Page 15 of In Her Sights

CHAPTER EIGHT

The drive to Frank Doyle’s house wasn’t long, and today Jenna appreciated it for a rare moment of tranquility. Frank’s bungalow emerged between the sprawling branches of oak trees, its modesty an honest reflection of the man who lived there. The wooden walls were weathered with time, bearing the marks of countless storms and seasons. A small porch with two creaky rocking chairs invited visitors to sit and stay for a while, a place she had enjoyed in cooler weather.

Moments after Jenna rapped her knuckles against the solid wood, the front door swung open, revealing the former Sheriff of Genesius County. His weathered face was marked by the years, and his short, thick hair was white, but he still stood tall and sturdy. Despite a gruff exterior, kindness softened the lines around his gray eyes, and he was wearing an apron.

“Jenna!” he exclaimed with genuine surprise and warmth. “Was just fixin’ to have some breakfast. Care to join me?”

“Sounds good, Frank,” Jenna replied. It was comforting to be here, to share a simple meal with someone who knew her so well.

As she stepped inside, Jenna was enveloped by the familiar scent of black coffee brewing. In the small living room, the familiar framed photographs lining the shelves held her attention, each one a frozen moment from Frank’s life. Children’s laughter seemed to echo from the walls: two boys and two girls who had grown up and moved on. The images portrayed beach vacations, Christmas mornings, and backyard barbecues—so unlike the solitude of Jenna’s own existence.

Her gaze lingered on one photograph of Frank and his late wife, arms wrapped around each other, love evident in their shared glance. Jenna felt a pang of longing—for that kind of connection, the partnership, the sense of belonging. Frank’s wifehad died before Jenna was old enough to become a cop, but she’d always been aware that Frank had experienced a terrible loss. She also knew that the love that once filled these rooms had left an indelible mark on the man she respected so deeply.

“Jenna?” Frank’s voice drew her back from her reverie.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “Just got caught up in thoughts.”

Frank nodded in understanding. He had always been perceptive, keenly aware of the undercurrents of emotion that Jenna herself sometimes failed to acknowledge. She followed him into his kitchen, where the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on a well-worn table.

Jenna loved this room, steeped in memories of laughter and life lessons learned over steaming cups of coffee. Over the years, this had become a haven—a place where she could lay down the burdens of her badge and simply be Jenna Graves, not Sheriff Graves.

Frank moved to his stove and cracked eggs with a rhythm that spoke of countless mornings spent doing just the same.

“Toast?” Jenna inquired, pointing toward the breadbox.

“Please,” Frank replied, his attention momentarily divided between the skillet on the stove and Jenna’s movements.

The toaster clicked as she depressed the lever, the soft noise joining the symphony of breakfast preparations. Jenna turned back to watch Frank whisk the eggs, his wrist rolling in tight circles. He added a splash of milk, a pinch of salt, and a grind of black pepper. They worked in companionable silence, the only sounds the clink of utensils and the soft hum of the refrigerator. Jenna found comfort in the routine, in the simple domesticity of preparing a meal with someone who understood her unique burdens.

As the eggs began to coalesce in the pan, Frank looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that belied the casual atmosphere. “Have you had another dream?”

Jenna’s fingers curled around a mug she had chosen for her coffee, still trying to displace the chill that had settled in her bones from the night’s revelations. Frank’s question had caught her off guard.

“How did you know?” Her question came out more sharply than intended.

Frank chuckled, a low, comforting sound that filled the kitchen. “Jenna, you only show up unannounced at the crack of dawn when those dreams of yours stir up trouble,” he said, his voice teasing but not without an undercurrent of concern.

She set down her mug, the sound a soft thud against the countertop. A pinch of guilt twisted in her gut. “I’m sorry, Frank. I know I don’t see you as often as I should.”

“Hey, no need for apologies,” he cut her off gently, his smile kind. “But I won’t lie; these old walls do miss your company when you’re not chasing specters in your sleep.”

Jenna sighed and leaned against the counter, her gaze falling to the sizzling eggs in the pan. “I’ll try to come around more often,” she promised, although the words felt hollow. As sheriff, her days were consumed by responsibilities for the living; it was in the veil of night that the dead came calling.

“Well, my door’s always open,” he replied, sliding the eggs onto plates with practiced ease. “And I’m always here.”

He gestured to the table, and they moved to sit down, bearing plates laden with the fruits of their labor. Frank watched her settle into her chair before taking his own seat opposite her.

“Understand you’ve been keeping busy,” Frank said, his voice carrying the familiar, teasing lilt. “What with chasing down notorious fugitive parrots and all.”

Jenna glanced up, finding the quirk of his brow contagious as a laugh escaped her lips. “Cyril was quite the handful,” she admitted, shaking her head at the memory of feathers andsquawks. “Never thought my job would include negotiating a bird’s surrender.”

“Times haven’t changed much since I was sheriff,” Frank replied, chuckling. “The players might be different, but the game’s the same. Always something strange brewing in Trentville and thereabouts.”

“But those are the moments that make the job… interesting,” she replied.

“Interesting,” Frank echoed, his tone suggesting that “interesting” was just one way to put it.

“I heard about another situation yesterday,” he added. “The disappearance of Sarah Thompson, the schoolteacher over at Trentville Elementary. Even got the Missouri Highway Patrol sniffing around.”

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