Page 60 of In Her Memory

“You might want to hurry,” Jake said. “We’ve got another problem. I’ve managed to get all the residents booked at the Trentville Inn—everyone except one. Ruth McElmurray says she’s not afraid of ghosts, and she‘s not letting herself be run out of her apartment.”

Jenna groaned. Ruth McElmurray was in her eighties, with the stubborn streak of someone half her age. She’d lived in Trentville her entire life. Getting her to leave would be like trying to move the mansion itself.

“I’ll talk to her,” Jenna said. “What’s her apartment number?”

“Twelve,” Jake replied. “First floor, east wing. I’d come with you, but—“

“You need to start searching those passages,” Jenna finished. “Be careful.”

“Always am. You too, Sheriff.”

The call ended, leaving Jenna alone with her thoughts as she drove.

Ethan Pierce. The pieces fit together too neatly to ignore—his connection to Pete Shannon, his disappearance after Boyd’s death, his questions about her methods. He’d been watching her, circling closer as the investigation deepened.

As Jenna drove, the mansion rose in the distance, its Gothic silhouette cutting a dark line against the pale autumn sky. Somewhere inside those walls, a killer might still be moving—watching, waiting, perhaps even now planning his next move.

And one stubborn old woman was refusing to leave his hunting ground.

*

Jenna pulled into the circular drive of Calloway House and brought the car to a stop. She could see residents moving out through the open front doors—suitcases in hand, faces set with determination or clouded with worry. The evacuation was underway.

“Sheriff Graves,” called an older man with a neatly trimmed white beard. He clutched a leather briefcase to his chest, his free hand resting on the handle of a rolling suitcase. “Any word on when we might be able to come back?”

“We’ll let everyone know as soon as we’ve completed our investigation,” Jenna replied. “Hopefully just a day or two.”

A woman in her sixties shook her head, silver hair falling across her worried face. “It’s just awful,” she said. “First Donna, now Mr. Calloway. And to think it might be...”

She trailed off. Two deaths in the same building—even in a place with Calloway House’s history—strained the limits of coincidence.

“We’re exploring all possibilities,” Jenna said, keeping her voice even. “That’s why we’re asking everyone to stay at the inn until we’re sure the building is safe.”

A chuckle rose from the back of the group—a silver-haired woman with a walker. “Tell that to Ruth,” she said. “Last I checked, she was still planning to stay put. Says if the ghosts want her, they’re welcome to try.”

The others joined in her laughter, the tension breaking for a moment. Jenna smiled despite herself. “I’m actually here to talk to her now,” she said. “See if I can’t change her mind.”

“Good luck with that,” the white-bearded man said. “Nobody’s ever changed Ruth McElmurray’s mind about anything. Not in sixty years of trying.”

As the group moved on toward the waiting van, Jenna made her way into the mansion. The grand foyer was quieter now, the usual afternoon bustle replaced by the muffled sounds of packing and farewells. She followed the east corridor, checking apartment numbers until she reached twelve.

The door was solid oak, with a small brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head. Jenna rapped it twice, the sound echoing in the hallway.

“Come in!” called a voice from inside—firm, with no hint of frailty. “It’s not locked!”

Jenna turned the handle and stepped into Ruth McElmurray’s apartment, which looked much like Donna Marsh’s. Bookshelves lined every available surface, volumes stacked two-deep in places. The furniture was a mix of antiques and modern pieces; all arranged with careful attention to both comfort and aesthetics.

Ruth sat in a wingback chair by the window, a book open in her lap. She was about Jenna’s height, strong and straight-backed, her white hair twisted into a bun high on her head. She looked up as Jenna entered, sharp blue eyes assessing her with unmistakable intelligence.

“Sheriff Graves,” she said, marking her place with a silk bookmark before closing the volume. “I wondered when you’d get around to me.”

Jenna smiled, moving further into the room. “Mrs. McElmurray. It’s good to see you again.”

“We met at the library fundraiser,” Ruth said, gesturing to a chair across from her. “You gave a very nice speech about the importance of community.”

“That’s right,” Jenna said, taking the offered seat. “Though I’m afraid this isn’t a social call.”

Ruth’s mouth quirked. “I didn’t think the sheriff would make house calls just to chat.” She folded her hands in her lap, waiting.