Page 47 of In Her Memory

“Thanks, Greg.” Jenna stepped inside. She saw that Officers Maria Delgado and Chip Hutson were here as well. “Where is Boyd Calloway?”

Baldry shook his head. “He’s not here yet. And the super’s nowhere to be found either.”

Nolan Greer, Jenna thought with a start.

She remembered the super’s determined efforts to keep Jenna and her team from examining the laundry room. Was his absence significant?

The grand foyer gave way to what had once been the mansion ‘s main parlor—now converted into a communal space for the condo residents. The soaring ceiling and ornate crown molding remained, but the furniture had been updated to more comfortable, modern pieces that somehow worked with the Victorian architecture. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting long rectangles across the polished hardwood floor.

The room fell quiet as Jenna entered. Fifteen faces turned toward her—six city council members seated along one side of the room, nine residents of Calloway House arranged in a loose semicircle, and off to other side, a short, rumpled man whom Jenna recognized immediately. Hugh Bickel.

And then, to Jenna’s surprise, she spotted Ethan Pierce standing in the far corner, notebook in hand, his keen eyes watching the proceedings with professional interest. She’d nearly forgotten that the Gateway Herald reporter had told her yesterday he’d be staying overnight in Trentville. Of course, he wouldn’t miss this meeting—not with a story about a mysterious death brewing at the town’s newest luxury development.

She paused, scanning the room. Hugh Bickel leaned forward in his chair, his expression already calculating. A few residents exchanged worried glances. And in the corner, Ethan Pierce’s pen hovered over his notebook.

“Has anyone heard anything from Boyd Calloway?” Jenna asked.

“I guess not,” said a woman with silver-white hair whom Jenna recognized as Sylvia Holt, one of the building’s first residents. “And the superintendent isn’t here either. I tried to call Nolan twice this morning. No answer.”

“I’m sure Boyd has a good reason,” said another resident, a woman with an air of forced optimism. “Perhaps he’s running late?”

But uncertainty rippled through the room, a current of tension that made the air feel suddenly thick. Jenna caught Bickel watching her with sharp eyes, clearly wondering if she knew something he didn’t.

“Perhaps we should proceed,” suggested Councilwoman Barbara Milligan. “Mr. Calloway has always been... unpredictable.”

Jenna was about to respond when the sound of quick footsteps in the hallway drew everyone’s attention. Mayor Claire Simmons strode into the room, her tailored suit as crisp as if she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Her expression, however, was tight with concern.

“Let’s get started,” she said, taking in the scene of expectant expressions.

“Calloway hasn’t arrived,” Jenna said. “Neither has Nolan Greer.”

“That’s strange,” Claire said. “I’ll find out where Boyd is.” She stepped out of earshot and pulled out her phone and dialed. After a few words, Claire hung up, her lips pressed into an aggravated line.

“I just got off the phone with Calloway’s office in Kansas City. They said he left there last night, heading for Trentville.”

The room fell quiet.

“He left last night?” Jenna asked. “And he hasn’t arrived?”

Claire’s manicured fingernails tapped against her leather portfolio with undisguised irritation. “Apparently not.”

A new wave of murmurs rose from the gathered group. Jenna felt a prickle of unease. First Donna Marsh’s death, now Boyd Calloway failing to show for an important meeting about that very death—a meeting that he himself had called?

“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation,” Claire said, though her tone lacked conviction. “Perhaps he stopped somewhere overnight? Or he could be working in his suite without realizing the time.”

As if on cue, the sound of the front door opening carried through the house. A moment later, light footsteps pattered down the hallway. A young woman appeared in the doorway—petite, blonde, and dressed in a stylish outfit that Jenna immediately recognized as far beyond Trentville’s usual fashion offerings.

“Cindy Ruhl, Boyd Calloway’s girlfriend,” Claire said to Jenna.

Cindy stood framed in the doorway, her smile bright but uncertain as she took in the assembled group.

“Am I late?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of a St. Louis accent. “I’ve just gotten here, but Boyd told me the meeting was going to start right about now.”

Before anyone could answer, her gaze swept the room, searching. “Where is he, anyway?”

A silence followed her question. Jenna watched as understanding dawned on Cindy’s face, her expression shifting from confusion to surprise.

“He hasn’t arrived?” Cindy asked, her voice rising slightly. “That’s... unusual.”