CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When Jenna pulled the cruiser to the curb in front of The Velvet Hanger boutique, even the perfectly ordinary mannequins in the window display seemed sinister in light of what they’d recently discovered. She cut the engine but let her hand linger on the keys.
“What are you thinking?” Jake asked, studying her profile.
“That Rebecca’s timing is suspicious,” Jenna replied, unbuckling her seatbelt. “She disappears right when Marjory goes missing, then reappears the morning after we find the body, claiming she’s in trouble.”
“You think it could be part of an act?”
“Let’s find out.”
Downtown Trentville had awakened, residents and workers moving along the sidewalks with the casual pace of small-town life.
When they stepped out of the cruiser, a woman with grocery bags nodded to Jenna as she passed.
A mail carrier waved from across the street.
The normalcy felt jarring against the backdrop of the morning’s discovery.
The boutique’s door chimed as they entered, the sound startlingly cheerful. Betty Rosin looked up from behind the counter, relief washing over her features at the sight of their uniforms.
“Sheriff, Deputy—thank you for coming so quickly,” she said, nervously twisting a pen. “I didn’t know what to do when I got her text.”
“When exactly did Rebecca contact you?” Jenna asked, approaching the counter.
“About fifteen minutes ago,” Betty replied, holding up her phone. “I was opening the store when it came through.”
Jenna took the offered phone, Jake leaning in close to read over her shoulder. The message was brief, almost cryptic: “Betty - driving back to Trentville now. In trouble. Meet me at the store. Please be there.”
“That’s all she sent?” Jake asked.
“Yes. I tried calling her right after I got it, but she didn’t answer.” Betty’s eyes darted to the door, then back to them. “She’s never done anything like this before. I mean, she can be intense, but this... it felt different. Scary.”
Jenna handed the phone back, scanning the empty boutique as she had done yesterday.
The clothing hung neatly on racks, the price tags dangling on garments too expensive for most Trentville residents.
Rebecca’s taste had always leaned toward the extravagant—clothes better suited to the upscale neighborhoods of St. Louis than their rural community.
“Has she given you any indication of what kind of trouble she’s in?” Jenna asked.
Betty shook her head. “No, nothing. She was supposed to be in St. Louis for a meeting with her husband’s lawyer yesterday evening. That’s the last I heard from her until this text.”
“Did she mention anything about Marjory Powell recently?” Jake cut in. “Any comments about their disagreement?”
“Not really,” Betty replied. “I mean, she complained about Marjory when it first happened—said she was incompetent, unprofessional. But that was months ago. Rebecca tends to find new targets for her anger pretty quickly.”
Jenna was about to ask another question when Betty’s eyes widened, her gaze fixed on something beyond the front window.
“There’s her car now!” she exclaimed, pointing.
Jenna spun around. Through the window, she could see a sleek silver Mercedes slowing as it approached the boutique.
Rebecca was visible behind the wheel, although Jenna couldn’t see her expression clearly.
But she appeared to spot the police cruiser parked at the curb, and then the Mercedes’ engine roared, tires squealing as Rebecca made a U-turn and accelerated away.
“Damn it,” Jenna muttered, breaking into a run toward the door with Jake close behind. But by the time they reached their vehicle, the Mercedes was already halfway down the block and moving fast enough to draw startled looks from pedestrians.
“Why would she run if she’s innocent?” Jake wondered aloud as Jenna slid behind the wheel, jamming the key into the ignition.
“Good question,” Jenna replied as the engine came to life with a growl. “Call it in.”
Jake grabbed the radio as Jenna pulled away from the curb, tires protesting at the sudden acceleration.
“Dispatch, this is Deputy Hawkins. We are in pursuit of a silver Mercedes, license plate THD-482, heading east on Main Street. Driver is Rebecca Ashcroft, person of interest in the Powell case. Request additional units to intercept. Over.”
“Copy that, Deputy,” the dispatcher responded. “Unit 3 is in the area of Oak and Main. Redirecting now.”
Jenna flipped on the siren, the wail cutting through the quiet morning as they tore down Main Street. Ahead, Rebecca’s Mercedes weaved through the light traffic, ignoring a red light at the intersection of Main and Cedar. A pickup truck swerved to avoid her, clipping a parked car.
“She’s going to kill someone,” Jake muttered, bracing himself against the dashboard as Jenna navigated through the intersection, slowing just enough to ensure cross traffic had stopped.
Rebecca’s Mercedes was pulling ahead. She blew through another red light, this time causing a delivery van to slam on its brakes and fishtail, sideswiping a compact car in the next lane. Jenna heard the crunch of metal even over the siren.
“She’s heading for the highway,” Jenna said, recognizing the route. “If she makes it to the on-ramp, we’ll have a high-speed pursuit on our hands. And that’s a very fast car.”
Jake relayed the information to dispatch as Jenna pressed the accelerator harder, gaining ground on the fleeing vehicle. The speedometer crept past sixty in a thirty-five zone as she focused on the silver car ahead.
Rebecca swerved suddenly, cutting across two lanes to make a sharp right turn onto Elm Street. Jenna followed, tires screeching in protest. The Mercedes fishtailed as Rebecca overcorrected, nearly clipping a row of parked cars before straightening out.
“What the hell is she thinking?” Jenna said through gritted teeth. “This isn’t just suspicious anymore—this is the behavior of someone with something to hide.”
“Unit 3 is approaching from the north on Elm,” the dispatcher’s voice announced through the radio. “They should intercept in approximately thirty seconds.”
Then, as they rounded the bend where Elm Street curved east, Jenna saw the black and white cruiser ahead, Officer Donovan at the wheel, positioning his vehicle to block the road.
Rebecca saw it too. The Mercedes swerved hard to the right, mounting the curb in an attempt to bypass the blockade. But Donovan anticipated the move, angling his cruiser to close the gap. The Mercedes skidded to a halt, inches from colliding with the patrol car, engine still racing.
Jenna slammed on the brakes, bringing their cruiser to a stop behind the Mercedes. She was out of the vehicle in seconds, drawing her weapon as Jake did the same.
“Rebecca Ashcroft!” Jenna shouted, advancing cautiously. “Turn off the engine and step out of the vehicle with your hands where I can see them!”
For a moment, Rebecca remained frozen behind the wheel. Then, slowly, the Mercedes’ engine went silent. The driver’s door opened, and Rebecca emerged, hands raised halfway, her designer dress looking rumpled.
“Against the car,” Jake ordered, moving forward to secure her while Jenna maintained cover.
Rebecca complied, pressing herself against the Mercedes’ side as Jake holstered his weapon and moved in to handcuff her. She didn’t resist, her body seeming to deflate as the metal circles closed around her wrists.
“I know it was stupid,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m sorry. I’m just—I’m going through a crazy spell. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Jake patted her down efficiently, then turned her to face Jenna, who had holstered her own weapon once Rebecca was secured.
“Rebecca Ashcroft, you’re under arrest for suspicion of murder in the death of Marjory Powell,” Jenna stated, watching Rebecca’s face.
The reaction was immediate and visceral. Rebecca’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open in genuine shock. “Murder? Marjory? What are you talking about?” Her voice pitched higher with each question. “Marjory’s dead? When? How?”
The surprise in her eyes seemed authentic, but Jenna had seen skilled liars before. She kept her expression neutral. “You’re also being charged with reckless endangerment, fleeing from law enforcement, and numerous traffic violations that caused at least two accidents that I witnessed personally.”
“I didn’t kill anybody,” Rebecca insisted, her eyes darting between Jenna and Jake. “I had no idea Marjory was dead. When did this happen?”
“Yesterday afternoon,” Jake replied, watching her closely. “Right around the time you conveniently left town.”
“That’s—that’s—,” Rebecca stammered. “Just a coincidence. I was heading to St. Louis to meet with Cecil’s lawyer. We had a scheduled appointment.”
"Then why run from us just now?" Jenna asked, nodding toward Officer Donovan, who had approached to assist. "If you're innocent, why flee when you saw our cruiser?"
Rebecca’s shoulders slumped. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me,” Jenna challenged.
“You should call the police in St. Louis,” Rebecca said. “Ask them. They’ll tell you why I ran.”
Jenna exchanged a glance with Jake, who raised an eyebrow slightly. “We’ll do that,” she said to Rebecca.
Together, they guided Rebecca to their cruiser, placing her in the back seat before closing the door. Jenna addressed Donovan, who stood waiting for instructions.
"Nice work cutting her off, Mike," she said.
"I need you to stay here and document the scene.
We had at least two collisions during the pursuit—one at Main and Cedar, another at Main and Pine.
I don't think anybody was injured, but check that out, make sure reports are filed, and contact information is exchanged. "
“Yes, Sheriff,” Donovan replied. “What about her car?”
“Have it towed to the impound lot. We’ll process it later.” Jenna glanced back at Rebecca, who sat staring straight ahead with mascara-smudged eyes, her expression fearful. “Right now, I want to find out what happened in St. Louis.”