CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jenna followed Jake through the library doors, where floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, interrupted only by tall windows draped with heavy brocade curtains.
A massive oak desk dominated the far end of the room, its surface cluttered with architectural plans and maintenance logs—a space designed for reflection and work rather than a tense interrogation.
The Calloway House superintendent sat rigidly in an armchair near the fireplace. Officer Hutson stood by the window, maintaining a careful distance that gave Nolan no reason to feel cornered—a small courtesy Jenna appreciated.
She noted Nolan Greer’s rumpled shirt and the dark circles beneath his eyes. He hadn’t shaved, and his close-cropped hair stood at odd angles. When he spotted Jenna, his expression shifted from wariness to outright alarm.
“Officer Hutson,” Jenna said, “we’ll take it from here. Would you mind stepping outside?”
Hutson moved toward the door, giving Nolan a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he passed. “He’s been cooperative, Sheriff. No issues.”
The door clicked shut behind Hutson, leaving just the three of them in the cavernous room.
“What’s going on?” Nolan asked, voice tight with apprehension. “Officer Hutson wouldn’t tell me anything—just that Mr. Calloway is dead. Is that true?”
Jenna studied his face, looking for the telltale signs of deception—the micro-expressions that most liars couldn’t fully suppress.
What she saw wasn’t guilt, but genuine confusion.
She’d conducted enough interviews to recognize the difference.
If this man knew why he’d been detained, he was doing a remarkable job of pretending not to.
“Mr. Greer,” she said, “where were you between 9 p.m. last night and 5 a.m. this morning?”
Nolan’s eyes widened. “Am I a suspect?” He shook his head, the question clearly dawning on him. “You think I had something to do with Mr. Calloway’s death?”
“Just answer the question,” Jake told him.
Nolan leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“I quit my job here last night,” he said.
“I left when Mr. Calloway arrived.” He glanced between them, clearly searching for some hint of their thinking.
“Sheriff, you told him about those letters to the Trentville Weekly News, didn’t you?
The ones calling the condo project a desecration? ”
Jenna kept her expression neutral. “I told him what I knew.”
“I figured as much,” Nolan sighed. “That’s why I quit—to save myself the embarrassment of being fired.
Mr. Calloway wasn’t exactly known for forgiveness.
” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more.
“Look, I know I shouldn’t have written those letters, but I wasn’t wrong.
This place was built on the backs of miners who—”
“Where did you go after you left here?” Jake interrupted, pen poised over his notepad.
“I went straight to the Centaur’s Den,” Nolan replied. “Drank way more than I should have. Told everybody what I thought of this whole Calloway House project.” He grimaced at the memory. “I know, not my finest moment. But it was a lot to process—my job, my beliefs, all of it.”
Jenna watched him carefully. “What time did you leave?”
“Aaron Hopper—the owner—cut me off around 1:30 in the morning,” Nolan said.
“Smart move—I would have tried to drive if he hadn’t.
Aaron walked me over to the Trentville Inn.
Said I could sleep it off there and pick up my car in the morning.
” He straightened, looking Jenna directly in the eye.
“Check with Aaron. Check with the inn. They’ll confirm it all. ”
Jake stepped back, pulling out his phone. “I’ll call the station to have someone check,” he said, moving toward the door. “Excuse me a moment. I’ll be right back.”
After Jake stepped out, Jenna continued. “And you’re sure Mr. Calloway was alive when you left?”
"Very much so," Nolan replied emphatically.
"He arrived just after nine. Came straight to my apartment, to fire me, I was sure.
But I was already packed to leave. We had words.
Then I left." He added with a shrug, "I only came back just now to pick up a few things I'd left in my apartment. I had no idea …"
The door opened, and Jake returned, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "We're verifying your story," he said.
Jenna decided to turn the interview in a new direction. It was risky, but she wanted to gauge Nolan’s reaction.
“In the meantime, we do have some questions about the mansion,” she told him.
Nolan seemed relieved at the change of subject. “What do you want to know?”
“The secret passages,” she said. “How many are there?”
The reaction was immediate—Nolan’s face went blank with surprise. “Secret passages?” he repeated, looking genuinely bewildered. “In this house?”
Jenna exchanged a glance with Jake. Either Nolan was an exceptional actor, or he truly had no idea what they were talking about.
“We discovered an entrance to one in Mr. Calloway’s bedroom,” Jake explained. “Hidden behind a wall panel. It seems to connect to a system of corridors throughout the mansion.”
“Are you serious?” Nolan leaned forward. When neither replied, he shook his head. “I’ve been working here for months, and I never—” He stopped, eyes widening. “Wait. That explains so much. The weird drafts. Lights flickering when there’s no electrical issue.”
“We’ve just seen part of one passage,” Jenna said. “Is there anyone else who might know more about them?”
Nolan thought for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Ray Pruitt,” he said. “He has to know. His company handled most of the renovation work—everything from plumbing to electrical. If there are secret passages, there’s no way he could have done that job without finding them.”
Jenna felt a jolt of recognition. Ray Pruitt—the local contractor with a reputation for cutting corners and a history of run-ins with law enforcement.
She'd personally cited him twice for code violations at different job sites.
She'd also personally put him under arrest for drunkenness and had treated him as a suspect in a case of vandalism and sabotage against rival contractors.
“Pruitt Restoration,” she confirmed.
“He was here almost daily during the renovation. And he’s got a temper—yelled at his guys for taking too long when they were just trying to get something done right.”
Jenna filed this away, already mentally mapping her next steps. She needed to talk to Ray Pruitt—but she had to keep Nolan secure while they checked out his alibi.
“We’ll need you to stay here for now,” she told him, moving toward the door. “Officer Hutson will keep you company.”
“Am I under arrest?” Nolan asked, a note of defiance creeping into his voice.
“Not yet,” Jenna replied. “Consider yourself a material witness for now. We’ll know more once we verify your story.”
She stepped into the hallway, Jake following close behind. As they emerged, Dr. Stark’s team passed by, pushing a gurney with Boyd Calloway’s covered body. The sheet had been pulled up to conceal his face, but one arm had slipped free, dangling limply at the side.
Once the procession had moved on, Jenna turned to Jake. “What do you think?” she asked quietly.
Jake considered for a moment. “His surprise about the passages seemed genuine,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not involved. He could have known about them and been putting on a show.”
“But why come back if he’s guilty? Why not stay away until things cool down?”
“To check if we’re onto him?” Jake suggested. “Or maybe he thought acting innocent was his best defense.”
Before Jenna could respond, Jake’s phone rang. He answered with a quick “Hawkins,” listened for a moment, then thanked the caller and hung up.
“That was Officer Fairmont,” he said. “She called both the Trentville Inn and Aaron Hopper. Nolan’s story checks out.
He was at the Centaur’s Den until about 1:30, then checked into the inn.
Aaron says he took Nolan’s keys and walked him there.
The night manager remembers him coming in—said he was ‘chatty but coherent.’ She didn’t see him again until morning.
And Aaron confirmed that Nolan’s car was still at the Den until he came back for it this morning. ”
Jenna felt relieved over the verifications. A good alibi meant Nolan wasn’t their killer—but it also meant they were back to square one.
“We’ve got to start exploring new options,” she commented.
“What about the feud?” Jake ventured, lowering his voice. “The old one between the Shannons and Calloways. Given the history of this place, could the murders have something to do with that?”
“How so?”
"Well, maybe a descendant of Pete Shannon is behind this."
Jenna considered the possibility. The historical rivalry was well-documented, but she’d assumed it was just that—history. “It’s worth looking into.”
“Kay Oster could help with that,” Jake suggested. “She’s good with genealogy research.”
Jenna agreed. The police station’s IT/Technical Support person was just the right person for that kind of research.
"Call her. Tell her we need everything she can find on Shannon descendants—anyone with a connection to the mansion or a grudge against the Calloways.
" She paused, thinking through the next steps.
"And don't release Nolan yet. He might be useful—he knows this building better than anyone, passages aside. "
“What about the residents?” Jake asked. “If our killer is using those passages to move around unseen— “
“They’re not safe,” Jenna finished. “Arrange for all of them to be moved out. To the Trentville Inn. If we take over an entire floor, that should be comfortable enough for them. Use whatever excuse you need to—tell them it’s temporary and just for their protection while we investigate.”
“And you?” Jake asked.
“I’m going to talk to Ray Pruitt,” Jenna said. “If he knew about those passages and kept it quiet, I want to know why.”
As she headed for the front door, Jake called after her. “Be careful. If Pruitt’s our guy—”
“I’ll be fine,” Jenna assured him. “Just get those residents relocated.”
She stepped out into the crisp October air, breathing deeply to clear her head. The mansion loomed behind her, its Gothic facade now seeming sinister rather than merely historic. Somewhere inside those walls, a killer had moved unseen, watching, waiting—perhaps was there even now.
“Sheriff Graves!”
The voice pulled her from her thoughts. Ethan Pierce stood at the bottom of the steps, camera bag slung over one shoulder, notebook already in hand.
“Mr. Pierce,” Jenna acknowledged, maintaining her pace toward the parking area. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for questions right now.”
“I just need a minute,” he persisted, falling into step beside her. “The public has a right to know what’s happening. One death might be coincidence, but two in the same building in such a short time? People are worried.”
Jenna stopped, turning to face him. “What I’m concerned about, Mr. Pierce, is having a reporter sensationalize a tragedy.
” She kept her voice level despite the frustration building beneath it.
“I’ll issue a statement when we have more information.
Until then, I’d appreciate if you’d respect the integrity of our investigation. ”
Pierce held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just doing my job, Sheriff. The same as you.”
“Then do it somewhere else,” Jenna replied, continuing toward her car.
She slid into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with more force than necessary. She pulled away from the curb, heading toward Pruitt Restoration perhaps those emotions had been passed down through generations, finding new expression in the present day.
Perhaps this whole case was a story of simmering revenge that had at long last boiled over into murder.