Page 37 of In Her Mind

“Seems like Claude Donovan could have been involved,” Jake replied, his tone contemplative. “But he’s not here to answer for any of it.”

“Which means Amber’s disappearance might be a separate case entirely,” Jenna added. “We could be dealing with two distinct patterns of crime here with no connection between them. Claude Donovan’s been dead for over two decades. Even if he killed Lisa and Lauren, then he can’t be our guy for Amber. And yet …”

A moment from last night’s dream crossed her mind.

“Jake, the first woman in my dream—the woman who seems to have been Lisa, she did something, she said something. She knocked on a door and called out to someone on the other side. ‘You’ve made a mistake,’ she said. ‘She’s not the one you want. Don’t hurt her.’”

Jake nodded, the implications taking shape in his mind.

“Maybe the ‘her’ she meant was—oris—Amber. Maybe she’s being held captive somewhere.”

Jenna nodded as well. “If so, there’s still a connection between Amber’s disappearance and the murdered women.”

“Unless,” Jake interjected, “Donovan set something in motion—a pattern someone else is following.” His voice was measured, careful not to leap to conclusions that the evidence didn’t support.

Jenna considered this. Patterns could repeat endlessly, especially in close-knit communities like Trentville. But the theory was a stretch, and she knew it.

“Possible,” she conceded. “But we’re still grasping at straws here. We need to focus on what we do know, not what we can speculate.”

A sense of frustration simmered within Jenna; she despised the feeling of helplessness that crept up whenever leads turned vague and ambiguous, especially when it touched upon anything resembling her sister’s disappearance. She couldn’t avoid the question in her own mind: could Piper’s disappearance be connected to these? But Jenna reminded herself that she had no reason to believe that Piper was dead.

“Two cold cases,” she sighed, her words a faint echo in the car. “We may have stumbled upon some tragic history of this town, and it feels like we’re no closer to finding Amber than we were before.”

“Yet,” Jake added with cautious optimism.

“Yet,” Jenna echoed.

She couldn’t shake the nagging thought that they were missing something vital—some key piece of evidence that would unlock both the past and present mysteries. Because in spite of the time in between and the lack of suspects, one very important thing did connect them: this new case had brought the older ones to life in her dreams.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

As Jake Hawkins stepped out of the cruiser, he was thinking of the last time he’d been to Frank Doyle’s home—a few days ago, just after Jenna had first confided in him about her lucid dreams. That conversation was still very much on his mind, both her words and the way his own feelings had been challenged by her revelation.

He sighed under his breath as he and Jenna climbed up the steps to Frank’s front porch. During the time he and Jenna hadworked so closely together, Jake’s professional admiration for his superior officer had deepened into something more personal, though he hadn’t dared to say anything about it. But things had changed in ways he never could have expected. Ever since she’d told him about her extraordinary abilities, Jake had sensed a turning point in their relationship, although he didn’t know exactly which way or what that might mean.

He forced his thoughts back to the investigation at hand. The two graves they had unearthed earlier were a grim reminder of death’s indiscriminate hand. Jake had seen more gruesome sights when he was still a beat cop working in Kansas City, but he’d never expected to see anything like that when he’d come to Trentville, hoping to get away from the horrors and the moral darkness of a big city. That kind of brutality seemed out of place here, amid the quiet ebb and flow of small-town life.

Frank’s front door opened before Jenna’s knuckles could rap against the wood. There stood the former Sheriff, a figure as rooted to Trentville as the courthouse itself. His thick white hair was slightly disheveled, the lines on his face deepened by years of service but still capable of a warm smile. His welcome was gruff but genuine.

“Come in, you two,” Frank said, stepping aside. “Let’s see if we can make sense of this mess over coffee.”

He ushered them into his home, a dwelling that spoke of a life spent in the service of others. The hallway was lined with photographs of a younger Frank with what Jake assumed were family members. As they passed through the living space, Jake couldn’t help but notice how every detail—from the worn-in armchairs to the hand-crocheted throws—exuded a sense of warmth and history.

The scent of freshly-brewed coffee pulled them further into the house—the same scent that had greeted Jake the last time he’d come here. It was as if Frank always had freshly-brewedcoffee ready for unexpected visitors. Then again, maybe Frank was always expecting visitors.

“Please, sit down,” Frank motioned toward the wooden table that was the centerpiece of the cozy space. Jake noticed that another aroma filled the room of sweet apples and cinnamon, making his mouth water and stomach rumble.

Frank poured the coffee with practiced ease, the dark liquid swirling into each mug. He handed one to Jake, who wrapped his hands around its warmth, grateful for the familiar ritual on this day when so much seemed strange.

Then Frank pulled an extra treat from the oven—freshly-warmed slices of homemade pie with golden crusts shimmering. He placed a generous slice in front of each of them.

“The neighbors sometimes drop things by,” he said with a grin.

Jake took this as further proof that Frank inspired affection and goodwill among everyone around him—proof a good life well-lived.

“Thanks, Frank, I just realized I’m hungry again,” Jake said, picking up a fork and pitching in.

Frank took his seat at the head of the table, and Jenna sat to his right. Observing the two of them, Jake noted the unspoken understanding that flowed between Jenna and her mentor. It was an easy rapport built on years of trust and shared experiences.

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