Page 34 of In Her Mind

“Of course, Jenna,” Melissa replied through the muffled confines of her hazmat suit. Her nod was barely perceptible as her team continued their meticulous work.

Jenna left the scene with Jake, the two making their way back to the cruiser. When she closed the door with a soft thud, the sound somehow marked the end of one phase of the investigation and the beginning of another.

Jenna’s mind considered the images of the bodies, the ID card, the unanswered questions. Her hands tightened around the steering wheel, the key still resting in the ignition, yet tobe turned. Jake’s presence was a tangible comfort, his steady breathing a counterpoint to her turmoil.

“What next?” Jake asked.

“We need to check in with Spelling,” Jenna said.

Jenna flicked on the speakerphone and dialed the number for Colonel Chadwick Spelling of the Highway Patrol. The line clicked, and the sound of his voice, crisp and authoritative, filled the confined space of the car.

“Colonel Spelling,” he announced with an inflection that brooked no nonsense.

“Colonel, it’s Jenna Graves. Any updates on Amber Stevens?” She cut straight to the chase, her eyes meeting Jake’s as they both waited for an answer.

“Still searching. No sign of her yet,” Spelling replied, displeasure clear in his tone. Jenna sensed the frustration behind his words—another hour passed, another hour that Amber remained missing. It was conventional wisdom in law enforcement that every minute a missing person remained unfound, decreased the chances that she was still alive.

“Sir, we’ve got a new development,” she continued. “We’ve just uncovered two bodies buried near the railroad crossing on Freeport Road outside Trentville. Not fresh burials, but possibly related to our current case.”

There was a brief pause on the line, a moment where protocol seemed to clash with surprise.

“Two bodies? Can you elaborate?” Spelling’s voice now carried an edge of concern.

“Both female,” Jenna said, her emerald eyes narrowing as she focused on the details. “One victim—Lisa Donovan, a high school senior from ‘84 or ‘85.”

“Lisa Donovan...” Spelling repeated, contemplative. “I’ll check our archives. How are these related to Stevens?”

“We’re not sure, but there’s a fear they might be connected to her disappearance.” Jenna’s admission was reluctant—a hunch without tangible proof.

“The other body,” she told Spelling, “was buried more recently and is still unidentified. Dr. Stark and her crew are on it. They’ll do everything they can for an ID.”

“Understood,” came Spelling’s reply, his tone practical and focused. “Your findings are disturbing, Sheriff Graves, but those graves are more your concern than mine at the moment. For the time being, I’ve got to concentrate Highway Patrol resources on finding Amber Stevens alive.”

“Agreed,” Jenna replied.

“Keep me informed, Sheriff Graves. We need facts, not speculation,” Spelling instructed, his voice returning to its habitual tone of command.

“Understood, Colonel. We will,”

Jenna’s thumb pressed the end call button, severing the connection with Colonel Spelling. She remained silent for a moment, processing the conversation.

“Frank Doyle might know something,” she murmured. The retired Sheriff had been around long enough to remember cases that everyone else had forgotten. Jenna reached for her phone, dialing Frank’s number with practiced ease. As the call connected, she placed the phone on the dash, activating the speaker function.

“Frank, it’s Jenna,” she said, “and Jake is here with me. I had another dream last night...” There was no need to embellish; Frank understood the significance of her dreams better than anyone.

She continued, “It led us to two old unmarked graves near a railroad crossing on Freeport Road.”

“Two graves,” Frank echoed, his response measured, carrying the gravitas of experience. Jenna could picture himnow, sitting at his old wooden desk, deep in thought. Even after handing over the reins of local law enforcement to Jenna, he remained ever the protector of Trentville’s peace.

“One of the victims has been identified,” she said. “Lisa Donovan. She was a high school student when she died, around 1984 or 1985. Is that name familiar to you?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Jenna could almost hear the mental shuffling through memories and case files. Then Frank’s voice came through, gruff and laden with significance.

“Yes,” he said, his tone somber, “I know that name very well.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Silence fell in the car as Jenna and Jake both leaned forward to listen to the phone call. Over the line, Frank’s voice rasped with the weight of old secrets.

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