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Jenna slid behind the wheel of the patrol car, tapping a silent code on the steering wheel as she processed the grim discovery at Sablewood Reservoir. Jake settled into the passenger seat, his sandy hair catching the light that filtered through the oaks.

“Don’t forget, we need to call the mayor,” Jake said, breaking Jenna’s reverie and grounding her back to reality.

With a sigh, Jenna reached for her phone and punched the familiar number. As the call connected, she put it on speakerphone.

“Mayor Simmons, this is Sheriff Graves,” Jenna began.

“Hello, Jenna,” Mayor Simmons’s voice filtered through the speaker, buoyant and casual. “And Jake?”

“Yes, we’re both on the call,” Jenna replied.

The mayor gave a light laugh, then said, “I trust you’ve found Judge Fallon’s gavel?”

Jenna matched the mayor’s lightness with forced cordiality. “Actually, Mayor, that’s not why we’re calling.”

“Then what is it? Another missing pet?” The chuckle on the other end of the line was ill-suited to the news.

“Mayor Simmons,” Jenna replied, her words clipped, “a body has been found in the Sablewood Reservoir.”

The line crackled with a sudden shift of energy, the frivolity in Mayor Simmons’s tone evaporating like mist under the noonday sun. “A body? Are you certain?”

“Affirmative. It appears the victim drowned a couple of years back. The drought has lowered the water level enough to reveal it.”

She could almost hear the gears turning in Mayor Simmons’s mind as the implications settled in.

“But Mayor,” Jenna added quickly, “Paul Rauer has confirmed that there’s no threat to our water supply. The reservoir’s integrity is uncompromised.”

“Well, that’s good,” came the response from the other end. The playful inflection was gone, replaced by an all-business briskness that Jenna knew well. She could picture Mayor Simmons, poised with that hawk-like intensity as she processed every word.

“Also,” Jenna continued, “the state highway patrol is involved, and Dr. Melissa Stark is already working on identifying the deceased.”

“Excellent. Melissa’s efficiency is one thing we can always count on,” Mayor Simmons remarked, a note of genuine respect threading through her businesslike tone.

“Dr. Stark suggests that it might be a suicide by drowning. But that’s just a preliminary assessment, and not the only possibility.”

“Suicide...” Mayor Simmons exhaled, and Jenna sensed a ripple of relief. “Well, thank heaven it’s not another serial killer scenario. We’ve had enough dark tourism here as it is.”

Jenna wasn’t so sure it was suicide; the investigation was in its infancy, and her intuition warned her against premature conclusions. She remained silent, letting the mayor draw her own temporary comfort from the theory she found most acceptable.

“Clearly,” Mayor Simmons interjected, her tone brisk and commanding, “the implications this could have on Trentville and the entire county must be our foremost concern. We need to control the narrative here, Jenna. Remember, perception is reality.”

“We’re keeping it under wraps for now,” Jenna assured her.

“And you will continue to do so,” the mayor’s stern retort echoed through the speaker. “I’ll need time to strategize how best to handle this undesirable revelation.”

Jenna bristled at the note of command in the mayor’s voice. She didn’t need to be ordered to keep quiet about this new discovery. And she knew perfectly well that the same was true of Colonel Spelling and Melissa Stark. Nobody was going to talk about this until it became absolutely necessary.

When Jenna remained silent, the mayor added more forcefully, “Stay on top of this, Sheriff Graves. And exercise discretion. We can’t afford panic or gossip.” Then, without waiting for a response, she abruptly ended the call.

“God forbid we ruffle any feathers in our perfect little town,” Jenna grumbled under her breath. She stowed the phone away, her eyes meeting Jake’s, finding an echo of her own irritation reflected there.

“Mayor Simmons still thinks she can tell me what to do,” Jenna grumbled, staring out the windshield at the dusty landscape beyond. “As if I’m not the elected sheriff of this town, just like she’s elected mayor. She’s not my boss. The people of Trentville are.”

Jake leaned back in his seat. “It’s her job to worry about Trentville’s image,” he offered, trying to steer Jenna away from her brewing discontent. “To her, what we do is just secondary.”

“Secondary,” Jenna echoed, the word tasting bitter on her tongue.

“Exactly,” Jake affirmed. “The reality of law enforcement doesn’t always mesh well with politics.”

“Nope, it sure doesn’t,” Jenna scoffed, turning to face him. “It’s more like it clashes.” She took a moment, collecting her thoughts before reaching for the ignition. “Anyway, let’s head back to town. We’ve got work to do.” With a decisive motion, she turned the key, and the patrol car roared to life. As she pulled onto the road back to Trentville, her gaze remained fixed on the horizon for a few moments, where the town lay nestled in the valley like a secret held by the surrounding St. Francois Mountains. The view was serene and idyllic, in contrast to the reality she’d witnessed up close.

“Frank Doyle will have a different take on this,” she mused aloud as she navigated the familiar curves. The landscape rolled by, shades of green and brown painting a serene backdrop, though she knew the tranquility of nature hid its own mysteries—much like the townsfolk guarded their secrets.

“Always does,” Jake agreed from the passenger seat. “He’s seen enough to look past the obvious.”

“Doesn’t hurt that he’s not under the mayor’s thumb,” Jenna added, her words carrying a hint of dry humor. It felt good to be moving, action always preferable to politics in Jenna’s book.

***

Jake watched through the window as the Missouri countryside unfolded, a pattern of rolling hills and deepening colors under the broad expanse of the late June sky. It was a familiar sight to him now, even comforting in its predictability, but it could not be more different from the streets of Kansas City where he’d patrolled until he’d pulled up roots and moved here. There, every corner teemed with life and an unceasing clamor; here, the world seemed to move at a slower pace, at least some of the time. That’s what he’d come here seeking. But recently, he’d seen a darker side of small town life than he’d expected—a side that included murder.

As his mind wandered back to the case, he found himself grateful for the stillness of this trip back to Trentville. It gave him space to consider Jenna’s relentless drive, the way she dissected every clue with a precision that left no stone unturned. Her mind was a force to be reckoned with, and it was this methodical approach that had earned his unwavering respect.

It was the recent revelation of her ability to commune with the deceased through lucid dreams that had thrust him into a state of cognitive dissonance. Jake prided himself on his adherence to evidence, facts, and pragmatic investigation, yet here he was, partnered with someone who defied those very principles in the most extraordinary way. Which raised a question in his mind …

“Jenna, did you have any dreams that hinted anything about this drowning?”

“No,” Jenna said. “Just the one I told you about—the dream with the woman holding the sandpiper. I don’t think it’s connected to the body we just found.”

Jake wasn’t sure whether to find that reassuring or not. In fact, there was a lot about Jenna’s gift that he was still trying to come to terms with.

It was during their case before last when Jenna had first shared the truth about her nighttime visions. The concept of communing with the departed through dreams still unsettled him; it defied explanation, challenged his adherence to facts and evidence. Yet, he’d seen the outcomes of her strange experiences and witnessed results that defied logical interpretation. He recalled her describing these encounters with the dead, her voice steady, eyes piercing, as if she herself were still grappling with the reality of her gift. Jake sensed the burdens she carried—the weight of that kind of knowing coupled with the gnawing absence of her lost sister.

The soft whirr of the engine was a subtle reminder of the distance they covered, both in miles and in the realm of the unexplainable. Jake’s eyes kept flitting to her profile. The afternoon sun cast shadows that played across her determined features, underscoring the resolve he’d come to recognize as intrinsic to her nature. There was an incongruity between what Jenna represented—a beacon of logic in the chaos of crime-solving—and the otherworldly gift she possessed. In spite of his admiration for her, it troubled him, this blending of the supernatural with the stringent parameters of law enforcement.

As the car took another turn, Jake noticed how the late afternoon light accentuated the unwavering focus in her eyes. He knew it was this very determination that had carried her through years of searching for Piper, and it was this same tenacity that would see them through the twisted path of the case ahead.

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, toward the warmth that seemed to simmer beneath the surface of their professional relationship—feelings he fought to suppress, concerned that anything more could complicate their partnership irreparably.

The landscape outside settled into a tranquil rhythm, mirroring the silence that had fallen within the vehicle. Jake let out a slow breath, reflecting on the expectations that had driven him from Kansas City to Trentville. He had imagined a simpler life, far removed from the noise and relentless pace of urban policing. Yet, the reality of small-town law enforcement had proven to be anything but simple. With its own set of intricacies, it tested him in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

In particular, his work with Jenna had introduced him to depths he hadn’t known existed—both within the scope of their cases and within himself. Here, amid the quiet of the Missouri countryside, Jake found himself grappling with the complexities that came with change, with his evolving role beside a woman whose abilities transcended the realm of the tangible.

The quiet between him and Jenna had stretched into a canvas for his thoughts, thoughts he couldn’t voice. Did Jenna ever notice the way he lingered on her words, or how his eyes sought hers when she wasn’t looking? He doubted it. Her resolve seemed so strong that he wondered if she could sense anything beyond the case—or the question of her missing sister.

As the car approached the town limits, the local color of Trentville began to come into view: the weathered sign of Billy’s Barbecue, the sun-faded canopy of Miller’s General Store, the sharp clang of a hammer from McCabe’s Garage, and Mrs. Leary’s Diner where local gossip flowed as freely as the coffee. Everything stood steeped in sunlight and shade, a tableau of small-town life that seemed to endure against the march of time.

The cruiser turned into Frank’s driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. When they stepped out and knocked at the front door of his house, Frank greeted them quickly. “Afternoon, you two,” he said, a familiar warmth in his tone.

“Frank,” Jenna replied with a nod, their bond palpable in the simple exchange.

Jake followed Jenna inside, where the scent of freshly-brewed coffee mingled with the sweet tang of pastry dough. Frank ushered them into the kitchen, a comfortable room with worn wooden chairs and sun-faded curtains. The table was set with an assortment of pastries from the local bakery, their flaky crusts hinting at the skill that had crafted them. It was almost as if Frank had expected visitors. Somehow, it always felt that way whenever Jake and Jenna came for a visit. Frank’s hospitality was always at the ready.

Jake watched Jenna and Frank, their ease with each other born of years of shared history. Frank had long known about Jenna’s unique gift, a fact that still sat strangely with Jake. Jenna perched on a chair, her posture never quite relaxing, even as Frank pushed a steaming mug towards her.

“Thanks, Frank,” she said, cradling the warmth in her hands.

Conversation would soon turn to the grim reason for their visit, but for this moment, there was comfort in the mundane act of sharing coffee and sweets. Jake took a seat and accepted his own coffee, allowing himself to enjoy the brief respite, the normalcy of it a stark counterbalance to the day’s earlier revelations. His hand hovered over the table, briefly considering each of the sweet treats displayed before him and finally settled on a flaky, golden croissant.

Jake watched as Jenna leaned forward slightly, her focus sharpening like the blade of a well-honed knife. The mug seemed forgotten as she addressed Frank in a voice that carried the weight of her office.

“Frank, a man’s body was found earlier today in the Sablewood Reservoir,” she said, her words cutting through the comforting aroma of pastries and coffee.

Frank’s expression tightened imperceptibly, his gray eyes reflecting a glint of the old fire that had made him a formidable sheriff. “Had any dreams about this one?” he asked, his voice betraying none of the skepticism such a question might hold coming from anyone who didn’t know Jenna as well as he did.

“No,” Jenna replied, setting down her mug with a small clink against the table. “Nothing yet. Colonel Spelling and Dr. Stark are on it, but we haven’t got an ID for the victim.”

Jake observed the exchange closely. Frank’s question reaffirmed their shared knowledge of Jenna’s gift—a supernatural facet that Jake was still grappling to understand.

“The condition of the body suggests he’s been there for about two years,” she continued.

Frank’s hand paused from reaching for another pastry as he mulled over the information. His face became a map of concentration, each line etched by years of experience.

“Could be someone local then, missing around that time,” Jenna probed gently. “Can you think of anyone it might be?”

Frank squinted thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded.

“One,” he conceded, his voice low. “Maybe his demons caught up with him.”