Page 69 of In Her Wake
“Can I help you?”he asked, his tone simply curious.
“I’m Sheriff Jenna Graves from Genesius County.I’m looking for information about someone who might have stayed here.”
The young man’s expression shifted slightly.“I’ve only been here eight months,” he said, shrugging.“But you could ask around.Most folks are out in the fields right now.”
“Thanks,” Jenna replied.
She made her way toward the nearest field, where three young women were clearing away the debris of old plants.As Jenna approached, she took in their appearances—all in their early twenties, dressed in practical work clothes smudged with dirt.One had vibrant blue hair peeking out from beneath a bandana, another sported intricate tattoos that wound up both arms, the third wore thick-framed glasses that kept sliding down her nose.
“Excuse me,” Jenna called as she neared them.
“Hi there,” the one with blue hair said.“You looking for someone?”
“I might be,” Jenna replied.She pulled a photograph from her pocket—one of the last taken of Piper before she disappeared, age sixteen with long chestnut hair.It was an old photograph, the edges worn from years of handling.“Have any of you seen this girl?She would be in her mid-thirties now, but she might have come through here years ago.”
The three young women gathered around, studying the photo with genuine interest.Their heads shook almost in unison.
“Sorry,” said the one with the tattoos.“Never seen her before.”
“How long have you been here?”Jenna asked.
“Two years for me,” said Blue Hair.
“A year and a half,” Tattoos added.
“Just since January,” said Glasses, pushing them up again.
Jenna nodded, trying to hide her disappointment.“Is there anyone who’s been here longer?Ten years or more, maybe?”
The three exchanged glances, then Blue Hair spoke up.“Only Eliot.He started this place.Everyone else stays a while, then moves on.”
“Eliot Lansing?”Jenna asked, remembering the name from the website.
“That’s him,” Tattoos confirmed.“He’ll be in the farmhouse this time of day.He’s got arthritis, so he handles the paperwork and scheduling while we do the physical stuff.”
“Great.Thank you,” Jenna said, already turning toward the farmhouse.
“No problem,” Blue Hair called after her.
The walk to the farmhouse gave Jenna time to process what she’d learned so far.No one here was old enough to be Piper or even remember her.The hope that had carried her all this way began to falter.
The farmhouse’s front porch creaked beneath her boots as she climbed the steps to the door.A wind chime made of twisted metal and colored glass tinkled softly in the breeze.Jenna knocked, the sound hollow against the old wood.
Footsteps approached, and the door swung open to reveal a man in his sixties with a salt-and-pepper beard and kind eyes that crinkled at the corners.His left hand gripped the doorframe in a way that suggested he was using it for support.
“How can I help you?”he asked, his voice a gentle rumble.
“Mr.Lansing?”Jenna inquired.When he nodded, she continued, “I’m Sheriff Jenna Graves from Genesius County.I was hoping I could ask you some questions about a person who might have stayed here at some point.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly at her title, but he smiled warmly.“Of course, Sheriff.Come in, please.”
He stepped back, allowing her entry into a spacious living room that had been converted for communal use.Mismatched sofas and chairs were arranged in a circle around a large, low table covered with books, sketch pads, and mugs of half-finished tea.The walls were lined with bookshelves, and large windows let in streams of sunlight that warmed the worn wooden floors.
“Have a seat,” Eliot offered, gesturing to one of the sofas.“Can I get you some tea?”
“No, thank you,” Jenna replied, perching on the edge of the sofa.“I won’t take much of your time.”
Eliot lowered himself into a rocking chair with a barely disguised wince.“Time is something we’ve got plenty of around here, Sheriff.It’s why most people come to us—to find time to heal, to think, to figure out what’s next.”
