Page 27 of In Her Dreams
“This isn’t just coincidence, is it?”Rusty’s eyes had locked onto his.“I told Jenna yesterday something felt wrong about Dad’s death.”
“We don’t have enough information yet to make that determination,” he’d replied, falling back on official language that felt hollow even to his own ears.
Rusty had slammed her palm against the table, disturbing her careful piles.“Cut the crap, Deputy Hawkins.This is my father we’re talking about.”
He’d softened then, remembering that Rusty wasn’t just any witness or family member.She had been Jenna’s friend since childhood.
“I promise you, Rusty, we’re taking this seriously,” he’d said.“But right now, we have two deaths that look natural on paper.Cardiac arrest.We can’t declare a homicide without substantial evidence.”
“But you think it’s murder,” she’d said.Not a question.
He hadn’t confirmed or denied it.Instead, he’d probed for any connections between the two victims.He’d asked if her father had been treated by a therapist, but she simply hadn’t known.
And now Jake’s brain was spinning.He’d made a list of things still to be checked, but he didn’t know what was essential and what would be a waste of time.
Now, stopping at a red light, he rubbed his eyes.Neither death fit any conventional definition of murder.No physical evidence of foul play, no obvious suspects or motives.Just two unrelated people who might have died of fright.His Kansas City colleagues would have laughed him out of the squad room for even suggesting that.
But Trentville wasn’t Kansas City.The rules were different here.Or rather, there were more rules at play than he’d ever considered before moving to this town.
The light turned green, and Jake accelerated toward Riverbend Trust Bank.His radio crackled with routine chatter, the normalcy of it almost jarring against the backdrop of his thoughts.
Two years ago, he would have dismissed the idea of deaths by supernatural terror as ridiculous.But that was before he’d witnessed things that defied rational explanation.Before working in Genesius County had slowly but surely eroded his certainty about what was and wasn’t possible.Before, Jenna had trusted him enough to tell him about her dreams.
Jenna.His thoughts circled back to her as they inevitably did these days.
The kiss had been nothing really.Just a brief touch of his lips against her cheek as they’d parted after closing a case.Not even a real kiss—the kind of friendly gesture that shouldn’t have left him replaying the moment for days afterward.But it had crossed a line in their carefully maintained professional relationship, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Had she stiffened slightly at the contact?Or was that his imagination?He couldn’t be sure.They hadn’t discussed it, and he’d been careful not to repeat the gesture, worried he’d overstepped.
Jake turned into the bank parking lot, forcing himself to focus on the case at hand.He could overthink his feelings for Jenna later.Right now, he had a job to do.
The flag outside Riverbend Trust Bank hung at half-staff, stirring listlessly in the early evening breeze.Jake parked and stared at it for a moment, thinking about how Richard Winters had been such a fixture in this community that his death warranted this public display of mourning.
Inside, the bank had the hushed atmosphere of a place touched by loss.Though the work continued—tellers helping customers, phones ringing softly—there was a subdued quality to it all.Jake’s eyes were drawn to a display near the entrance: a framed portrait of Richard Winters on an easel, surrounded by a modest arrangement of white flowers.Beside it, a leather-bound book lay open on a small table with a pen attached by a silken cord.
Jake approached and glanced at the pages.Dozens of signatures filled the condolence book, many accompanied by short messages.“A true gentleman.”“You helped my family through hard times.”“Trentville won’t be the same without you.”
He recognized names as he skimmed the entries—business owners, teachers, even the mayor.Richard had touched many lives during his decades at the bank.
A teller noticed him standing there and approached with a polite smile.Her name tag read “Margaret.”
“Can I help you, Deputy Hawkins?”she asked, recognition crossing her face.
“I’d like to speak with Bruce Autrey if he’s available,” Jake said, keeping his voice appropriately low for the setting.
“Of course.His office is just down that hallway, last door on the right.I believe he’s in.”
Jake thanked her and made his way past the teller windows and through a door marked “Private.”The carpeted hallway muffled his footsteps as he approached Bruce Autrey’s office.The door was ajar, but Jake knocked anyway.
Bruce looked up from his computer, recognition and a flicker of wariness crossing his face.He was a stocky man in his early sixties with thinning gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses that gave him a scholarly appearance.
“Deputy Hawkins,” he said, rising to shake Jake’s hand.“Please, come in.”
Jake closed the door behind him and took the offered seat across from Bruce’s desk.The office was modest but nicely furnished, with framed certificates on the walls and a small collection of fishing trophies on a shelf.
“First, I want to offer my condolences,” Jake began.“I understand you and Richard were close.”
Bruce nodded, removing his glasses and cleaning them with a handkerchief—a gesture that seemed more about gathering his thoughts than actual necessity.
