Page 11

The soft morning light had already begun to bathe the landscape in a warm glow when Jenna guided the patrol car onto Jake’s gravel driveway. Jake’s front door immediately flew open, and the handsome deputy strode toward her, his uniform crisp despite the hour.

“Morning,” he greeted Jeanna as he climbed in, buckling his seatbelt with a habitual click.

“Morning,” she replied as she guided the car back onto the road leading to Colstock.

“Melissa Start sure made a quick ID,” Jake commented. “Matching up those dental records for us.”

“Melissa doesn’t waste time once she gets going. She’s really good at her job.”

“We’re lucky to have her working with us,” Jake said.

“We sure are,” Jenna replied, keeping her eyes on the winding road ahead. “But there’s something less fortunate I have to get done right now. I need to notify Mayor Simmons before somebody starts asking her uncomfortable questions.”

“I guess every job has its downside,” Jake commented.

Jenna’s fingers deftly entered the call from her contacts list. A press of a button and the speakerphone engaged, filling the car with the ringing tone.

“Good morning, Sheriff Graves,” came the prompt response from the other end, the Mayor’s voice brimming with expectancy. “What do you have for me?”

“Mayor Simmons,” Jenna began, maintaining a professional detachment. “We’ve confirmed the identity of the body found in Sablewood reservoir. It’s as we suspected—a man named Mike Larson, who lived in Colstock and disappeared some two years ago.”

“What do you know about him? What can I tell the press?”

“Other than his identity, we don’t know much more than we did when we talked with you before. Larson did have a record as a troublemaker, and it was assumed that he’d just abandoned his wife and gone off somewhere on his own. I’ll let you know whenever we find out more. We’re headed to Colstock now to speak with his wife, his widow.”

“Understood,” Mayor Simmons replied. Jenna could imagine the woman’s calculating gaze on the other side of the line, always anticipating the town’s reaction, each move considered for its political weight. When she spoke again, the mayor’s voice resonated with satisfaction through the patrol car’s speakers. “Excellent work, Sheriff. I’m sure you’ll be able to confirm that this was a straightforward suicide case.”

“Uh, Mayor Simmons, we can’t be sure—” Jenna began.

“Now don’t overcomplicate things,” Mayor Simmons said. “The corpse was wearing a backpack full of rocks. That sure sounds like suicide to me. We need to wrap this up quickly to avoid any unnecessary panic in the community.”

Then the line clicked dead, signaling the end of the call.

Jake glanced at Jenna, his eyebrow arching with a silent question. Jenna felt a familiar tightness in her chest, a constriction she experienced whenever politics got tangled with police work.

Then Jake said, his tone laced with skepticism, “Seems like the Mayor has her mind made up already.”

“Yeah, she does that,” Jenna muttered, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“The Mayor seems pretty set on the suicide theory, doesn’t she?”

“Surely does. It’s the most convenient explanation, and I guess she’s likely to spread that story. I wish she wouldn’t. I’ve got reasons to think it’s not that simple.”

“What makes you say that?” Jake leaned forward, interest piqued by the hint of doubt in Jenna’s voice.

Her response came slowly, as if each word was being carefully selected. “I had another dream last night, Jake. A lucid one.” She spared him a brief glance before returning her gaze to the road.

His silence invited her to continue. “A male figure emerged from the water at the Sablewood Reservoir.” Jenna’s voice was even, but the vivid imagery of the dream replayed behind her eyes with unsettling clarity. “He only said a few words, and he kind of melted right back into the water before I could get any answers from him.”

Jake listened with both concern and curiosity. He knew better than to dismiss Jenna’s dreams; they’d been a help in more than one investigation, guiding them through murky waters.

“So what do you think it means?” Jake asked.

“Something significant—I can’t yet put my finger on what it is,” Jenna admitted, her tone edged with frustration. “Why would I dream about someone trying to reach me if Larson died by suicide? So far, spirits of the dead only visit me when there’s a murder to solve. That’s what leads me to think it must be murder.” She glanced at Jake, and then added. “He only said one thing clearly: ‘There are three of us.’”

Jake remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery. “Your dreams have helped us before. Do you think this means there are more bodies in the reservoir?”

“Maybe. But I’m confused about the only other thing he said. It was garbled but sounded like he said, ‘I’m alive.’”

“But... I thought you only dreamed about the dead?”

“That’s what’s bothering me. Have the rules of my dreams changed?”

Jake made no reply, and the car ate up the miles in silence. Trees lined the road, their leaves whispering secrets only the wind could understand. As they passed the sign welcoming them to Colstock, Jake shifted in his seat, breaking the contemplation.

“So, what’s our approach going to be with Mrs. Larson?”

Jenna exhaled slowly, considering her response. Their approach had to be measured and tactful. “We need to be careful,” she began, her voice low. “We can’t ignore the possibility that this wasn’t suicide, but we also can’t go in guns blazing about a murder investigation. We’ve got to break the news about Mike’s body as gently as possible.”

Jake nodded. They both understood the importance of sensitivity. Jenna eased off the accelerator as the patrol car eased into Colstock, a little town too small to have its own police, but where Jenna still had jurisdiction as the county sheriff.

Main Street sprawled ahead of them, a quaint scene of time-worn storefronts whose worn paint whispered tales of past years and uninterrupted tranquility. A handful of townsfolk were already up and about, their movements carrying the unhurried rhythm of small-town life. A woman in faded overalls was meticulously sweeping the sidewalk in front of a quaint antique shop, her straw broom sending tiny dust clouds into the morning air. Further down the street, an elderly gentleman was wrestling with a bulky box through the front door of what looked like a family-run grocery store. His grunts echoed down the near-empty street as he navigated his way around an obstinate door.

A few doors down, under an awning advertising fresh-baked pies, sat an old man cradling a steaming mug of coffee while watching two squirrels chase each other around a gnarled oak tree. His laughter echoed softly across Main Street as one squirrel cheekily outsmarted its playmate.

Despite its small size and seeming stillness, Colstock was alive in its unique way; every person contributing to its slow-paced symphony under Missouri’s awakening sky.

The grocery store where Mary Larson worked came into view, its sign bleached by the sun and weathered by time. Jenna parked the car beside the curb, her movements precise, no motion wasted. She turned to Jake, “Remember, we’re dealing with a grieving widow who is about to have old wounds reopened. We need to be sensitive, but also observant. Anything she says or does could be important.”

Jake nodded, his expression somber in understanding. They both knew the weight of what was to come, the delicate balance between empathy and investigation. Jenna checked her reflection briefly in the rearview mirror, tucking a stray lock of chestnut hair back into place, then reached for the door handle, ready to step into whatever awaited them inside.

When they entered the store, a bell chimed above them. Jenna inhaled deeply, the smells of earthy vegetables and lemon-scented floor cleaner mingling in the air, creating an oddly comforting aroma. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a pale glow on the aisles. A few people moved in the store aisles, early shoppers no doubt planning future meals and activities.

Only one checkout lane was active, manned by a woman whose graying blonde hair framed a face marked by lines of fatigue. She fiddled with the items before her, betraying a nervous energy. Beside her, a man of medium height but with a muscular frame stood casually, his body language relaxed, but his gaze sharp and assessing as his attentive eyes tracked their approach.

As Jenna and Jake drew closer, their presence shifted the dynamic, their uniforms serving as a signal. The man straightened slightly, his casual demeanor giving way to attentiveness.

“Excuse me,” Jenna began, her tone balancing authority and empathy. “I’m Sheriff Jenna Graves from Trentville, and this is my deputy, Jake Hawkins.” Her eyes met those of the woman behind the counter, seeking to establish a connection, to convey reassurance amidst the undercurrent of apprehension. “Are you Mary Larson?”

As the woman’s gaze lifted to meet Jenna’s, the Sheriff noted the grimness that lingered there, the weariness that no amount of sleep could cure. There was something about Mary Larson’s expression, a guarded vulnerability that resonated with Jenna – a reflection of her own struggles, perhaps.

In that moment, Jenna felt the familiar tug at the back of her mind, the pull of intuition that had become an unspoken partner in her investigations. It was the same sensation that had led her to countless breakthroughs, and the same one that told her now that there could be more to the Larson’s story than what was clear on the surface.

Mary’s acknowledgment came with a faint flicker of recognition, a tightening around her eyes that Jenna noted as the mark of someone bracing for impact. “Yes, that’s me,” she said, her voice revealing an undercurrent of trepidation beneath its worn edges. “And this is my brother-in-law, Tommy. He just stopped by to say hello.”

Suddenly Jenna recognized Tommy as the brother who used to come to Trentville to bail Mike out of jail whenever she and Frank had arrested him.

Tommy’s gaze narrowed on the badges, a silent alarm flashing in his eyes. “Is something wrong? What’s this about?” The questions were charged with an expectancy that hinted at more than casual curiosity.

Jenna let her eyes meet Jake’s for a split second, their connection wordless. They both understood the fragile nature of the news they carried. “Is there somewhere we could talk privately?” Jenna’s request was soft, but it cut through the ambient noise of the store with clarity.

Mary blinked rapidly, her composure momentarily slipping like loose pebbles down a steep incline. “Petey, can you watch the register for a bit?” she called out, her voice a notch higher as she addressed a young employee absorbed in his task of restocking shelves.

“Sure thing, Mrs. Larson,” Petey responded with a youthful bounce in his step, oblivious to the tension coiling in that space.

Mary motioned towards a narrow hallway that cut sharply away from the storefront’s seeming tranquility. Jenna followed, noting the way the woman’s hands moved with a jittery energy, betraying an inner turmoil as she led them into the stock room. Even though a single fan oscillated in the corner, its blades cutting through the silence with monotonous whirs, the air in the little room they entered smelled musty and stale, like it had been trapped in this cramped space for far too long.

Boxes and cans crowded every inch of wall space and much of the floor, creating a maze-like path through the room. In one corner, a small desk was wedged awkwardly, its surface cluttered with an unruly pile of paperwork. It was here, in the cluttered confines of a room where order was held together by sheer will that Jenna prepared to bridge the gap between the living and the dead.

She positioned herself so that she could see both Mary and Tommy without having to turn, her movements deliberate, measured. She glanced at Mary, noticing how her eyes darted nervously around the cramped space. Of course, Jenna reminded herself, this woman wasn’t unaccustomed to conversations with the law. She’d dealt with plenty of that sort of thing when her husband disappeared two years ago.

When Jenna observed Tommy, whose presence brought an unforeseen complexity to the situation, she recognized the subtle tightness in his jaw as an unconscious response to stress. She remembered Frank telling her yesterday that pretty much the whole town, Mary included, and come to terms with the likelihood that Mike had just wandered off to start a new life elsewhere. And now Jenna was going to break an illusion they’d been living with for most of two years now.

She had to wonder—how would these two people respond when she brought up the news about Mary’s long-missing husband, Tommy’s lost brother?