Page 12 of In Her Grasp

CHAPTER SIX

Jenna wondered what she could possibly say to the woman on the phone. Hilda Thornton sounded nearly hysterical at the idea of a ghost in her attic. And although Jenna didn’t believe in ghosts wandering about the world—at least not the kind that whispered and rattled things in order to frighten living people—who was she to question that possibility?

Still, she felt it was important to try to calm the elderly widow rather than to encourage her panic over something that surely didn’t exist. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Thornton,” Jenna began. “I don’t think there’s really a ghost …”

“Is that Hilda?” Frank’s gruff voice cut through Jenna’s attempt.

Jenna nodded, her eyes meeting Frank’s questioning gaze. She knew that look; Frank wanted in on the call. Without hesitation, she pressed the speaker button, and Hilda’s anxious voice spilled into the kitchen, now audible to all.

“Oh, it’s a ghost,” she wailed. “I know it. Nothing else would make noises like that.”

“Frank Doyle’s here, Mrs. Thornton,” Jenna announced, stepping back so Frank could take the lead.

“Mrs. Thornton, it’s Frank Doyle,” he said, his tone reassuring. “Tell me what’s happening over there.”

There was a pause, the kind heavy with hesitation before Hilda replied. “Oh, Frank, it’s awful. There are these... these strange sounds coming from my attic. They aren’t human, I tell you!”

As Jenna watched, Frank’s face remained impassive, betraying no hint of skepticism.

“Mrs. Thornton, you just sit tight,” his voice was a solid anchor in the turbulent sea of Hilda’s panic. “I’ll be there withSheriff Graves and Deputy Hawkins shortly. We’ll take care of everything for you.”

A brief silence followed, then a relieved exhale from the other end of the line. “Thank you so much, Frank. I’ll be waiting for you right here, downstairs. I’m not going up there by myself,” Hilda said before the call ended.

Jenna pocketed her phone, her gaze flickering toward Jake, who looked relaxed despite the odd situation. She could see that he was getting used to the peculiarities of Trentville, so different from whatever he’d dealt with in Kansas City.

“Frank, do you really think it’s a good idea to tell Hilda we’re coming over to fix things for her?” Jenna’s voice held an edge of frustration, the weariness of her day pressing against her resolve. “This has to be another one of Hilda’s false alarms. Since Ike passed, she’s been seeing threats at every turn. Wouldn’t it have been better to calm her down, convince her she’s hearing things again?”

“Remember last month?” Jake added, “She was convinced someone was trying to break in when it was just Mrs. Patterson’s cat caught in the window well.”

“I know,” Frank said in agreement. “And back when I was still sheriff, she called about a prowler in her backyard, only to find out it was the paperboy taking a shortcut.” His gray eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief as he added with a playful grin. “But maybe it is a ghost this time. Why should Jenna Graves, of all people, dismiss that possibility?”

Jenna rolled her eyes, unable to suppress a reluctant smile at the echo of her own thoughts. “Very funny, Frank,” she replied.

Of course, she knew he was right. How many people would ever believe that she got information from her inexplicable encounters with the dead that she kept tucked away like old photographs in a drawer? The only two people who knew anything about that were right here in Frank’s kitchen with her.

“Let’s just make sure she’s alright,” Frank met her eyes, his own reflecting a lifetime of understanding the fragile nature of the human mind. “Jenna, sometimes you’ve got to show up, even when you suspect it’s just imagination playing tricks. People need to feel seen, especially someone like Hilda. It’s not always about what’s there, but about our being there, y’know?”

She nodded reluctantly, feeling the truth in his words. Despite the odds, they couldn’t ignore a call for help—not in a town where everyone knew each other’s name, and every cry in the night echoed down familiar streets. And, after all, wasn’t that part of why she joined law enforcement? To be there for people, to search for answers, even when they seemed as elusive as the specters in Hilda’s attic?

“Okay then, let’s get going,” she agreed.

As the three of them stepped out of Frank’s house into the fading light, the air held the warmth of an evening late in June. Jenna clicked the car fob, unlocking the doors with a soft chirp. The three of them slid into the seats, the interior still releasing the day’s heat in soft waves. Then the air conditioning kicked on, sending a rush of cool air through the vehicle.

Frank let out a chuckle as he buckled himself in beside her, a reminder of the bond they shared—a bond built on mutual respect, unspoken secrets, and the knowledge that, sometimes, the line between this world and the next could blur in the most unexpected ways.

Jake took his place in the back seat, his presence a quiet reassurance. Jenna pulled the car away from the curb, the engine purring softly as she guided it through the streets of Trentville, the tableau of small-town life unfolding quietly around them.

The car rolled to a stop outside Hilda Thornton’s quaint, weathered home that seemed to lean into its own stories ofbygone days. Hilda, a thin silhouette against the fading light, was waiting on the porch, wringing her hands.

“Thank heavens you’re here,” Hilda burst out as the three approached, the anxious lines of her face deepening with each hurried word. “The noises, they’re unlike anything I’ve ever heard. Like moans and scratches, and sometimes this wild wailing.” The tremor in her voice betrayed her distress, echoing through the quiet street as she clutched at the collar of her cardigan. “Ever since Ike passed, I... I don’t know how to deal with these things alone.”

Jenna offered a reassuring nod, her gaze sweeping over Hilda’s face, reading the raw edge of vulnerability left in the wake of loss.

Frank was right—real or imagined, it was a cry for help that couldn’t be ignored.

“Let’s take a look inside, Hilda,” Jenna said. Frank and Jake each spoke warmly to the widow, and they all stepped over the threshold into the dimly lit dwelling.

Once inside, Jenna took the lead, her senses heightened to every detail that painted the old house in strokes of neglect and memory. Dust motes danced lazily in the shafts of light that fought their way through the drapes that seemed to sway with a life of their own. Her eyes adjusted to the sparse lighting, her mind cataloging each nuance—the way the faded wallpaper seemed like an ancient skin, the subtle shifts of air that whispered of hidden spaces.

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