Page 23 of In Her Memory

“There’s nothing to investigate,” Claire continued. “And the Calloway House project is already steeped in enough controversy and local ill-will without adding murder accusations to the mix.” She slid a newspaper across her desk. “Did you see last week’s Weekly News?”

Jenna picked up the paper. On page three, a bold headline caught her eye: “CALLOWAY HOUSE: MONUMENT TO GREED OR COMMUNITY ASSET?” Below it was a letter to the editor from an anonymous “concerned citizen,” condemning the project as an insult to local history and questioning the ethics of converting the old mansion to luxury condos.

“This is the third such letter in two months,” Claire said. “The last thing we need is panic about a murder that probably never happened.”

“So, you want to bury a potential homicide investigation to protect real estate values?” Jake asked incredulously.

Claire’s eyes flashed. “I’m hoping to prevent a witch hunt based on nothing but Sheriff Graves’ gut feeling. If you bring me actual evidence of foul play, I’ll support you. Until then, I suggest you focus on actual crimes.”

Jenna placed the newspaper back on the desk. “We’ll be in touch when we have more information.”

Outside the mayor’s office, Jake let out a long breath. “Well, that went about as expected.”

“The worst part is, she’s not entirely wrong. All we have is what Donna told me in the dream. We can’t explain that to Claire or to anyone else.”

“You believe the dream, though,” Jake said.

“I do. The fear in Donna’s voice was real, Jake. She knew something bad had happened to her and she was afraid for others.” Jenna pushed the exit door open, stepping back outside. “But a dream isn’t evidence. Claire’s right about one thing – we need something concrete.””

They walked in silence toward their vehicles. Donna Marsh’s death would likely be recorded as an unfortunate accident, another sad footnote in Trentville’s history.

Jenna’s phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket, surprised to see Colonel Spelling’s name on the display.

“Colonel,” she answered.

“Sheriff Graves.” Spelling’s voice was crisp through the speaker. “I believe we’ve located your sister in Clarksboro. Or at least, she was there recently.”

“Piper?” she whispered, gripping the phone tighter. “You’ve found Piper?”

“I think so,” Spelling replied. “I’m going there now to learn more for myself.”

For a moment, Jenna could barely breathe.

“Text me the address,” she said, “I’ll be there too.”

CHAPTER NINE

Jenna eased her county cruiser into Clarksboro, hoping to find Piper here. She wished Jake could be with her, but they had agreed that he should stay on the case in Trentville and try to work around the efforts of the mayor and Boyd Calloway to thwart them. Because Jenna knew that the death at Calloway House had been a murder, they were afraid more murders could follow. Jake was trying to find some kind of evidence that would not only verify the murder for others and help identify the killer—they needed something that would stand up in court later.

My dream doesn’t cut it; she admitted to herself.

The truth was, she and Jake had no argument against PI Hugh Bickel’s alternate theory—that the second bloodstain in the laundry room was evidence of nothing more than a previous accident. They knew it wasn’t correct, but they couldn’t prove it.

Colonel Spelling had called her just an hour ago to say that Piper had been sighted here in this small town, a collection of brick buildings and older storefronts that seemed to sag under the weight of rural decline. The hardware store with its hand-painted sign. The diner with chrome trim that caught the sunlight. The municipal building with its single flagpole.

“How credible is this?” Jenna had asked at the time.

“Credible enough that I’m already on my way there.”

“Did they... is she still there?” Her voice had cracked slightly.

“Unknown. But a witness saw her enter a pawn shop with a blue Schwinn bicycle and leave without it. Later spotted doing yard work nearby.” Spelling’s tone had softened slightly. “Sheriff Graves—Jenna—I know what this could mean to you. But I need your head clear if you’re coming here.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

Now, as she drove through Clarksboro’s quiet streets toward the police station, Jenna was excited about the possibilities. Spelling’s APB about Piper had paid off quickly. A blue Schwinn bicycle. The same kind Piper had been riding when she disappeared.

The small brick building that housed the Clarksboro Police Department came into view. Jenna parked her cruiser next to a black SUV she recognized as Colonel Spelling’s. She took a deep breath, willing her hands to stop trembling.