Page 40 of In Her Shadow

Jenna let out a sigh.“That’s just it, Frank.Arrested, yes, and for good cause, but we’re not convinced he’s behind the murders.”

“Figures.”There was a rustle on the other end of the line, Frank’s impatience tangible even through the crackle of the connection.“I’ve been thinking about what you told me—the dream you had.‘The sky remembers’—you said you heard a voice say those words.”

That phrase had haunted Jenna since the vision, a ghostly whisper in her dreams.“Yes,” she admitted, “but what does it mean?”

“History, Jenna,” Frank pressed on, his certainty piercing.“There’s got to be something in Trentville’s past that it refers to, something rooted deep in Trentville’s soil.”

“Frank, I think you must be onto something,” Jenna replied, her intuition humming like a live wire beneath her skin.“We should look deeper, unearth something that we’ve missed, something that’s been buried for too long.”

“Research,” Jake put in from beside her.“It’s a place to start.The library could hold answers.”

“The library?”Frank’s voice held a note of amusement.“With all due respect to our new librarian, Sarah Johnson, she’s too green for this.No, we need someone who knows the deep, dark secrets of this town’s past.And I know just who that person is.”

Then he added cautiously, “I have to warn you, though, getting answers from this particular source can be tricky.”

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Jenna pressed the phone tighter to her ear, listening to Frank’s words.But when he spoke the name of the man she should talk to, she groaned.

“Rollins?”she echoed.“Are you sure?”

“He’s like a living archive,” Frank assured her, “knows every family tree and town tale there is.”

“I know he was the mayor of Trentville for a while, but that was a long time ago.”

“He was a lot more than that, Jenna.A fiddler and banjo player who knows a vast array of folk music and a collector of antiques.He was the founder and longtime president of the Genesius County Historical Society; he has collected documents and primary source materials that rival the public library, and his house is a like a museum of Genesius County history.”

“But Frank,” Jenna said, a bit fearful that the topic she wanted to raise might be sensitive with her retired mentor.“How old is he?”

“Pushing a hundred, I guess,” Frank replied cheerfully.

“How reliable can his memory be?”Jenna demanded.

“Still sharp as a tack on his good days.”Then Frank admitted, “But it’s true those days are getting rarer.”

“I met his niece, Agnes,” Jake remarked, “She’s moved back here to care for him.Seems to have a surprisingly modern approach to archiving.She said she’s going digitize Jasper’s lifetime of work.”

“Agnes Rollins...”Jenna mulled over the name, picturing the woman who’d returned to Trentville not six months prior.“She used to be a judge, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, and a woman judge was quite a rarity in her time,” Frank said, then added, “She’s a very well organized person.”

“Alright,” Jenna conceded with a cautious optimism.“We’ll pay Jasper a visit and see how far Agnes has gotten with those records.But if this is a wild goose chase, Frank...we can’t afford the time.A killer is still out there with a branding iron.”

“It’s the best lead I can think of, Sheriff,” Frank implored, his tone earnest.“If those words, ‘The sky remembers,’ mean anything, Jasper’s the one to decipher it.I’ll give Agnes a call and tell her you need Jasper’s help.”

“Okay, then,” Jenna replied.“But you need to be there with us.Jake and I will pick you up.We’re at the courthouse now, it won’t take long to get there.”

Pulling into Frank’s driveway, Jenna spotted the former sheriff standing on his porch, his silhouette stoic and waiting.As he settled into the back seat, she caught the weariness in his eyes.With a silent nod, she steered the patrol car in the direction of Jasper Rollins’ residence.The journey was a quiet one, the cruiser’s tires humming against the asphalt as they weaved through Trentville’s sleepy streets, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun.The anticipation in the car was palpable, unspoken hopes lingering in the air as they neared their destination.

When her car rolled to a stop in front of the Victorian-style home, she could see that the once grand facade showed the relentless passage of time.The paint was dulled, and the overgrown garden was a tangle of neglect.The place stood as a poignant symbol of a town—and a case—grappling with the ghosts of bygone days.

“Looks like history itself is trying to forget,” Jake murmured, eyeing the structure.

“Or maybe it’s a reminder that some things refuse to be buried,” Frank countered, stepping out of the patrol car.

As soon as they knocked, Agnes opened the door, as if she’d been awaiting their arrival.Agnes stood framed in the doorway, a sturdy figure against the backdrop of the house’s faded grandeur.Her hair, a mix of silver and chestnut, was pulled back into a neat bun at the nape of her neck.There was an air of organization about her, from the way she held herself to the crispness of her attire.Her eyes were kind yet clear, as though they had seen much but remained undeterred.In her hands rested a pair of spectacles, which she twirled absent-mindedly—a habit perhaps born out of years spent poring over legal texts and now historical records.

“Jenna, Jake, Frank...come in,” she greeted them.

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