Page 23 of In Her Sights

“Graves,” he greeted, tipping his hat in an understated salute.

“Status?” Jenna asked, her voice all business.

“Search is ongoing; no sign of Sarah Thompson yet,” the deputy replied, handing her a radio. “Your second-in-command is out there solo.”

“Thanks,” Jenna acknowledged, clipping the radio to her belt. Her eyes swept the room, taking in the maps plastered along the walls, trails marked with pins and strings—a web of possibilities where Sarah might be found. But nothing marked any discovery that might lead the searchers to her.

Stepping back outside, Jenna took out her smartphone and pulled up the GPS application. An overlay of the forest’s topography filled the display, dotted with the moving blips representing searchers. She zoomed in, looking for Jake’s identifier among the cluster of signals.

There it was—a solitary dot, apart from the rest, deeper in the woods than the rest. Her thumb pressed against the screen, expanding the image to reveal the exact coordinates. She memorized the location, then locked her phone and clipped it onto her belt next to the radio, ready to head into the depths of the forest.

She got back into her car to follow the narrow road that snaked through the woods as far as it would take her in the direction of Jake’s location. The car hugged a curve, and Trentville became a memory behind her, its small-town charm replaced by the wild embrace of nature.

Finally, the GPS showed her that Jake was still about a quarter of a mile away, and she could get no closer to him by vehicle. She stopped the car and shut it off, then retrieved her hiking boots from the backseat, lacing them up with practiced efficiency. Her backpack followed, filled with essentials—water, first aid kit, flashlight, and more. Each item was a small comfort against the unknown.

She set off through the forest at a brisk pace, her strides deliberate. In a short time the terrain grew steeper, the trail more obscured. With each step, her senses sharpened, attuned to every rustle and snap in the underbrush.

When the shrill ring of her phone broke through the forest sounds, she pulled the device from her pocket without breaking stride and glanced at the caller ID. To her surprise, Emily Carson’s name flashed across the screen.

“Emily.” Jenna kept moving as she answered. “What have you got?”

“Jenna, I’ve been racking my brain since you left the library.” Emily’s voice was urgent. “Something just clicked. I remembered Sarah talked about hiking in Whispering Pines the last time I saw her.”

“Did she mention anything specific?” Jenna prodded, her pace slowing as she navigated a particularly steep incline.

“Indeed, she did,” Emily continued. “She was curious about an old trail she’d heard mentioned by some of the town elders. A path not kept open for years, maybe even decades.”

Jenna paused to lean against a tree, processing this new information. “Do you know which trail she was referring to?”

“Only that it’s steeped in local folklore and largely forgotten,” Emily said. “I told her it didn’t sound safe, especially not to hike that trail alone. But Sarah has a wild streak. Maybe she went anyway.”

“Thanks, Emily. This could be the lead we need.”

The call ended, and Jenna’s thoughts lingered on the implications. The notion of an abandoned trail in Whispering Pines played into the pattern of a woman seeking the thrill of discovery, perhaps lured by the romance of uncovering something hidden by time.

Then she recalled the conversation she’d had with Sarah’s mother. The woman’s eyes had held a well of sorrow as she spoke of her daughter. “Sarah always took the road less traveled,” she had said, her voice a blend of pride and trepidation. The memory now seemed prophetic.

It sounded just like Sarah to be drawn to something forbidden or forgotten, Jenna thought. The young teacher’s spirit resonated with an innate curiosity and a hunger for change. Jenna couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than just a routine disappearance. It felt personal, as though the forest itself had reached out and claimed Sarah for its own mysterious reasons.

She lifted her phone again and punched in another number.

“Ranger Schmitt,” came the gruff answer.

“Billy, it’s Jenna Graves,” she said. “I’m here in Whispering Pines, and I’ve joined the search. I need to know about a trail in the forest that hasn’t been used for a while—one that might not even be on our maps anymore.”

There was a brief pause, then a reply. “That would be the Beauford Ridge Trail. Runs through some rough terrain, hasn’t been maintained for, oh, I’d say forty years or more. I’ve never had cause to walk it myself, and we don’t give that location to hikers. There used to be an old road through there, but I don’t expect that to be passable now. Your deputy has a map with him that will show where it is, or was.”

“Thanks, Billy. That could be vital.”

As she moved forward again, Jenna considered this new lead, assessing probabilities and risks. The Beauford Ridge Trailwas an unknown variable, a hidden crease on the map of this case that required exploration. If Sarah had indeed ventured there, the consequences could still be a simple misadventure rather than something more sinister. Maybe the schoolteacher was lying hurt somewhere, unable to phone for help, perhaps unconscious.

She quickened her pace, her thoughts focused on reaching Jake and sharing this new information.

“Jake,” she called out as she approached his position.

Hearing his name, Jake turned from his contemplation of the forest around him and offered a small smile. “Jenna,” he acknowledged.

“Billy mentioned a trail that’s been untouched for decades—Beauford Ridge. It could be where Sarah went. Can you check your map?”

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