Page 32 of In Her Sights

“I always wondered how you zeroed in on that place. It was like you had a map no one else could read.”

Jenna’s lips pressed together briefly before she responded. “I didn’t have a map, Jake. But something… someone… gave me directions.”

“Someone?” he repeated, leaning forward, elbows on the table.

“Someone who wasn’t alive,” Jenna clarified softly. “A miner, long since dead, came to me in a dream. He wore an old-fashioned helmet with a dim lamp, face smeared with coal dust… I could feel the chill of the underground air he brought with him.”

Jake’s expression was unreadable. “You’re saying a ghost led you to the stolen goods?”

“No, not directly,” Jenna replied, taking a small sip of her coffee to buy time to make sure her next words were asclear and concise as possible. “The dead don’t just hand over information. They communicate… differently. Sometimes in riddles, impressions, feelings that I have to interpret.”

She watched Jake process this, noting the slight tension in his jaw, the way his fingers wrapped tightly around his mug. He was grappling with the thought of reality being broader than what could be seen or touched—or else the possibility that his friend and partner was insane.

“Then how did you know where to find the goods?” he asked.

“The miner didn’t tell me outright,” Jenna explained. “He just kept making gestures I had to interpret.”

Jake’s head shook in disbelief, a wry smile barely masking the storm of emotions she knew were brewing inside him. “Am I dreaming right now?” His tone held an edge of incredulity that made Jenna flinch.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Jenna began, sensing Jake’s skepticism like a heavy fog.

A low whistle escaped Jake, mingling with the scent of coffee and pie, his disbelief palpable. “That’s putting it mildly,” he muttered, frustration evident as he raked a hand through his sandy hair.

“Please say you believe me,” Jenna implored, desperation creeping into her voice.

“Jenna, I’m—I’m trying,” Jake stammered, his attempt at understanding overshadowed by mounting frustration. “I’m trying to get my head around this.”

“You must think I’m crazy,” Jenna whispered, her voice tinged with regret.

“I didn’t say that,” Jake snapped, his patience wearing thin.

A silence fell between them. Jenna knew that it was taking all of Jake’s self-control—and all his kindness—not to explode into a tirade of disbelief, or of skepticism at the very least.

“Okay,” Jake finally said. “So, what does this mean for our work? For example, the case we have now, Sarah Thompson, or even Mark Reeves?”

“Last night,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt, “Mark Reeves came to me in a dream.”

Jake leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued despite the doubts that still lingered.

“He was waiting for a bus just outside, right there.” Jenna gestured toward the window beside their booth. “But when the bus arrived…he couldn’t get on.”

The weight of the moment settled between them, and Jenna could see Jake processing, trying to fit this piece into the puzzle.

“I believe the dream is a clue,” she continued. “He wanted to be on his way, but he couldn’t leave. It suggests that Mark’s life might have ended right here.”

“Does that dream seem to prove to you that Mark’s disappearance is connected to Sarah’s?” he asked, not dismissing her outright—a response Jenna counted as a win given the circumstances.

“Perhaps not directly,” Jenna admitted, her voice dropping as she leaned closer, “but it’s a pattern. And patterns are the language of investigation.”

A heavy silence descended between them again, like a thick fog rolling over the Ozarks. Jake seemed to be working to absorb the information, his eyes still reflecting concern.

“Does anyone else know about this… gift of yours?” he finally asked.

Jenna hesitated, looking away toward the dark outline of the Ozark Plateau. “Frank knows,” she admitted. “He’s the only one. I talked to him about my recent dream, and he recognized my description as a man he’d met ten years ago, an aspiring writer named Mark Reeves.”

“And I guess you told the librarian, too? When you got her to check out the records?”

“No, I just asked her to help me look up Mark Reeves.”

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