Page 20 of In Her Fears (Jenna Graves #8)
Jenna leaned forward in her car seat, fatigue momentarily forgotten as Jake drove them toward Elias Harrow's farmhouse.
A few minutes ago, she'd talked again with Colonel Spelling to fill him in on the latest developments on their end, including Elias's unsettling paintings.
After another turn on the highway, the farmhouse came into view.
At least fifteen people had gathered on the overgrown lawn in front of the weathered building, their voices carrying across the clearing in an angry chorus.
Officer Delgado stood at the bottom of the porch steps, one hand resting on her holster, facing down the crowd despite being severely outnumbered.
“This is worse than I thought,” Jake muttered as he pulled the car to a stop.
Several faces turned toward them, expressions shifting from anger to expectation as they recognized the sheriff’s vehicle. Jenna spotted a crude sign bobbing above the crowd: JUSTICE FOR ALEXIS. Another read: ARREST THE KILLER. Her chest tightened. How had this happened so quickly?
“Stay close,” she told Jake as they exited the car. “We need to defuse this before it escalates.”
Officer Delgado’s relief was visible as she spotted them approaching. “Sheriff, thank goodness. I’ve been trying to keep them back from the house, but they keep demanding we arrest Harrow.”
Jenna nodded, scanning the crowd. She recognized several faces—regulars from the Sunflower Café where Alexis had worked.
Ryan Kimball, Alexis’s boyfriend, stood near the front, his face tight with grief and anger.
Beside him was an older woman that Jenna recognized as the café’s owner, and clustered around them were several of Alexis’s coworkers, still wearing their aprons as if they’d rushed straight from work.
“Has anyone tried to enter the property?” Jenna asked.
“No, ma’am. Lots of shouting, but they’ve stayed off the porch. A guy with a shotgun left when I approached him.”
“Good work,” Jenna said, then turned to face the crowd. She raised her voice, projecting the authority she’d spent years cultivating. “Everyone, I need you to step back and lower your voices. This is an active investigation site.”
A murmur ran through the group, but no one moved.
“He killed Alexis!” someone shouted from the back. “Everyone knows it!”
“Why isn’t he in custody?” Ryan called out, his voice breaking. “Why are you protecting him?”
Jenna held up her hands, palms out. “I understand that you’re upset. Alexis was beloved in this community, and her death is a tragedy that touches all of us. But gathering here like this interferes with our investigation and could compromise our ability to bring the real killer to justice.”
“The real killer is in that house!” a woman cried, pointing toward Harrow’s darkened windows.
Jenna caught Jake’s eye, communicating silently.
He gave a slight nod and moved to the side of the crowd, phone in hand, already calling specific officers for backup.
She knew that Jake would have some of their team break off from work that could be postponed, or get into uniform if it was their day off.
She turned back to the protesters, focusing on Ryan, whose grief seemed to be fueling much of the group’s anger. “Ryan,” she said, “I know how much you’re hurting right now. But I need to understand something. How did you all come to believe that Elias Harrow is connected to Alexis’s death?”
“It’s all over town. Everyone at the café was talking about it.”
“And who told everyone in the café?” Jenna pressed.
The café owner stepped forward, her round face flushed with emotion.
“That young man from the art gallery—the one with all the piercings. He came in for coffee around two o’clock and told us you were investigating Harrow for the murder.
Said there was evidence linking him directly to Alexis, but that you hadn’t arrested him yet. ”
Jenna felt a surge of frustration. “Did he give specifics about this supposed evidence?”
“He said it had to do with some weird paintings,” one of the waitresses chimed in. “Paintings that show murder scenes. He described one of them—a man with a stake through his heart, posed against a tree with a pentacle carved in its trunk.”
Jenna fought to keep her expression neutral. She remembered Jay asking, “Does this have anything to do with what happened to Alexis last night?”
She’d told him she wasn’t prepared to say, but now she wished she’d pushed back more strongly.
If she hadn’t been so tired, maybe she would have handled it better.
And now, based at least partly on her non-answer, Jay had apparently decided on his own that Alexis’s death was connected with Elias’s paintings.
But why spread this information around town?
“Did Jay say anything else?” she asked.
The café owner frowned, thinking. “He seemed pretty worked up about it. Said it wasn’t right that ‘a creep like Harrow’ could just sit in his house painting death scenes while innocent people got hurt. Then he asked if we were going to do anything about it or just wait for someone else to die.”
So Jay was deliberately inciting action, Jenna realized. Was he stirring trouble out of genuine concern, or was there something more malicious at play?
“Listen to me,” she said, raising her voice to address the entire group again.
“I know you’re all here because you cared about Alexis and want justice for her.
I want that too. But what you’ve been told is incomplete information that’s just part of an ongoing investigation.
By gathering here, you’re actually making it harder for us to do our jobs. ”
She paused, letting that sink in before continuing. "We haven't arrested Elias Harrow, because at this point we don't have evidence that he committed any crime. Being strange and reclusive, or painting disturbing images, isn't illegal."
“So why are you investigating him at all?” Ryan protested.
“It’s complicated,” Jenna replied, choosing her words carefully. “And I’m not at liberty to discuss details of an active investigation. What I can tell you is that we’re pursuing all leads, and if we determine that Mr. Harrow is responsible for Alexis’s death, we will make an arrest immediately.”
A murmur of discontent rippled through the crowd. Jenna could see that her words weren’t having the desired effect. These people wanted an immediate target for their grief and rage. She was about to try a different approach when the rumble of engines drew everyone’s attention to the road.
A white van with a satellite dish mounted on the roof pulled up alongside the patrol cars. The side door slid open, revealing a camera operator already hoisting equipment onto his shoulder. Behind him, a woman in a tailored blazer stepped out, her expression lighting up at the sight of the crowd.
“Channel 8 News,” Jake grumbled, returning to Jenna’s side.
The reporter—Jenna recognized her as Isabel Chen from the Springfield station—was already making her way toward them, microphone in hand, cameraman in tow.
“Sheriff Graves,” she called, “Isabel Chen, Channel 8. We received a tip about a protest related to the Alexis Downey murder case. Can you confirm that Elias Harrow is a suspect?”
Jenna stepped forward to intercept her before she could reach the crowd. “Ms. Chen, this is neither a protest nor an official police action. These are concerned citizens who have been misled by rumors. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t inflame the situation.”
The camera’s red light blinked on, pointed directly at Jenna. Chen smiled, undeterred. “Sources tell us that the reclusive artist Elias Harrow has been painting some pretty disturbing subjects—murder scenes that might connect to Alexis’s murder. Can you confirm this connection?”
Jenna felt the stare of the camera, the expectant silence of the crowd, and the pressure of responding correctly. A misstep could jeopardize the entire investigation—or worse, set off the tense crowd behind her.
“What I can confirm,” she said evenly, “is that we’re investigating all leads in the Alexis Downey case, and that premature speculation in the media could seriously hinder our ability to bring her killer to justice.”
Chen pressed forward. “But is Elias Harrow a person of interest?”
“We’ve spoken with numerous individuals connected to this case,” Jenna replied, sidestepping the direct question. “Like I said before, I’m not at liberty to discuss specifics of an ongoing investigation.”
“Why are all these people gathered at Mr. Harrow’s home if there’s no connection?” Chen persisted.
Jenna felt her patience wearing thin. “As I said, they’ve been misled by rumors. Now, I need to ask you to step back while we address this situation.”
She turned away from the camera, signaling the end of the interview, and was relieved to see that Jake had been joined by two more patrol cars. Officers were now spreading out around the perimeter of the crowd.
“Everyone,” Jenna called out, her voice carrying across the clearing, “I need you to disperse immediately. You’re interfering with a police investigation and trespassing on private property. Those who don’t leave voluntarily will be escorted off the premises.”
The new arrivals—uniformed officers with hands resting visibly on their belts—lent weight to her words. The crowd began to shift uneasily.
“Ryan,” she said, addressing him directly again, “this isn’t helping. Take your friends back to town and let us do our jobs.”
Something in her tone—perhaps the raw sincerity—seemed to reach him. Ryan’s shoulders slumped, the fight visibly draining out of him.
“Come on,” he said to those around him. “This isn’t what Alexis would want.”
His words had a strong effect. The café workers and the others who had gathered here looked at each other, then back at Ryan. One by one, they nodded and began to step back.
“We just want justice,” the café owner said, her voice breaking slightly.
“I know,” Jenna replied softly. “And I promise you, we won’t rest until we find who did this.”
The group began to disperse, moving reluctantly back toward their vehicles. The reporter, seeing that the confrontation was defusing, tried one more approach.
“Sheriff, can you at least tell us if you believe this killer will strike again?”
Jenna turned back to Chen, aware that her response would be broadcast across the region. She chose her words with extreme care.
“We’re taking every precaution to ensure public safety,” she said firmly. “I encourage everyone to remain vigilant and report any suspicious activity, but I want to emphasize that causing panic with speculation and rumors helps no one.”
Chen looked like she wanted to press further, but Jenna had already turned away, moving toward the porch steps. Behind her, she could hear Jake politely but firmly instructing the news crew to leave the property.
The lawn gradually emptied as officers guided the last stragglers to their cars. Jenna climbed the creaking steps to Harrow’s front door, Jake joining her a moment later.
“That could have gone worse,” he said quietly.
“It still might,” Jenna replied, raising her hand to knock. “Jay Langham deliberately stirred this up. The question is why.”
She rapped firmly on the weathered door. “Mr. Harrow? It’s Sheriff Graves again. The crowd is gone now. We need to speak with you.”
Silence greeted them. Jenna knocked again, harder. “Mr. Harrow, please. We need to make sure you’re alright.”
A floorboard creaked inside, then a raspy voice came from just behind the door. “Go away.”
“We can’t do that,” Jenna said, relieved to hear the sound of his voice. “We’re concerned for your safety.”
“My safety?” A hollow laugh seeped through the wood. “I haven’t felt safe in seven years.”
Jenna pressed her palm against the door, as if she could somehow reach through it to the troubled man on the other side. “Mr. Harrow—Elias—I understand you’re frightened. But we need your help to understand what’s happening. These paintings of yours... they’re connected to real murders.”
“I told you,” he replied, his voice tight with agitation, “I only paint what I see. The visions come to me in the endless twilight between waking and the sleep that never arrives. I don’t choose them.”
“Then help us understand them,” Jake urged. “If someone is using your visions to commit murders, we need to stop them before anyone else gets hurt.”
A long silence followed, broken only by the sound of wind rustling through nearby trees. Jenna was about to speak again when Harrow’s voice returned, softer now.
“Do you know what happens to a mind that never truly rests, Sheriff? It begins to fragment. Reality blurs. Time becomes... uncertain.”
"I think I'm beginning to understand," Jenna said, thinking of her own month of broken sleep, the way reality had started to waver at the edges. "Even a few weeks of insomnia have affected my perception. I can't imagine seven years."
Another long pause.
“They think I killed that girl,” Elias said.
“Some people jumped to conclusions based on rumors,” Jenna explained. “I don’t believe you left this house to harm anyone. But I do believe your paintings are somehow connected to these deaths, and I need your help to understand how.”
“I can’t help you,” Harrow said, a note of finality in his voice. “Not like this. Not with you.”
Jenna exchanged a glance with Jake, frustration evident in both their expressions. They were so close, yet the fragile man behind the door remained beyond reach.
“Is there someone you would talk to?” Jenna asked, a last-ditch effort. “Someone you trust? A friend, a doctor, anyone who might help you communicate with us?”
The silence stretched so long that Jenna thought he might have retreated from the door. She was about to knock again when his voice returned, surprising her with its sudden clarity and decision.
“Eric Edwards,” Harrow said. “I’ll speak to Eric Edwards.”
Jenna’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Mr. Edwards told us you hadn’t spoken to him since your wife died. That you blamed him.”
“I did. I do.” Harrow’s voice hardened. “But if I must speak to someone, it will be him. And I have to talk to him alone.”