Page 29 of In Her Memory

Jake was waiting for her, leaning against her desk with his arms crossed. The sight of him—steady, dependable Jake—loosened something tight in her chest.

“Any luck?” he asked, though her expression had already given him the answer.

Jenna shook her head and sank into her chair. “Three households. All confirmed she worked for them. All said she was quiet, efficient, never mentioned where she was going.” She rubbed her temples. “It’s like she was deliberately careful not to attract attention.”

“Maybe she was scared of something,” Jake suggested. He pulled up a chair and sat across from her. “Someone running from their past gets good at disappearing.”

“How’d things go here?” she asked, eager to shift the focus.

Jake’s expression brightened slightly. “Well, neither the mayor nor Calloway could legally stop me from interviewing Calloway House residents, though they sure tried. Nolan Greer practically shadowed me through the whole building, and that private detective, Bickel, kept trying to listen in on my conversations.”

“And?”

“Nothing directly pertaining to Donna Marsh. But there was something kind of strange. A couple of residents claim to have seen a ghost wandering the hallways during the last couple of weeks.”

“A ghost?” Jenna asked with a start.

“Yeah. They all thought it was the ghost of the guy who built the mansion, Pete Shannon—the ghost that people have been talking about for ages. Had a mustache, dressed in old-fashioned clothes.”

“Jake, do you think—?”

“Jenna, let’s not jump to conclusions. You know that people have been saying for years that Pete’s ghost still haunts the place. And one thing I know for sure after spending some time in Calloway House—it really works on your imagination. People can start seeing things that aren’t really there.”

“But I dream about dead people,” Jenna said. “And those people are real. Ghosts are real in ways that most people never recognize.”

“But do those ghosts actually reach out and touch people?”

“No,” Jenna admitted. As far as she knew, the phantoms in her dreams were purely non-physical. And if, as they now supposed, Donna had been murdered and then posed to make it look like an accident—well, a ghost surely hadn’t done all that.

Jake continued, “All the residents complained about maintenance issues. Flickering lights, unexplained drafts, doors that wouldn’t stay shut.” He leaned forward. “Nothing you wouldn’t expect in an old house. But something else occurred to me. Remember those anonymous letters Mayor Simmons mentioned?”

“The ones criticizing the Calloway House project.”

“Exactly. Three letters in the past two months, all signed ‘A Concerned Citizen.’ Seemed odd to me. In a town this size, why wouldn’t someone put their name to their opinions?”

“Unless they had something to hide,” Jenna finished the thought.

“Right.” Jake stopped pacing. “It’s a long shot, but I called Agnes Freelander at the paper, asked if they could identify the source of those letters. She said she’d check with her staff and get back to me.”

Jenna felt a small spark of interest, the first she’d felt since leaving Clarksboro. “You think the letter writer might be connected to Donna’s death?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Like I said, it’s a long shot. But someone with a grudge against Calloway House who’s also trying to stay anonymous? That raises questions.”

Jake’s instincts had proven right before. “Good thinking.”

“Thanks, boss.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and Jenna felt that familiar, unwelcome flutter in her stomach. She pushed it aside. Now wasn’t the time.

A knock at the open door drew their attention. Deputy Clancy stood there, his expression apologetic.

“Sheriff, there’s a reporter here to see you. Ethan Pierce from the Gateway Herald. Says it’s important.”

Jenna bit back a groan. “Send him in, Hugh.”

Jake gave her a sympathetic look as Clancy disappeared to fetch Pierce. “Want me to stick around?”

“Please,” she said, not bothering to hide her relief.

Ethan Pierce strode into the office moments later, confidence personified. His tailored jacket and precisely knotted tie stood out in the small-town sheriff’s office. Everything about him was calculated—the casual-but-not-too-casual posture, the friendly-but-professional smile, the notebook held just so in his left hand.