Page 8 of In Her Grasp

She could almost hear the gears turning in Mayor Simmons’s mind as the implications settled in.

“But Mayor,” Jenna added quickly, “Paul Rauer has confirmed that there’s no threat to our water supply. The reservoir’s integrity is uncompromised.”

“Well, that’s good,” came the response from the other end. The playful inflection was gone, replaced by an all-business briskness that Jenna knew well. She could picture Mayor Simmons, poised with that hawk-like intensity as she processed every word.

“Also,” Jenna continued, “the state highway patrol is involved, and Dr. Melissa Stark is already working on identifying the deceased.”

“Excellent. Melissa’s efficiency is one thing we can always count on,” Mayor Simmons remarked, a note of genuine respect threading through her businesslike tone.

“Dr. Stark suggests that it might be a suicide by drowning. But that’s just a preliminary assessment, and not the only possibility.”

“Suicide...” Mayor Simmons exhaled, and Jenna sensed a ripple of relief. “Well, thank heaven it’s not another serial killer scenario. We’ve had enough dark tourism here as it is.”

Jenna wasn’t so sure it was suicide; the investigation was in its infancy, and her intuition warned her against premature conclusions. She remained silent, letting the mayor draw her own temporary comfort from the theory she found most acceptable.

“Clearly,” Mayor Simmons interjected, her tone brisk and commanding, “the implications this could have on Trentville and the entire county must be our foremost concern. We need to control the narrative here, Jenna. Remember, perception is reality.”

“We’re keeping it under wraps for now,” Jenna assured her.

“And you will continue to do so,” the mayor’s stern retort echoed through the speaker. “I’ll need time to strategize how best to handle this undesirable revelation.”

Jenna bristled at the note of command in the mayor’s voice. She didn’t need to be ordered to keep quiet about this new discovery. And she knew perfectly well that the same was true of Colonel Spelling and Melissa Stark. Nobody was going to talk about this until it became absolutely necessary.

When Jenna remained silent, the mayor added more forcefully, “Stay on top of this, Sheriff Graves. And exercise discretion. We can’t afford panic or gossip.” Then, without waiting for a response, she abruptly ended the call.

“God forbid we ruffle any feathers in our perfect little town,” Jenna grumbled under her breath. She stowed the phone away, her eyes meeting Jake’s, finding an echo of her own irritation reflected there.

“Mayor Simmons still thinks she can tell me what to do,” Jenna grumbled, staring out the windshield at the dusty landscape beyond. “As if I’m not the elected sheriff of this town, just like she’s elected mayor. She’s not my boss. The people of Trentville are.”

Jake leaned back in his seat. “It’s her job to worry about Trentville’s image,” he offered, trying to steer Jenna away from her brewing discontent. “To her, what we do is just secondary.”

“Secondary,” Jenna echoed, the word tasting bitter on her tongue.

“Exactly,” Jake affirmed. “The reality of law enforcement doesn’t always mesh well with politics.”

“Nope, it sure doesn’t,” Jenna scoffed, turning to face him. “It’s more like it clashes.” She took a moment, collecting her thoughts before reaching for the ignition. “Anyway, let’s head back to town. We’ve got work to do.” With a decisive motion, she turned the key, and the patrol car roared to life. As shepulled onto the road back to Trentville, her gaze remained fixed on the horizon for a few moments, where the town lay nestled in the valley like a secret held by the surrounding St. Francois Mountains. The view was serene and idyllic, in contrast to the reality she’d witnessed up close.

“Frank Doyle will have a different take on this,” she mused aloud as she navigated the familiar curves. The landscape rolled by, shades of green and brown painting a serene backdrop, though she knew the tranquility of nature hid its own mysteries—much like the townsfolk guarded their secrets.

“Always does,” Jake agreed from the passenger seat. “He’s seen enough to look past the obvious.”

“Doesn’t hurt that he’s not under the mayor’s thumb,” Jenna added, her words carrying a hint of dry humor. It felt good to be moving, action always preferable to politics in Jenna’s book.

***

Jake watched through the window as the Missouri countryside unfolded, a pattern of rolling hills and deepening colors under the broad expanse of the late June sky. It was a familiar sight to him now, even comforting in its predictability, but it could not be more different from the streets of Kansas City where he’d patrolled until he’d pulled up roots and moved here. There, every corner teemed with life and an unceasing clamor; here, the world seemed to move at a slower pace, at least some of the time. That’s what he’d come here seeking. But recently, he’d seen a darker side of small town life than he’d expected—a side that included murder.

As his mind wandered back to the case, he found himself grateful for the stillness of this trip back to Trentville. It gave him space to consider Jenna’s relentless drive, the way she dissected every clue with a precision that left no stone unturned.Her mind was a force to be reckoned with, and it was this methodical approach that had earned his unwavering respect.

It was the recent revelation of her ability to commune with the deceased through lucid dreams that had thrust him into a state of cognitive dissonance. Jake prided himself on his adherence to evidence, facts, and pragmatic investigation, yet here he was, partnered with someone who defied those very principles in the most extraordinary way. Which raised a question in his mind …

“Jenna, did you have any dreams that hinted anything about this drowning?”

“No,” Jenna said. “Just the one I told you about—the dream with the woman holding the sandpiper. I don’t think it’s connected to the body we just found.”

Jake wasn’t sure whether to find that reassuring or not. In fact, there was a lot about Jenna’s gift that he was still trying to come to terms with.

It was during their case before last when Jenna had first shared the truth about her nighttime visions. The concept of communing with the departed through dreams still unsettled him; it defied explanation, challenged his adherence to facts and evidence. Yet, he’d seen the outcomes of her strange experiences and witnessed results that defied logical interpretation. He recalled her describing these encounters with the dead, her voice steady, eyes piercing, as if she herself were still grappling with the reality of her gift. Jake sensed the burdens she carried—the weight of that kind of knowing coupled with the gnawing absence of her lost sister.

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