesitation, Avree stood and
straddled the chair in front of her with the ease of a poised track and field star and slipped into the seat beside Grace.
“How are you?” Grace asked while she kept her eyes on the stage, avoiding a glare from Miss Hadlock, the only teacher
in the school who was brave enough to shush Grace during seminars.
“I’m good.” Avree crossed a thin leg so she was angled toward Grace. “You know that I’m always good during C.A.R.E
week.” Avree loved everything that had to do with psychology. She was a self- confessed introvert who had the
antagonistic ability to command a room of high school students, transferring her passion for the subject onto them. Dr.
Avree Edmonton was a classic beauty with big blue doe eyes enhanced by trendy makeup, layering her girl-next-door
looks with a blend of mystery and style. It wasn’t surprising that Avree appealed to the juniors and seniors. Her sweet
disposition paired with over-the-top intelligence contributed to her popularity in the classroom.
On the rare occasion that Grace was tasked with running security checks in the school building, she had watched Avree
in action from outside the open door of her classroom. Perched on the edge of the big metal desk, Avree had the

undivided attention of the twenty-plus students, a blend of male and female, who sat in their seats with wide- eyed
stares taking in the mysteries of the human psyche. In addition to the handful of psychology classes she taught, she was
the high school’s only adjustment counselor, serving the students' social- emotional needs and being a source of stability
when home life and school life collided.
“This is like your playground, isn’t it?” Grace asked as she kept her eyes fixed on the skit that was being played out on
the stage. Two of the presenters showcased the body language that was associated with various moods.
“It sure is. I suppose you could compare it to how you feel when you crack a big case, huh?” Grace could hear the smile
in Avree’s voice, the girlish giggle that was often present at the end of her statements, softening the persistent intellect
that she was born with. Her natural intelligence and PhD could land her a role in a top psych hospital or maybe a
practice of her own, but she had once told Grace that high school students were her favorite because they still had the
ability to be molded. She happily admitted that one of her goals for working in a high school was to create a career
passion in the minds of students.
“Hardly.”
Avree bumped Grace’s elbow. “What do you mean, hardly? I feel like I’m always reading about you in the local paper.
Detective McKenna this and Detective McKenna that.”
“Rarely do those little blurbs ever consist of a hard-cracked case.” Grace thought of the irony of the statement. Over the
last four years she had silently cracked cases that would’ve never even been readdressed if it weren’t for her ability to see
flashes of crimes committed in the eyes of criminals. A gift and a curse. The newspaper articles were more centered
around accolades of her being the town’s quintessential female detective. It wasn’t hard to make the news when you
were the only girl cop in the town who happened to be dating the owner of the town’s bustling gym. The Bridgeton
Press was more like a gossip column for do-gooders.
The thought of her past cases naturally shifted her mind to the visions in Amy’s eyes. Who was this mystery woman
who had a hand in hurting a teenage girl? And what role did she play in Charlotte Anderson’s life?
“But you love it though, right?”
“Huh? Love what?” Grace was pulled from the thoughts that were tangled up in her head like a bundle of chords at the
back of an entertainment center.
Avree tipped her head to the side, two question marks evident in her expanding pale blue eyes. “Your job. You love
your job, don’t you?” “Oh, oh...yeah. I do.” Grace thought about all the reasons why she did love her job. That feeling
that she got when she was bettering the safety of her community. On the other end of the spectrum, she was often
heavy with the emotional weight that would result from unraveling cases that popped up years after they were long
forgotten. The faces of Timmy Walsh, Jenny Silva, Annabelle Caverly, and Joanne Barrett were playing on a never-
ending loop in her mind.
“Come on, you gotta have more to say about the work you do, than that?”
“Okay, I love my job.” Grace rocked sideways so she was as close to
Avree as she could get. “Happy now?” The question came out in a sarcastic hiss but the conversation was soon forgotten
when Avree’s attention was pulled toward the center section of audience seats.

“Shit. These speakers are never gonna come back here if Juliana talks.”
“What?” Grace swiveled her neck until her gaze was directed on a heavyset student with a raised hand. “Who is
Juliana?”
“Juliana is my troubled student,” Avree said with pierced lips.
“What exactly does that mean?” Grace asked just as the girl started spouting off a question in a voice that sounded like
nails sliding down a chalkboard.
“So, how exactly are you guys qualified to teach us about our mental health?” The question raced out of Juliana’s mouth
matter-of- factly, before it came to a sudden halt as if it was a car rear-ending another car. A few giggles cut through the
silence that followed the awkward inquiry.
“What the–''
“Yep, that’s her MO. She’s always throwing out inappropriate and socially awkward statements to get a rise out of
people.” Avree used two fingers to clip the top of her nose. “It’s what we in the biz call being attention starved. I’ve only
had her in class for just over a month and she’s ruffled more than a few feathers already. And it looks like she’s ruffling
some more as we speak.”
Grace saw the hesitation in the speaker. The thirty-something- year-old girl dropped her head as if she was searching
for the answer on the podium. The oldest and likely most seasoned presenter stood up to relieve the girl at the podium
and offered a response. “We have been hired by the trusted administrative team at this school and I can assure you we
are more than qualified to discuss the topics at hand. Next question.” Without even letting Juliana probe further, the
woman extended a hand in the direction of a studious brunette with red-framed glasses.
“So, are you saying there are parts of your job you don’t like?” Grace asked as she tossed a wink in Avree’s direction.
A deep exhale erupted from Avree’s mouth and she scrunched up her nose. “Yes, but I have to say that it’s more about
the parents than it is about the students. It’s hard not to feel bad for kids like Juliana. At first, I thought she had no
social-emotional skills, but over the last few weeks, I’ve learned more than I wanted to know about her upbringing.”
“Abuse?” Grace asked, a natural question for her since it was her job to confront abusive families. On a handful of
occasions, she had to make home safety visits to ensure the students were getting adequate amounts of food and had a
place to sleep and bathe and had all the necessary equipment for survival. Not all visits turned out to be successful and
there were some unfortunate occasions when Grace had to contact the Department of Children and Families.
“No, quite the opposite actually. The girl has a record for blurting out tasteless things at the worst possible times, but
there is a reason for it. Her own parents don’t give her a second of their time, so she’s seeking attention by essentially
putting others down and causing a scene.”
Grace twisted her head back in the direction of Juliana, taking in the long, dyed, jet-black hair, the crooked bangs that
looked like they were cut at home. She had a streak of purple that stood out just enough against the black, but instead of
looking like an artsy addition to her style, it looked like she spilled purple food coloring down the side of her head. Her
pudgy cheeks were home to clusters of pimples, half of them on the verge of opening like bloody blisters. The combi‐
nation of dark black hair and clumpy red cheeks made her pale skin glow. It was obvious that the girl wasn’t starving,

and it wasn’t that form of abuse that she was suffering. Lost in absorbing the girl’s features, Grace was caught staring
and in return received a glare that was initiated in Juliana’s beady blue eyes framed in thick black eyeliner.
She turned back to Avree. “So, why don’t her parents pay attention to her?”
“They are too busy with her golden-boy brother.” Avree rolled her eyes. “Because their attention remains firmly focused
on her brother Seth, a freshman, and basically everything a Bridgeton boy should be according to his local fan club.
Evidently, Juliana’s parents come from a long line of athletes, and when they found out that Juliana had no interest in
sports, they basically gave up on her. The poor girl even gets left behind on family trips. You see, everything in their life
revolves around their son’s football career, so all their trips are taken in conjunction with other football families. Her
parents seem to conveniently leave her behind, whether there is no room to take her, or she doesn’t fit in with the
family image. She’s what you call an extreme black sheep.”
“Is that a scientific term?”
“It’s an Avree Edmonton term.” Avree winked at Grace just as groups of students shot up from their seats and the
presentation was adjourned.
Mobs of teens erupted from the auditorium, pushing Grace and Avree along at a steady pace, Grace’s stomach bumping
into the back of the person in front of her like it was an additional limb. By the time the crowd had thinned, she realized
she had walked all the way to Avree’s classroom with her. When the two started talking, it was sometimes hard to stop,
which was rare for Grace, considering she was less of a chatter and more of a doer.
“Are you teaching now or counseling?”
“Teaching. Feel like coming in for a lesson?” Avree stopped outside her classroom, wafting a hand in the entryway, a
smile plastered on her face. “Today we’re discussing risk factors for certain psychological disorders.”
“I’d love to but–''
“Juliana.” Avree’s gaze darted behind Grace, transforming from friendly to stern. “Can you come here for a moment?”
The girl clutched the straps of her backpack with beefy fingers, sidestepping to avoid a group of gabbing girls who
weren’t paying attention to where they were going. “Yes?” Her eyebrows lifted in a question mark.
Lowering her voice, Avree leaned into the girl. “Juliana, what did we say about thinking before we blurt things out?”
“TCD, Mrs. Edmonton.” She said the words robotically, releasing a powerful exhale that lifted her bangs and brought
them back down to her forehead more uneven than they were before. “Think, Consider, Decide.”
“Yes, very good. So, do you think it was absolutely necessary to ask the experience level of the presenters who were
likely volunteering their time to be here?”
“No, I–''
“You are better than this, Juliana. Okay?”

“Yes, Mrs. Edmonton.” As if just noticing that Grace had been standing there, Juliana moved her attention from Avree
to Grace, her eyes landing on her belly. It was at that moment that Grace could tell that the girl was using her TCD
mantra, likely stopping herself from saying something rude. Juliana’s eyes then moved upwards, landing on Grace’s
curious gaze and acknowledging recognition. She looked as if she was about to say something, but instead, she turned
on a heel and sauntered down the hallway, a cluster of animal keychains dangling from her backpack and swinging in
her wake.
“My goal is to help her gain more confidence by the end of the school year.” Avree’s gaze stared longingly down the hall
after Juliana. “I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
“You’re a good teacher, my friend. I imagine Juliana isn’t your first kid with home issues.”
“Let’s just say this ain’t my irst rodeo,” Avree said, following the last student into her room before saying goodbye to
Grace. “Coffee this weekend–or tea?”
“Sounds good.” Grace walked away and as she zigzagged through a crowd of students who were late for class, she
thought about Juliana. She saw the insecure look on her face and had an internal argument with herself about who the
girl reminded her of. And just as the cold February air sliced the insides of her nostrils when she pushed the school
doors open, she remembered. ...