Page 20 of In Her Grasp

“But... I thought you only dreamed about the dead?”

“That’s what’s bothering me. Have the rules of my dreams changed?”

Jake made no reply, and the car ate up the miles in silence. Trees lined the road, their leaves whispering secrets only the wind could understand. As they passed the sign welcoming them to Colstock, Jake shifted in his seat, breaking the contemplation.

“So, what’s our approach going to be with Mrs. Larson?”

Jenna exhaled slowly, considering her response. Their approach had to be measured and tactful. “We need to be careful,” she began, her voice low. “We can’t ignore the possibility that this wasn’t suicide, but we also can’t go in guns blazing about a murder investigation. We’ve got to break the news about Mike’s body as gently as possible.”

Jake nodded. They both understood the importance of sensitivity. Jenna eased off the accelerator as the patrol car eased into Colstock, a little town too small to have its own police, but where Jenna still had jurisdiction as the county sheriff.

Main Street sprawled ahead of them, a quaint scene of time-worn storefronts whose worn paint whispered tales of past years and uninterrupted tranquility. A handful of townsfolk were already up and about, their movements carrying the unhurried rhythm of small-town life. A woman in faded overalls was meticulously sweeping the sidewalk in front of a quaint antique shop, her straw broom sending tiny dust clouds into the morning air. Further down the street, an elderly gentleman was wrestling with a bulky box through the front door of what looked like a family-run grocery store. His grunts echoed down the near-empty street as he navigated his way around an obstinate door.

A few doors down, under an awning advertising fresh-baked pies, sat an old man cradling a steaming mug of coffee while watching two squirrels chase each other around a gnarled oak tree. His laughter echoed softly across Main Street as one squirrel cheekily outsmarted its playmate.

Despite its small size and seeming stillness, Colstock was alive in its unique way; every person contributing to its slow-paced symphony under Missouri’s awakening sky.

The grocery store where Mary Larson worked came into view, its sign bleached by the sun and weathered by time. Jenna parked the car beside the curb, her movements precise, no motion wasted. She turned to Jake, “Remember, we’re dealing with a grieving widow who is about to have old wounds reopened. We need to be sensitive, but also observant. Anything she says or does could be important.”

Jake nodded, his expression somber in understanding. They both knew the weight of what was to come, the delicate balance between empathy and investigation. Jenna checked her reflection briefly in the rearview mirror, tucking a stray lock of chestnut hair back into place, then reached for the door handle, ready to step into whatever awaited them inside.

When they entered the store, a bell chimed above them. Jenna inhaled deeply, the smells of earthy vegetables and lemon-scented floor cleaner mingling in the air, creating an oddly comforting aroma. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a pale glow on the aisles. A few people moved in the store aisles, early shoppers no doubt planning future meals and activities.

Only one checkout lane was active, manned by a woman whose graying blonde hair framed a face marked by lines of fatigue. She fiddled with the items before her, betraying a nervous energy. Beside her, a man of medium height but with a muscular frame stood casually, his body language relaxed, but his gaze sharp and assessing as his attentive eyes tracked their approach.

As Jenna and Jake drew closer, their presence shifted the dynamic, their uniforms serving as a signal. The manstraightened slightly, his casual demeanor giving way to attentiveness.

“Excuse me,” Jenna began, her tone balancing authority and empathy. “I’m Sheriff Jenna Graves from Trentville, and this is my deputy, Jake Hawkins.” Her eyes met those of the woman behind the counter, seeking to establish a connection, to convey reassurance amidst the undercurrent of apprehension. “Are you Mary Larson?”

As the woman’s gaze lifted to meet Jenna’s, the Sheriff noted the grimness that lingered there, the weariness that no amount of sleep could cure. There was something about Mary Larson’s expression, a guarded vulnerability that resonated with Jenna – a reflection of her own struggles, perhaps.

In that moment, Jenna felt the familiar tug at the back of her mind, the pull of intuition that had become an unspoken partner in her investigations. It was the same sensation that had led her to countless breakthroughs, and the same one that told her now that there could be more to the Larson’s story than what was clear on the surface.

Mary’s acknowledgment came with a faint flicker of recognition, a tightening around her eyes that Jenna noted as the mark of someone bracing for impact. “Yes, that’s me,” she said, her voice revealing an undercurrent of trepidation beneath its worn edges. “And this is my brother-in-law, Tommy. He just stopped by to say hello.”

Suddenly Jenna recognized Tommy as the brother who used to come to Trentville to bail Mike out of jail whenever she and Frank had arrested him.

Tommy’s gaze narrowed on the badges, a silent alarm flashing in his eyes. “Is something wrong? What’s this about?” The questions were charged with an expectancy that hinted at more than casual curiosity.

Jenna let her eyes meet Jake’s for a split second, their connection wordless. They both understood the fragile nature of the news they carried. “Is there somewhere we could talk privately?” Jenna’s request was soft, but it cut through the ambient noise of the store with clarity.

Mary blinked rapidly, her composure momentarily slipping like loose pebbles down a steep incline. “Petey, can you watch the register for a bit?” she called out, her voice a notch higher as she addressed a young employee absorbed in his task of restocking shelves.

“Sure thing, Mrs. Larson,” Petey responded with a youthful bounce in his step, oblivious to the tension coiling in that space.

Mary motioned towards a narrow hallway that cut sharply away from the storefront’s seeming tranquility. Jenna followed, noting the way the woman’s hands moved with a jittery energy, betraying an inner turmoil as she led them into the stock room. Even though a single fan oscillated in the corner, its blades cutting through the silence with monotonous whirs, the air in the little room they entered smelled musty and stale, like it had been trapped in this cramped space for far too long.

Boxes and cans crowded every inch of wall space and much of the floor, creating a maze-like path through the room. In one corner, a small desk was wedged awkwardly, its surface cluttered with an unruly pile of paperwork. It was here, in the cluttered confines of a room where order was held together by sheer will that Jenna prepared to bridge the gap between the living and the dead.

She positioned herself so that she could see both Mary and Tommy without having to turn, her movements deliberate, measured. She glanced at Mary, noticing how her eyes darted nervously around the cramped space. Of course, Jenna reminded herself, this woman wasn’t unaccustomed toconversations with the law. She’d dealt with plenty of that sort of thing when her husband disappeared two years ago.

When Jenna observed Tommy, whose presence brought an unforeseen complexity to the situation, she recognized the subtle tightness in his jaw as an unconscious response to stress. She remembered Frank telling her yesterday that pretty much the whole town, Mary included, and come to terms with the likelihood that Mike had just wandered off to start a new life elsewhere. And now Jenna was going to break an illusion they’d been living with for most of two years now.

She had to wonder—how would these two people respond when she brought up the news about Mary’s long-missing husband, Tommy’s lost brother?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jenna inhaled slowly, anchoring herself in her duty as Sheriff.

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