CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jenna pulled her cruiser to a stop beside the ornate Gothic mansion that was Calloway House.
Morning light glinted off the restored Victorian windows, but shadows still pooled in the deep corners of the veranda, giving the place an aura of mystery that seemed particularly fitting for these circumstances.
“Nobody at this meeting going to like what we have to tell them,” Jake said.
“No,” Jenna agreed, checking her watch. “But they need to hear it for their own safety.”
It was just eight minutes before the meeting Boyd Calloway had arranged to reassure everyone that Calloway House was secure, despite Donna Marsh’s sudden death.
And now Jenna had to break different news to a room full of Donna’s neighbors and the town council members.
She and Jake climbed the steps to the mansion’s entrance.
When they knocked, the heavy oak door swung open, revealing the worried face of Officer Greg Baldry.
“Sheriff,” he said, looking relieved to see her. “Everyone’s in the main parlor. They’ve been asking when you’d arrive.”
“Thanks, Greg.” Jenna stepped inside. She saw that Officers Maria Delgado and Chip Hutson were here as well. “Where is Boyd Calloway?”
Baldry shook his head. “He’s not here yet. And the super’s nowhere to be found either.”
Nolan Greer, Jenna thought with a start.
She remembered the super’s determined efforts to keep Jenna and her team from examining the laundry room. Was his absence significant?
The grand foyer gave way to what had once been the mansion ‘s main parlor—now converted into a communal space for the condo residents.
The soaring ceiling and ornate crown molding remained, but the furniture had been updated to more comfortable, modern pieces that somehow worked with the Victorian architecture.
Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting long rectangles across the polished hardwood floor.
The room fell quiet as Jenna entered. Fifteen faces turned toward her—six city council members seated along one side of the room, nine residents of Calloway House arranged in a loose semicircle, and off to other side, a short, rumpled man whom Jenna recognized immediately. Hugh Bickel.
And then, to Jenna’s surprise, she spotted Ethan Pierce standing in the far corner, notebook in hand, his keen eyes watching the proceedings with professional interest. She’d nearly forgotten that the Gateway Herald reporter had told her yesterday he’d be staying overnight in Trentville.
Of course, he wouldn’t miss this meeting—not with a story about a mysterious death brewing at the town’s newest luxury development.
She paused, scanning the room. Hugh Bickel leaned forward in his chair, his expression already calculating. A few residents exchanged worried glances. And in the corner, Ethan Pierce’s pen hovered over his notebook.
“Has anyone heard anything from Boyd Calloway?” Jenna asked.
“I guess not,” said a woman with silver-white hair whom Jenna recognized as Sylvia Holt, one of the building’s first residents. “And the superintendent isn’t here either. I tried to call Nolan twice this morning. No answer.”
“I’m sure Boyd has a good reason,” said another resident, a woman with an air of forced optimism. “Perhaps he’s running late?”
But uncertainty rippled through the room, a current of tension that made the air feel suddenly thick. Jenna caught Bickel watching her with sharp eyes, clearly wondering if she knew something he didn’t.
“Perhaps we should proceed,” suggested Councilwoman Barbara Milligan. “Mr. Calloway has always been... unpredictable.”
Jenna was about to respond when the sound of quick footsteps in the hallway drew everyone’s attention. Mayor Claire Simmons strode into the room, her tailored suit as crisp as if she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Her expression, however, was tight with concern.
“Let’s get started,” she said, taking in the scene of expectant expressions.
“Calloway hasn’t arrived,” Jenna said. “Neither has Nolan Greer.”
“That’s strange,” Claire said. “I’ll find out where Boyd is.” She stepped out of earshot and pulled out her phone and dialed. After a few words, Claire hung up, her lips pressed into an aggravated line.
“I just got off the phone with Calloway’s office in Kansas City. They said he left there last night, heading for Trentville.”
The room fell quiet.
“He left last night?” Jenna asked. “And he hasn’t arrived?”
Claire’s manicured fingernails tapped against her leather portfolio with undisguised irritation. “Apparently not.”
A new wave of murmurs rose from the gathered group. Jenna felt a prickle of unease. First Donna Marsh’s death, now Boyd Calloway failing to show for an important meeting about that very death—a meeting that he himself had called?
“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation,” Claire said, though her tone lacked conviction. “Perhaps he stopped somewhere overnight? Or he could be working in his suite without realizing the time.”
As if on cue, the sound of the front door opening carried through the house.
A moment later, light footsteps pattered down the hallway.
A young woman appeared in the doorway—petite, blonde, and dressed in a stylish outfit that Jenna immediately recognized as far beyond Trentville’s usual fashion offerings.
“Cindy Ruhl, Boyd Calloway’s girlfriend,” Claire said to Jenna.
Cindy stood framed in the doorway, her smile bright but uncertain as she took in the assembled group.
“Am I late?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of a St. Louis accent. “I’ve just gotten here, but Boyd told me the meeting was going to start right about now.”
Before anyone could answer, her gaze swept the room, searching. “Where is he, anyway?”
A silence followed her question. Jenna watched as understanding dawned on Cindy’s face, her expression shifting from confusion to surprise.
“He hasn’t arrived?” Cindy asked, her voice rising slightly. “That’s... unusual.”
“He said he would leave Kansas City last night,” the mayor explained. “But apparently he hasn’t made it here.”
Cindy laughed, the sound too sharp to be genuine. “Oh! He’s probably in our suite, just sleeping in. You know how he gets after those late-night drives.” She smoothed a hand over her hair. “Or else he’s planning one of his grand entrances. He loves keeping people waiting, building anticipation.”
She turned toward the door. “I’ll go check our suite. He must have arrived without telling anyone.”
As Cindy disappeared down the hallway, Jenna turned back to the room, suddenly unsure how to proceed.
“We should wait for her to return,” she said, making a quick decision. “This situation has become— “
“Quite unusual,” Ethan Pierce finished for her, stepping forward from his corner. His reporter’s instincts had clearly kicked into high gear. “First a resident dies under suspicious circumstances, now the building’s owner goes missing on the day of a meeting to discuss that death?”
“No one said he was missing,” Jenna corrected, though the word had already created a new wave of tension in the room. “He may simply be— “
The scream tore through the house like a physical thing—a high, terrified wail that cut off abruptly, leaving an even more profound silence in its wake.
For one frozen moment, nobody moved. Then chaos erupted as everyone surged to their feet at once, voices overlapping in questions and exclamations.
“Stay here!” Jenna ordered the audience, her hand already on her sidearm.
She and Jake rushed into the hallway, following the direction from which the scream had come.
She had learned the mansion’s layout during the initial investigation of Donna’s death—the main floor with its communal spaces, the upper floor divided into luxury condos, and the private suite at the far end of the east wing that Boyd Calloway had reserved for himself.
Jenna and Jake took the grand staircase two steps at a time, their footsteps echoing through the suddenly too-quiet house.
At the top of the stairs, Jenna paused, orienting herself. “This way,” she said, pointing down the east corridor.
They hurried along the plushly carpeted hallway, passing closed doors until they reached the end. The door to Boyd’s suite stood slightly ajar, light spilling from the gap.
“Sheriff’s department!” Jenna called, pushing the door open with her foot, her weapon drawn but pointed at the floor. “We’re coming in!”
The scene that greeted them brought Jenna up short. Cindy Ruhl stood at the foot of a massive four-poster bed, one hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. And on the bed, sprawled atop rumpled silk sheets, lay Boyd Calloway.
Even from the doorway, Jenna could see he was dead.