Page 48 of In Her Memory

“He said he would leave Kansas City last night,” the mayor explained. “But apparently he hasn’t made it here.”

Cindy laughed, the sound too sharp to be genuine. “Oh! He’s probably in our suite, just sleeping in. You know how he gets after those late-night drives.” She smoothed a hand over her hair. “Or else he’s planning one of his grand entrances. He loves keeping people waiting, building anticipation.”

She turned toward the door. “I’ll go check our suite. He must have arrived without telling anyone.”

As Cindy disappeared down the hallway, Jenna turned back to the room, suddenly unsure how to proceed.

“We should wait for her to return,” she said, making a quick decision. “This situation has become— “

“Quite unusual,” Ethan Pierce finished for her, stepping forward from his corner. His reporter’s instincts had clearly kicked into high gear. “First a resident dies under suspicious circumstances, now the building’s owner goes missing on the day of a meeting to discuss that death?”

“No one said he was missing,” Jenna corrected, though the word had already created a new wave of tension in the room. “He may simply be— “

The scream tore through the house like a physical thing—a high, terrified wail that cut off abruptly, leaving an even more profound silence in its wake.

For one frozen moment, nobody moved. Then chaos erupted as everyone surged to their feet at once, voices overlapping in questions and exclamations.

“Stay here!” Jenna ordered the audience, her hand already on her sidearm.

She and Jake rushed into the hallway, following the direction from which the scream had come.

She had learned the mansion’s layout during the initial investigation of Donna’s death—the main floor with its communal spaces, the upper floor divided into luxury condos, and the private suite at the far end of the east wing that Boyd Calloway had reserved for himself. Jenna and Jake took the grand staircase two steps at a time, their footsteps echoing through the suddenly too-quiet house.

At the top of the stairs, Jenna paused, orienting herself. “This way,” she said, pointing down the east corridor.

They hurried along the plushly carpeted hallway, passing closed doors until they reached the end. The door to Boyd’s suite stood slightly ajar, light spilling from the gap.

“Sheriff’s department!” Jenna called, pushing the door open with her foot, her weapon drawn but pointed at the floor. “We’re coming in!”

The scene that greeted them brought Jenna up short. Cindy Ruhl stood at the foot of a massive four-poster bed, one hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. And on the bed, sprawled atop rumpled silk sheets, lay Boyd Calloway.

Even from the doorway, Jenna could see he was dead.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Jake, I need you to go down and deal with the others,” Jenna said.

“What should I tell them?”

“Only what you have to,” Jenna said. “Just that there’s been another death—Boyd Calloway. That’s about all we know at this point, anyway.”

Jake left. Jenna stood at the edge of the king-sized bed, watching as Harold Winslow’s hands moved with expertise over Boyd Calloway’s still form. The eldest member of the Trentville City Council, Harold was also a retired physician. Jenna considered it lucky to have him here.

Of course, Jenna had seen death before—too many times in her four years as sheriff—but each one was different. A car accident victim’s face still wore the expression of someone who hadn’t understood what was happening. A drowning had left its subject looking as though he’d simply decided to lie down. But most of the murder victims she’d seen hadn’t looked that peaceful. Their faces often reflected the horror of unexplained attack.

She thought that Boyd Calloway looked like a man who had been afraid of something, who had died in serious pain—a look that raised some questions. Was that expression the result of a natural, though painful, attack, or had he experienced something intentional?

Cindy Ruhl sat in a delicate wingback chair by the window, her hands clutching the arms tightly. She’d stopped crying a few minutes ago, but her mascara had left dark trails down her cheeks. Every few moments, her gaze would dart to the bed, then quickly away, as though she couldn’t quite reconcile the man lying there with the one she’d known.

“Heart attack, I’d say,” Harold said, straightening up with a soft groan. At eighty-two, he was still the most respected physician in Trentville, even in retirement. “Or possibly a stroke. Maybe both.” His voice carried the weight of certainty, though Jenna noticed he’d left himself some wiggle room.

Cindy’s voice cut through the silence, brittle and sharp. “I knew this would happen. I kept telling him.” She pushed herself up from the chair. “His doctor warned him after the last attack. Said the stress of the business was going to kill him if he didn’t slow down.” She wrapped her arms around herself, looking small and vulnerable in her designer clothes. “But he wouldn’t listen. Not to the doctor, not to me.”

“Ms. Ruhl,” Jenna said, softening her tone, “I know this is difficult, but I need to ask you a few questions. When was the last time you saw Mr. Calloway alive?”

Cindy twisted the gold bracelet at her wrist. “Yesterday evening in Kansas City, just when he was getting ready to drive here. I had a soirée to attend last night, so we agreed that I’d come here this morning on my own to join him for the meeting. And,” she choked back a sob, “maybe just enjoy this old place for a while.”

Jenna glanced around the room, then walked around to the far side of the bed. She saw a sleek black cellphone lying face-down down on the carpet