Page 11

“You ready for this?” Jake asked, his voice low, as they made their way through the quiet corridors of Trentville’s City Hall. Most of the building had emptied for the day, and the only sound was the distant rumble of a janitor’s vacuum.

“As ready as anyone can be for Claire when she’s in one of her moods,” Jenna replied, straightening her sheriff’s badge with an unconscious gesture.

“Just remember,” he reminded her, “we’re doing our jobs. Her political aspirations aren’t our problem.”

Jenna nodded, appreciating his solidarity as they reached the heavy oak door with its brass nameplate: MAYOR CLAIRE SIMMONS. She took a breath, knocked twice, and entered without waiting for a response—a small assertion of authority that she knew would irritate Claire.

Mayor Simmons sat behind her imposing desk, her tailored suit as crisp as her expression was cold. Her computer screen glowed in the dimming light of her office, and Jenna caught a glimpse of her own image on what appeared to be a replay of the afternoon’s press conference.

“Sheriff Graves. Deputy Hawkins.” Claire’s voice cut through the room. She clicked the pause button with a manicured nail, her hawk-like gaze fixed on Jenna. “Please, have a seat.”

Jenna settled into one of the stiff chairs across from Claire, while Jake took the other. The office smelled faintly of lemon polish and Claire’s signature expensive perfume.

“I watched your statement to the media.” Claire gestured to the screen where Jenna’s face remained paused, her expression serious and professional. “Enlightening, to say the least, considering I hadn’t been fully briefed on the situation myself.”

“I was planning to come by after—” Jenna began.

“After you’d already informed the entire county?” Claire’s fingers drummed once on the polished surface of her desk. “I’m the mayor of this town, Jenna. I shouldn’t be learning about murder investigations in my jurisdiction from Channel 12 News.”

Jenna met Claire’s gaze without flinching. “The press was already at the scene when we got there. I made a brief statement to prevent speculation, nothing more.”

“The public,” Claire repeated, the words sharp with disapproval. “What the public needs is reassurance, not alarm.”

“I said we’re investigating all possibilities. That’s standard procedure.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed. “Standard procedure. Of course.” She sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation. “Walk me through it, then. All of it. From the beginning.”

Jake shifted in his chair, his shoulder almost touching Jenna’s in silent support. The gesture wasn’t lost on Claire, whose gaze flicked briefly between them before settling back on Jenna. Jenna hoped Claire wouldn’t make too much of the moment.

Jenna kept her voice even and professional.

“Marcus Derrick’s body was discovered by two teenagers who had been playing around in the woods near the radio tower.

That location is actually just outside the boundary of Trentville, by the way.

The deceased was male, mid-fifties, who lived in a mobile home in the woods outside Pinecrest in Cable County.

Cause of death appears to be strangulation. ”

She continued methodically, describing the crime scene and the peculiar arrangement of the body as it was attached to the tower.

“The victim was obsessed with old technology—specifically vacuum tube equipment. He was positively paranoid about transistors and integrated circuits and such, thought the government was using them to monitor people’s thoughts.

He was a recluse, but we’ve learned he recently purchased items at Howard Mitchell’s estate sale in Pinecrest.”

Claire’s expression remained neutral, but her posture had stiffened, her back straight against the high-backed leather chair.

“Mitchell—he was the electronics collector who died recently?” she asked.

Jenna nodded. “Heart attack, according to Pinecrest PD. His daughter, Rebecca Mitchell, came from Connecticut to handle the estate. When we visited the estate sale, we learned that Marcus Derrick had bought a vintage radio there.”

“My contacts in Pineville tell me you’ve taken a man into custody. Why didn’t you announce that you already have a suspect in jail?”

“His name is Harris Lynch. He’d been very interested in the radio that Derrick bought and apparently he has a temper.”

“So you’re saying he had a motive?”

“Maybe. Lynch owns Golden Legend Treasures in Pinecrest—deals in antiques and oddities. And he was upset about Rebecca Mitchell selling the radio to Derrick instead of him. We have reason to believe he’s been selling stolen goods.

Chief Morgan and Colonel Spelling assisted us in obtaining a warrant.

Lynch is currently in custody, though only for possession of stolen property at this point.

We haven’t been able to tie him to the murder. ”

Throughout Jenna’s account, Claire’s demeanor shifted, alternating between attentive listening and visible agitation. Her focus seemed less on the details of the investigation and more on their implications.

“So, to summarize,” Claire said, standing abruptly and walking to the window that overlooked the town square, “we have a reclusive individual from Pinecrest who was murdered and discovered in our county, a suspect held in Pinecrest on a lesser charge, and an investigation that is currently going nowhere. Did I overlook anything?”

“We’re exploring all angles,” Jenna said carefully. “The unusual nature of the crime scene—”

“What I’m concerned with,” Claire interrupted, turning back to face them, “is the narrative that’s forming. ‘Trentville: Where Bodies Turn Up in the Woods.’ It’s hardly the image we’ve been working to cultivate.”

Jake cleared his throat. “With respect, Mayor, I don’t think any town cultivates a murder-friendly image. This isn’t about marketing.”

Claire’s gaze snapped to him, her expression cooling further. “Everything is about marketing, Deputy Hawkins. Perception influences tourism, business investment, property values. When people hear ‘Trentville,’ I want them to think ‘charming midwestern town,’ not ‘murder investigation.’“

Jenna resisted the urge to sigh. Claire’s priorities had always been transparent—her political ambitions took precedence over practical realities.

“Perhaps,” Claire continued, returning to her seat and folding her hands on the desk, “this is a case better left to Pinecrest PD and the State Highway Patrol. After all, the victim was a Pinecrest resident. The stolen goods connection is in Pinecrest. It seems logical that they should take the lead.”

Jenna felt a flicker of irritation. “The body was found in Genesius County. That makes it my jurisdiction, Claire.”

“Technically, yes,” Claire conceded, her tone suggesting she found the technicality inconvenient. “But in the interest of efficient resource allocation...”

“I’m not stepping back from this investigation,” Jenna stated firmly. “The crime occurred in my county. The evidence was found in my county. And per state law, that makes it my case.”

Claire’s frustration manifested in the tightening of her jaw. “You always have an answer for everything, don’t you, Jenna?”

Jenna recognized the true nature of Claire’s irritation—not her handling of the case, but her unwillingness to be managed.

“I’m doing my job,” Jenna said simply. “And my job is to investigate crimes in Genesius County, regardless of where the victim lived or where additional evidence might lead.”

“Your job,” Claire countered, leaning forward, “includes considering the welfare of this community.”

“Which is exactly what I’m doing by thoroughly investigating a murder. Public safety isn’t achieved by passing the buck to another department.”

Claire’s expression darkened. “That’s not what I’m suggesting, and you know it.”

“What exactly are you suggesting, Claire?” Jenna asked, her voice level despite the growing tension. “Because it sounds like you’re asking me to prioritize the town’s image over finding a killer.”

The mayor’s mouth opened, then closed abruptly. For a moment, the only sound in the office was the gentle hum of the air conditioning.

“Let me be clear about something,” Jenna continued, her emerald eyes focused intently on Claire.

“You are not my boss. We are both elected officials with different responsibilities to the people of this town and this county. My responsibility is to uphold the law and keep them safe—not to manage public relations.”

The words struck with precision. Claire sat back, her expression shifting from anger to something more complex—perhaps respect, perhaps resignation.

After a long moment, she sighed, the sound weary and unexpectedly human. “You’re right.” She rubbed her temple. “I’m sorry, Jenna. That was... unprofessional of me.”

The apology surprised Jenna, who had braced for further confrontation. Claire rarely backed down. She responded with a nod.

“It’s been a difficult month,” Claire continued, some of her usual steel giving way to vulnerability. “These recent murder cases bring out my worst tendencies.” She glanced between Jenna and Jake. “My tendency to control everything, I mean.”

Then the mayor added, her voice softer now. “I do appreciate what you both do,” “Especially after what you did for Clyde. I haven’t forgotten that.”

The mention of Claire’s brother—whose murder Jenna had solved—shifted the atmosphere in the room. It was a reminder of their shared history, of the complex web that connected them beyond their professional roles.

“I was doing my job,” Jenna said simply, but without the edge that had colored her earlier statements.

“Yes, well.” Claire straightened a pen on her desk. “You do it well, even when it complicates my life.”

It was as close to a compliment as Claire was likely to offer, and Jenna accepted it with a nod.

“Keep me informed,” Claire said, her tone returning to its usual efficiency. “Properly informed, not through the evening news. And if there’s anything the mayor’s office can do to assist the investigation, let me know.”

“We will,” Jenna assured her, rising from her chair. Jake followed suit.

As they moved toward the door, Claire called after them. “And Jenna? Be careful with this one. Something about it feels... different.”

Jenna paused, struck by the genuine concern in Claire’s voice. “We always are.”

The door closed behind them with a soft click, and the tension that had filled the office didn’t follow them into the corridor. Jake exhaled slowly as they walked toward the exit.

“That went better than expected,” he observed quietly.

“Surprisingly so,” Jenna agreed. “Though I’m not sure what prompted the change of heart.”

“Maybe she’s finally recognizing that we’re on the same side.” Jake’s voice held a hint of optimism that Jenna couldn’t quite share.

They stepped outside into the cool evening air. The town square was quiet, storefronts closing for the night, a few pedestrians making their way home.

“Frank’s expecting us,” Jenna said, checking her watch.

The thought of visiting Frank Doyle offered a welcome respite. Frank’s steady presence and experienced perspective had guided Jenna through countless difficult cases. Tonight, she needed that guidance more than usual.

As they settled into the patrol car, Jake behind the wheel, Jenna’s phone rang. The caller ID displayed Chief Morgan’s name.

“Sheriff Graves,” she answered, putting the call on speaker for Jake to hear.

“Sheriff, glad I caught you.” Morgan’s voice crackled through the speaker, vibrating with excitement.

“We’ve got developments. That warrant paid off big time—Lynch’s inventory is full of stolen merchandise.

And we just picked up Mickey Guest toting around a backpack full of electronics.

Guest just got out three months ago, and he’s already back to his old tricks. ”

Jake raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Jenna.

“That’s good work, Chief,” Jenna said. “What’s Guest saying?”

“Nothing yet—lawyered up immediately. But we’ve got him dead to rights on the stolen goods. I’m telling you, we’re closing in on this murder. Lynch and Guest are up to their necks in this.”

Jenna noted the chief’s enthusiasm with caution. “What’s Colonel Spelling’s take?”

A brief hesitation. “Spelling thinks we need more,” Morgan admitted reluctantly. “Says the connection to the murder is still circumstantial. But I can feel it—we’re on the right track.”

“Keep us posted,” Jenna said. “We’ll swing by first thing tomorrow.”

After ending the call, Jenna sat in silence for a moment, processing the information. Jake started the engine but didn’t immediately put the car in drive.

“Spelling’s right,” he said finally, voicing what they both were thinking. “It’s still circumstantial.”

Jenna nodded. “Morgan wants a neat solution. Criminals dealing in stolen goods, dispute over merchandise, murder follows. Simple.”

“But you don’t think it’s simple.”

“Do you?”

Jake’s hands flexed on the steering wheel. “No. There’s still something we’re missing.”

The shared understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the complexities that lay beneath the surface of this case. Jake pulled away from the curb, heading toward Frank’s house on the outskirts of town.

As they drove through the quiet streets of Trentville, Jenna’s mind sorted through the pieces of the puzzle—the murdered recluse with his vacuum tube obsession, the stolen electronics, Lynch’s involvement in the stolen goods operation, and beneath it all, the nagging sense that they hadn’t seen the end of it.

The road ahead disappeared beneath their headlights, one segment at a time, much like the investigation itself—revealing only what lay directly before them, the greater path still shrouded in darkness.