Page 21 of In Her Sights

“We do,” Jenna assured her. “So far, they’ve found no sign.”

“Sarah was…is impulsive at times,” Emily said with a sigh as she leaned back in her chair, fingers absently tapping against the desk. “The two of us have talked about being cautious out there. And about not going alone. But she has this adventurous streak—sometimes I think she believes she’s invincible.”

“It could be worse than we first assumed,” Jenna said. “Sarah’s car was found abandoned at the trailhead. It’s possible that she didn’t just get lost or injured.”

“Her car, abandoned?” Emily echoed, concern etching deeper lines around her eyes. “Jenna, what can I do? How can I help?”

“Let’s start with what you might know about someone from the past,” Jenna began cautiously, aware of how strange her inquiry might sound. “A writer named Mark Reeves who passed through Trentville about ten years ago.”

“Mark Reeves…” Emily repeated thoughtfully, her curiosity piqued. “That name doesn’t ring a bell. What’s his connection to Sarah?”

“I don’t yet know for sure if there is a connection,” Jenna admitted, her response evasive even to her own ears.

“Is he a suspect?”

“I don’t think so. Frank Doyle told me that he met him. Frank said the young man was a promising young writer, traveling across the country in search of American stories.”

Emily’s brow furrowed as she processed the information. “That’s quite poetic, but also vague.”

Jenna’s thoughts flitted back to the lost-looking figure with the angelic wing tattoo on his hand, the one who had vanished like smoke.

“Maybe he was actually searching for a sense of belonging,” Jenna said.

“But why come to Trentville?” Emily mused. “We’re hardly on the map.”

“Sometimes the smallest places hold the biggest secrets,” Jenna replied. “Or maybe the best stories.”

She wondered whether Mark Reeves had stumbled upon something in Trentville, some hidden secret that had led to his disappearance. And now, with another person missing, Jenna couldn’t shake the feeling that the fate of Sarah Thompson might somehow be connected with him.

Emily studied her for a moment, then turned to the computer on her desk, the click-clack of keys filling the space between them. “Let’s see what we can find on this Mark Reeves.”

They both watched the screen as names and faces flashed by, a multitude of Mark Reeveses appearing before them. One after another, they were discounted—until one particular entry seemed to freeze time.

“Here,” Emily said, pointing to a profile. “This must be about him.”

The librarian’s search had brought them to several small literary websites where Mark’s work had once been featured—a scattering of poems here, short stories there. His writing was evocative, rife with imagery that spoke of loss and searching, themes that resonated with Jenna more than she cared to admit. She had to hide her reaction when she saw the image on one of the sites. It was the red-bearded man from her dream.

“Look at this,” Emily said, pulling up a bio attached to a particularly haunting piece of poetry. The text on the screen revealed a glimpse into the young writer’s life: Mark Reeves, a foster child turned literary prodigy. His early success had been notable, his talent undeniable.

“From foster homes to literary promise…” Jenna murmured, tracing the arc of Mark’s brief public life with her eyes. “To think someone so gifted passed through our little town.”

“This bio says he graduated from the University of Florida in Gainesville,” Emily read aloud from her computer screen. “He got a Creative Writing degree there. It also says he had plans for a master’s at the University of Oregon in Eugene.”

Emily’s fingers flew over the keys in search of any trace of Mark’s existence beyond his Florida graduation. Minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last. Jenna watched the screen flicker with images and text, but the search proved fruitless; Mark Reeves seemed to have vanished from the literary world shortly after earning his degree. The dates he’d been seen here in Trentville seemed to align ominously with his disappearance from the literary scene.

“Strange,” Emily murmured, echoing Jenna’s thoughts. “No further publications, no articles… It’s like he disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“Could you call the University of Oregon? We need to find out if he ever went to graduate school there.”

“Of course,” Emily agreed without hesitation. She found the number for the admissions department and dialed it, putting the call on speakerphone.

“University of Oregon, Eugene, admissions office,” came a clear, professional voice.

“Hi, my name is Emily Carson, calling from Trentville Public Library. We’re trying to verify if a Mark Reeves attended your university for a Graduate Teaching Fellowship about ten years ago.”

There was a pause as the clacking of computer keys traveled through the speaker. Jenna leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, eyes fixed on the phone as if willing it to divulge its secrets.

“Mark Reeves… Yes, he was awarded a fellowship here, but there’s a note in his file.” The staffer’s tone held a hint of confusion. “He never arrived on campus, and we don’t have any further records of him after that. It’s quite unusual.”

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