Page 19 of In Her Fears (Jenna Graves #8)

Ashworth shook his head. “We were friends once, years ago. Before Lina died. I was... we all were... devastated when she took her life.”

“You knew her well?” Jake asked.

“Well enough,” Ashworth replied, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. “Elias and I had been friends since art school. When he married Lina, she became part of our circle. After she died, he cut everyone off. Completely. Wouldn’t see anyone, wouldn’t talk to anyone.”

“Yet you still provide him with photographs,” Jenna observed.

Ashworth shrugged. “It started as a way to maintain some connection. He’d been a landscape painter before.

.. before everything happened. I thought maybe seeing new locations would help him reconnect with his old work.

Then one day I got a check in the mail with a note asking for more.

Specific locations—isolated places, places where people wouldn’t go often. ”

“And you didn’t find that odd?” Jake asked.

"Of course I did," Ashworth snapped. "But he was paying, and I figured if it helped him somehow..." He trailed off, then continued more quietly. "I haven't actually seen him in years. I just left the photos at his door. It's all been... impersonal."

“Were you aware that Harrow uses your photographs as the basis for paintings depicting violent deaths?” Jenna asked bluntly.

“What? No.” Ashworth seemed genuinely disturbed by this information. “I knew his work had taken a dark turn—Eric Edwards mentioned it once. But I’ve never seen the paintings.”

“And this burned church,” Jake said, gesturing to the ruins around them. “Why are you photographing it today specifically?”

Ashworth’s brow furrowed. “Because the light is right today. And because it was next on my list.”

“Your list?” Jenna asked.

“I keep a backlog of interesting locations. This one’s been on it for months.” He hesitated, then added, “If you’re suggesting I’m somehow involved in these murders, you’re wrong. I’m a photographer, not a killer.”

Before Jenna could respond, her phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket, checking the screen—Officer Delgado.

“Excuse me,” she said to Ashworth before stepping aside and answering. “Graves.”

“Sheriff, we’ve got a situation at the Harrow residence,” Delgado’s voice came through, tense and hurried. “A group of people showed up about five minutes ago. Now they’re outside the house, shouting accusations, demanding Harrow come out. One guy’s got a shotgun.”

Jenna’s exhaustion vanished under a surge of adrenaline. “How many people?”

"Maybe a dozen," Delgado replied. "We've tried to get them to disperse, but they're pretty worked up. Saying Harrow killed that waitress, that he's some kind of devil worshipper. I called the station for help, but everybody's out on calls. It will take them a while to get here. And this mob …"

“Keep them contained,” Jenna ordered. “Don’t let anyone near the house. We’re on our way.” She ended the call and turned to Jake. “We need to go. Now.”

“What’s happening?” Ashworth asked, his earlier indifference replaced by concern.

“There’s a mob forming at Harrow’s place,” Jenna said tersely. “Mr. Ashworth, this conversation isn’t over.”

“I don’t have anything more to say,” Ashworth said.

“We’ll see about that.”

“I’m not your killer,” he said with a shrug. “And Sheriff? Elias isn’t either. He isn’t capable of hurting anyone. Whatever’s happening, whatever those paintings show—he’s not your killer.”

“We’ll see,” Jenna replied, already moving back toward their vehicle.

As they hurried across the uneven ground, Jake kept pace beside her. “You think someone tipped off the townsfolk about our investigation?”

“It sure sounds like it,” Jenna said.

They got into the car, and Jake started to drive.

“What do you think of Ashworth?” Jake asked as they sped back toward the main road. “Is he telling the truth?”

“I don’t know. He seemed genuinely shocked about the murders, but...”

“But something feels off,” Jake finished for her.

“Everything feels off,” Jenna muttered.

“When Ashworth gets back to town, we should be able to keep somebody on his tail,” Jake said.

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t give us the slip in the meantime,” Jenna said. “I just wish we didn’t have to let him out of our sight.”

“Maybe we don’t,” Jake said. “Maybe Spelling could help.”

“Good idea. I’ll give him a call.”

Jenna dialed Spelling’s number. The phone rang twice before his voice came through, steady and authoritative. “Colonel Spelling.”

“Colonel, it’s Jenna,” she said, keeping her tone brisk. “Do you have any patrol cars in the Gildner area?”

“I’ve got one just right close to there,” Spelling replied without hesitation. “What do you need?”

“We’re at the old burned church ruins in Gildner,” Jenna explained, glancing out the window at the passing scenery as Jake drove with focused urgency.

“A photographer from Trentville named Christopher Ashworth is here photographing it. Deputy Hawkins and I have got a situation to deal with, and we’ve got to head back to Trentville.

I need your officers to keep an eye on Ashworth once we’re gone. ”

“A person of interest?”

“It’s too soon to tell,” Jenna said.

Spelling was silent for a moment, perhaps assessing the situation from his end. “I can have them there in five minutes.”

“Great,” Jenna said, relieved by his quick response. She rattled off the details of Ashworth’s vehicle: make, model, and license plate number. “Have them track his movements. We can’t afford to lose sight of him right now.”

“You got it,” Spelling assured her. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks,” Jenna said. “And when you get that done, call me right back. Things have been happening on our end, and I need to fill you in.”

“Will do.”

Jenna ended the call and slipped her phone back into her pocket.

Jake shot her a quick glance, eyebrows raised in inquiry.

“They’ll be watching him,” she confirmed as they sped along the winding road back toward Trentville and whatever awaited them at Elias Harrow’s house.