CHAPTER NINE
Jenna eased her county cruiser into Clarksboro, hoping to find Piper here.
She wished Jake could be with her, but they had agreed that he should stay on the case in Trentville and try to work around the efforts of the mayor and Boyd Calloway to thwart them.
Because Jenna knew that the death at Calloway House had been a murder, they were afraid more murders could follow.
Jake was trying to find some kind of evidence that would not only verify the murder for others and help identify the killer—they needed something that would stand up in court later.
My dream doesn’t cut it; she admitted to herself.
The truth was, she and Jake had no argument against PI Hugh Bickel’s alternate theory—that the second bloodstain in the laundry room was evidence of nothing more than a previous accident. They knew it wasn’t correct, but they couldn’t prove it.
Colonel Spelling had called her just an hour ago to say that Piper had been sighted here in this small town, a collection of brick buildings and older storefronts that seemed to sag under the weight of rural decline.
The hardware store with its hand-painted sign.
The diner with chrome trim that caught the sunlight.
The municipal building with its single flagpole.
“How credible is this?” Jenna had asked at the time.
“Credible enough that I’m already on my way there.”
“Did they... is she still there?” Her voice had cracked slightly.
“Unknown. But a witness saw her enter a pawn shop with a blue Schwinn bicycle and leave without it. Later spotted doing yard work nearby.” Spelling’s tone had softened slightly. “Sheriff Graves—Jenna—I know what this could mean to you. But I need your head clear if you’re coming here.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
Now, as she drove through Clarksboro’s quiet streets toward the police station, Jenna was excited about the possibilities. Spelling’s APB about Piper had paid off quickly. A blue Schwinn bicycle. The same kind Piper had been riding when she disappeared.
The small brick building that housed the Clarksboro Police Department came into view. Jenna parked her cruiser next to a black SUV she recognized as Colonel Spelling’s. She took a deep breath, willing her hands to stop trembling.
A desk sergeant looked up as she entered, taking note of her uniform.
“Sheriff Graves? They’re expecting you. Down the hall, second door on the right.”
Jenna said “thanks” and headed where indicated. She found Colonel Spelling standing in what appeared to be a conference room, conversing in low tones with a stocky man in a Clarksboro police uniform.
Spelling straightened when he saw her. “Sheriff Graves, glad you could make it so quickly.”
His formal tone didn’t match the understanding in his eyes. Since learning about her psychic abilities, Spelling had developed a new kind of respect for Jenna—one that acknowledged both her professional competence and her unique perception.
“Colonel,” she acknowledged, then turned her attention to the other man.
“This is Chief Mitch Esterhaus,” Spelling introduced. “Chief, this is Sheriff Jenna Graves from Genesius County.”
Esterhaus extended his hand. His grip was firm, his expression a mix of professional courtesy and curiosity.
“Sheriff. Heard a lot about you.” His eyes lingered on her face a beat longer than necessary.
“Colonel Spelling told me that the missing woman is your twin sister. I can definitely see the resemblance.”
“Thank you for calling this in so promptly,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “I understand someone spotted a woman matching my sister’s description?”
Esterhaus gestured for them both to sit at the small table. “Helen Bowerman called it in. Said she hired a woman who looked just like the photo in the APB to do some yard work. But before that, another witness saw the same woman at Ed’s Pawn shelves and glass cases crammed with the discarded treasures and desperate sacrifices of Clarksboro residents.
Guitar amplifiers stacked alongside tarnished silverware sets.
Watches and jewelry beneath smudged display glass.
Tools hanging from pegboards. The air smelled of dust and metal polish.
And there it was.
Jenna’s breath caught in her throat. Propped against the back wall among a half-dozen other bicycles stood a woman’s blue Schwinn. Jenna would have recognized it anywhere.
She moved toward it as if in a trance, barely aware of Colonel Spelling watching her carefully. She reached out toward the worn leather seat.
A heavyset man with a graying beard emerged from a back room, his eyes narrowing at the sight of three law enforcement officers in his shop. “Help you folks?” he asked, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his belt.
Esterhaus stepped forward. “Ed, these are the officers I called you about. Colonel Spelling from the Highway Patrol and Sheriff Graves from Genesius County.”
Ed’s gaze lingered warily on Jenna, obviously noticing the resemblance to the woman who had been here earlier.
“This about that bicycle, I’m guessing,” Ed said.
“Yes,” Jenna said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “When did you acquire it?”
“Just this morning,” Ed replied, crossing his arms. “Woman came in looking for quick cash.”
“Did she give her name?” Spelling asked.
“No, she didn’t.” Ed shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I know I should’ve gotten ID, filled out the proper paperwork. But she seemed desperate, and it was only twenty bucks. She, uh, looked a lot like you.”
“She’s my twin sister,” Jenna said. '“Did she mention where she was headed?”
Ed shook his head. “No. She just took the twenty dollars and left.”
“Mr. Reeves,” Spelling said formally, “you are aware that state law requires proper identification and paperwork for all items taken in pawn?”
Ed’s body slumped. “Yes, sir. Like I said, I know I messed up there. It just... it didn’t feel like a real transaction, you know? More like helping someone out.”
“The bicycle stays here for now,” Esterhaus interjected. “Consider it evidence in an ongoing investigation.”
“Thank you for your cooperation,” Spelling said to Ed. “We won’t be concerned about that gift you made.”
On her way out of the shop, Jenna took a final look at the bicycle. It represented both hope and heartbreak.
Why did she leave us again? she wondered.
“We should head to Helen Bowerman’s place next,” Esterhaus suggested. “It’s really close by.”
Jenna forced herself to turn away from the bicycle.
Esterhaus drove Jenna and Spelling to their next destination.
Helen Bowerman’s single-story home sat at the end of a tree-lined street, its white clapboard exterior bleached pale by years of summer sun.
Bright chrysanthemums lined the front walkway, and the freshly-gathered leaves were bagged up near the curb.
Esterhaus led them up the concrete path to the front door. A wind chime made of colorful sea glass tinkled gently as they passed beneath it. The chief knocked firmly, and moments later, the door opened to reveal a woman in her sixties, silver hair neatly combed.
“Chief Esterhaus,” she greeted, then looked curiously at Jenna. “Are these the officers you mentioned over the phone?”
“Yes, ma’am. Colonel Spelling from the Highway Patrol and Sheriff Graves from Genesius County. They’re here about the woman who did your yard work.”
Helen removed her gloves. “Please, come in. Would any of you like some iced tea? I just made a fresh pitcher.”
“No thank you, Mrs. Bowerman,” Spelling replied politely. “We don’t want to take up too much of your time.”
She led them into a living room filled with floral-patterned furniture and family photographs.
“Please tell me what happened, Mrs. Bowerman,” Jenna began, once they were seated.
Helen settled into an armchair; her hands folded in her lap. “She knocked on my door just this morning, said her name was Emma—Emma Kirby, I believe. Offered to clean up my leaves for money.”
“What time was this?” Spelling asked.
“Around ten, I’d say. Just after I’d finished my morning programs.”
“And you hired her on the spot?” Jenna tried to keep the urgency from her voice.
Helen replied, “I normally wouldn’t, but my arthritis has been acting up something terrible, and those leaves needed blowing. Besides, she had an honest face.” She glanced at Jenna, her expression softening. “Actually, she looked a lot like you, now that I see you up close. Are you related?”
“She’s my twin sister,” Jenna replied.
Helen’s eyes widened. “She seemed so... capable. Troubled, maybe, but not lost.”
“What exactly did she do while she was here?” Spelling asked.
“Cleared out all the leaves in the front and back yard.” Helen gestured toward the window. “Then she ate a sandwich I offered her. That was about all.”
“Did she talk much?” Jenna asked, finding her voice again. “Did she mention anything about where she was heading?”
Helen considered the question. “Not really. She asked if I knew anybody else who might need some work. That’s when I suggested she try the Hendersons down on Maple Street—they’re elderly and always need help with their property. And the Wilsons on Pine might need someone too.”
“Did she seem interested in these suggestions?” Jenna asked.
“Yes, she wrote down the addresses on a notepad I gave her.”
“Mrs. Bowerman,” Spelling said, “did Emma say anything about leaving town?”
“Not specifically, no. But she seemed in a hurry to earn enough money for something. Said she needed to ‘keep moving.’ Those were her words.”
Jenna leaned forward. “Is there anything else you can remember? Anything at all, no matter how small it might seem?”
Helen thought for a moment. “Well, when I paid her—thirty dollars for the work—she thanked me, said she needed to make the money stretch.”
“Thank you for your help, Mrs. Bowerman,” Spelling said, standing. “You’ve been very informative.”
Helen rose as well. “I hope you find her,” she said to Jenna, genuine concern in her voice.
Outside, they walked back to Esterhaus’s patrol car.
“The Hendersons on Maple Street would be our next stop,” Esterhaus said, unlocking the vehicle. “It’s two or three blocks from here.”
As they climbed into the car, Jenna found herself scanning the streets, the sidewalks, the spaces between houses—searching for any glimpse of a familiar face.
Somewhere in this town, Piper might still be moving through her day, unaware that her sister was so close.
Or perhaps she knew exactly how close Jenna was, and that was why she seemed to be in such a hurry to leave.
Esterhaus started the engine, and they pulled away from Helen’s house. Hope fluttered in Jenna’s chest, fragile yet persistent.
“We’ll find her,” Spelling said quietly from the back seat, as if reading her thoughts.
Jenna nodded, her gaze fixed on the streets ahead. She wouldn’t let Piper slip away again. Whatever darkness had lured or chased her sister from home—Jenna would stand and face it with her.