Page 31 of In Her Memory

“He’s good at it,” Jenna admitted. “Especially when he brings up the recent rise in homicides in Trentville. I sure don’t know how to explain it. And I …” She hesitated. “I can never help wondering if it has something to do with me. That’s what a lot of people in town think.”

“Jenna—”

Jake’s attempt at reassurance was broken by the chirp of his phone. He glanced at the screen. “It’s Agnes.” He answered, putting it on speaker. “Agnes, thanks for getting back to me. You’re on speaker with the sheriff.”

“Hello, Jenna,” Agnes Freelander’s voice crackled through the line. “Jake asked about those anonymous letters we’ve been running, and I’ve got some information for you.”

Jake caught Jenna’s eye. “Go ahead.”

“My staff traced the emails they came from. They were sent through a public library computer, but the account they came from belongs to a Nolan Greer. Does that name mean anything to you?”

Jenna felt as if the floor had tilted beneath her feet. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Positive. We have three separate emails, all from the same account.”

Jake’s expression mirrored Jenna’s shock.

“Thanks, Agnes. We owe you one.” Jake ended the call and stared at Jenna. “Well, that’s a twist.”

“Nolan Greer. The superintendent of Calloway House. The man who’d have access to every inch of that building, who’d know how to create maintenance issues, who’d have keys to every unit—including Donna’s.”

“The man who was most upset about us investigating,” Jake added. “The one hovering during interviews. But why would he want to turn people against Calloway House?”

Jake leaned forward, his eyes intense. “Jenna, I think we’d better pay Nolan Greer another visit.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

As Jenna drove the patrol car toward Calloway House, her mind was piecing together the puzzle that Nolan Greer had become. The superintendent had written anonymous complaints about his own workplace—even though he’d seemed protective of the condominium when they’d met him. It might be an unimportant issue, or it could be the first lead they’d found since Donna Marsh’s body was discovered.

“It doesn’t make much sense,” she said to Jake, breaking the silence between them. “Why take a job maintaining a place you’re actively trying to undermine?”

“Money? Maybe he needed a job and couldn’t pass up the salary but still hates what the building stands for.”

“Or he took the job specifically so he could sabotage the new condominium from the inside. But what would be his reason for that?”

“Either way,” Jake said, “we finally have something to follow up on. Agnes Freelander was more than happy to track down where those emailed complaints came from.”

The road curved alongside the edge of town, where modern conveniences gave way to older structures with deeper histories. Calloway House—once Shannon House—rose into view like a relic from another era, its limestone façade catching the afternoon light, windows reflecting back the world like dark, watchful eyes.

The renovated mansion loomed larger as Jenna pulled into the curved driveway, its Gothic Revival architecture somehow both inviting and forbidding. Modern landscaping softened its edges—tasteful shrubs and ornamental grasses that Boyd Calloway had insisted upon—but couldn’t disguise the building’s imposing presence.

“You really think Greer could have killed Donna Marsh?” Jake asked as they stepped out of the car and began to climb wide stone steps to the entrance.

Jenna paused, letting her intuition work. “I don’t know yet. But if he’s been sabotaging the building, making those maintenance problems the residents complained about...”

“Then maybe Donna caught him in the act.”

Inside, the foyer welcomed them with its restored grandeur—polished wood, gleaming brass fixtures. The crystal pendants in the chandelier caught light in fractured patterns.

Voices drew their attention toward what had once been the mansion’s main parlor, now converted into a sitting area for residents. Through the open doorway, Jenna spotted Nolan Greer sitting in a wingback chair across from Hugh Bickel, both men leaning forward in conversation.

Bickel noticed them first, straightening in his chair and smoothing his rumpled suit jacket. “Sheriff Graves,” he said with forced brightness. “What brings you back to the scene of the accident?”

Jake couldn’t resist. “I could ask the same of you, Bickel. You don’t seem to be investigating too hard there, just sitting and chatting.”

The private investigator’s face flushed. “I’ll have you know I’ve been working this case thoroughly since Mr. Calloway hired me. Just because you don’t see me dusting for prints or measuring blood spatter doesn’t mean I’m not doing my job.”

“And what has your job determined so far?” Jenna asked, keeping her voice neutral.