CHAPTER FIVE
Jenna walked toward the tall figure silhouetted against the glass as he unlocked the liquor store door. Glancing around, Zeke Canfield called out, “Morning, Sheriff.” The lines around his eyes deepened as he squinted at her. “Bit early for official business, isn’t it?”
“It’s not exactly official,” Jenna replied, crossing the lot with quick strides. “Got a minute to talk? It’s about my mom.”
Concern immediately creased Zeke’s face. “Of course,” he said, pushing the door open with a gentle chime from the overhead bell. “Come on in.”
Jenna followed him inside. The liquor bottles lining the shelves glinted in the lights he’d just switched on, their labels a blur of colors and promises.
The events of the recent hours swirled through her mind—waking to find Piper gone, the frantic search of the house, her mother’s face crumpling with fresh grief.
Moving behind the counter Zeke switched on a coffee maker, then turned to face Jenna and asked, “What’s going on with Margaret?”
“Piper disappeared last night,” Jenna said flatly, watching his reaction. “Just... gone. Left sometime after midnight. Mom’s taking it pretty hard.”
“Damn it. After everything...” Zeke shook his head. “Any idea where she went? Or why?
“We’re working on it.” Jenna chose her words with care, mindful that Zeke knew nothing of her lucid dreams or Piper’s voices. Some parts of the story weren’t hers to share.
“We don’t really know why,” she continued. “She actually seemed to be adjusting well enough for us all to relax a little. And we don’t have any idea where. She took her bicycle, so it could be pretty far away.”
“Coffee?” Zeke offered, as the machine stopped gurgling.
“No, thanks.” Jenna replied. “I need to be quick. I’m heading to the station right after this.”
Zeke poured himself a cup of coffee, steam rising between them, and waited for her to continue.
“The point is,” she said, “I’m worried about Mom. This feels too much like after Dad died.”
Zeke set his mug down with a sharp click. “You’re worried she might start drinking again,” Zeke said, not a question but a statement of understanding.
“Yeah. She’s been doing so well, but this... this is exactly the kind of thing that could trigger a relapse.”
Jenna watched Zeke’s face, saw him processing her words with the gravity of someone who understood the fragile nature of sobriety.
“Mom promised me and Frank she’d reach out to you today,” Jenna continued. “But she was kind of defensive about it, and I’m afraid she won’t. You know how she is—stubborn to a fault, convinced she can handle everything alone.”
“Sounds familiar,” Zeke gently.
“Maybe I’m overstepping,” she admitted. “I don’t know the boundaries here. Mom’s an adult, and her relationship with you is her business. But I can’t just stand by and watch her suffer when I know you’ve been a lifeline for her.”
Zeke took a thoughtful sip of coffee. “It’s always delicate with these things. Pushing too hard can backfire, but sometimes people do need a nudge.” He set his mug down and leaned forward on his elbows. “Is anyone with her now?”
“Frank is staying at the house for the time being. He came over as soon as I told him about Piper going missing.”
“Good man, Frank. Always had a soft spot for your family.”
“I know,” Jenna said. “But even Frank can’t be there forever. And Mom’s pride... she won’t want to appear weak in front of him.”
“But she might with me. Because I’ve seen her at rock bottom already.”
The words were an acknowledgment of shared history that Jenna wasn’t fully privy to.
She’d heard the story—how Zeke had refused to sell her mother whiskey one night, had talked to her for hours instead.
But she also knew that Mom had almost dropped out of AA on account of her attraction to Zeke.
Jenna didn’t know whether the attraction was mutual, only that Mom and Zeke had somehow resolved that situation.
“With Frank there, I doubt she’ll have a relapse right away,” Zeke said, his clear blue eyes holding hers steadily. “But you’re right to be concerned about the days ahead. I’ll wait until this afternoon for her to call. If I haven’t heard from her by then, I’ll reach out myself.”
Relief washed over Jenna, “Thank you.”
“But if it comes to that,” he added firmly, “I’ll have to be honest that you came to me first. I won’t start our conversations with a lie, even one of omission.”
“I understand,” Jenna said. “And I think that’s the right approach. She did bring up contacting you, after all.”
“Exactly. This isn‘t an ambush—it’s just following through on what she already agreed to do.” Zeke’s gaze softened. “Margaret’s stronger than she thinks. She made it through losing both Piper and Greg. She’ll weather this storm too.”
Jenna’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to see Spelling’s name on the screen. “I have to take this,” she said, lifting the phone to her ear. “Sheriff Graves.”
“Sheriff, it’s Spelling. Just arrived at your station. Where are you?” The colonel’s voice was clipped, all business.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Jenna replied, then ended the call with a quick goodbye.
“Duty calls?” Zeke asked.
“Always does.” She pushed away from the counter. “Thanks for this, Zeke. It means a lot.”
“Go find your sister, Sheriff. I’ve got things covered on this end.”
As Jenna hurried back to her cruiser, her thoughts felt scattered.
Piper was out there somewhere, possibly under the influence of a powerful voice.
Her mother was teetering on the edge of a precipice she’d climbed away from with such effort.
And now Colonel Spelling was waiting, no doubt expecting answers she didn’t have.
One crisis at a time, she told herself as she slid behind the wheel. First, meet with Spelling. Then find Piper. Everything else would have to wait.
*
Jake stood at the threshold of the laundry room, watching Officer Delgado work methodically around the space where Donna Marsha had died. The body had already been removed by the coroner’s team, but the reality of her death still lingered.
He glanced at his watch—9:15 a.m.—knowing Jenna was elsewhere handling another crisis.
“Check near the washing machines,” Jake instructed. “And the corners where someone might have missed something.”
Officer Delgado’s gloved hands moved carefully as she examined the floor inch by inch. Her dark hair was pulled back tightly, her focus unwavering as she worked.
“Deputy Hawkins.” Nolan Greer’s voice cut through Jake’s concentration. “I thought you were wrapping up.”
Jake turned to find the superintendent hovering in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. The man’s perpetually tired eyes now held an unmistakable edge of irritation. His work boots shifted against the tiled floor, betraying his unease.
“It’s always good to have another pair of eyes check things out,” Jake replied evenly. “I spoke with Sheriff Graves. She asked Officer Delgado and me to take another look, purely as a matter of routine.”
“Routine? Accidents will happen. That’s all this was.”
“We’re just being thorough,” Jake said, studying the man’s reaction. “Standard procedure for any unattended death.” He couldn’t tell anyone here that Jenna had heard the dead woman say someone did this to her.
“But there was nothing suspicious about this.”
Jake knew that having cops around too long might be hard on the veneer of luxury that Calloway House advertised. But was there anything more behind the superintendent’s insistence that the investigation should end quickly?
Nolan’s tone turned more defensive as he continued, “No one had access to Donna’s condo. The place was locked up tight when I used my key to check on her.”
Jake kept his expression neutral, but the superintendent had just confirmed what he’d been thinking—Nolan had a key, which meant he had access, contrary to his own statement that “no one” could get in.
Before Jake could press further, Officer Delgado called out from the far corner of the room. “Deputy, I’ve got something here.”
Jake moved to join her, crouching down beside her. Nolan hovered uncomfortably in the background.
“What is it?” Jake asked.
Delgado pointed to a faint reddish smudge on the white tile floor, several feet away from where Donna’s body had been found. “It looks like someone tried to clean something up in a hurry,” she said, her voice low. “Blood, possibly. Fresh.”
Jake leaned closer. The smudge was subtle—easily missed on a cursory examination. Most of it had been wiped away, but traces remained in the grout lines between tiles.
“Good catch,” he said, rising to his feet. “Can you get enough to have it tested?”
“I don’t think so,” Delgado said. “But we could test the spot with luminol. That would tell us whether it’s really blood or not.”
“Good. Order a kit from forensics.”
As Delgado made the call, Jake considered the implications. The original theory—that Donna had fallen from the step ladder while changing a lightbulb and struck her head on the table’s edge—was looking increasingly questionable if that was her blood elsewhere in the room.
“What’s going on?” Nolan asked, his hands now shoved deep in his pockets.
Jake turned to face him. “It appears there might be more that we need to review here.”
“What are you talking about?” Nolan stepped further into the room, but Jake subtly moved to block his view of Delgado’s work.
“Based on what we’re seeing,” Jake said carefully, “there’s more to investigate. It’s still possible that someone might have attacked Ms. Marsh, killed her, then staged the scene to look like an accident with the stepladder and fallen lightbulb.”
Nolan’s face paled. “That’s—that’s crazy. Who would do that?”
“That’s what we need to find out.” Jake walked back to the table where Donna had supposedly hit her head. The other bloodstain there caught his attention in a new light. He bent closer, examining it.
That stain had seemed wrong to him before.
As he looked at it closely, he understood why.
The bloodstain seemed too neat, too contained for a genuine impact wound.
When someone hit their head hard enough to die, blood typically spattered, spread in patterns dictated by physics and the movement of the body.
This stain looked more like it had been deliberately placed—spread there with care rather than resulting from violent contact.
“This whole thing is ridiculous,” Nolan’s voice was strained. “Donna was alone in her condo. She fell. It was an accident.”
Jake straightened, meeting the superintendent’s agitated gaze. “Mr. Greer, we have reason to think otherwise. The blood smudge over there appears to have been hastily cleaned up, and the bloodstain on this table doesn’t match what we’d expect from an accidental fall.”
“So, what are you saying?” Nolan’s hands clenched at his sides.
“I’m saying this is now a potential homicide investigation.” Jake turned to Delgado. “Officer, mark this room as a crime scene.”
“You can’t do that,” Nolan protested. “The residents will panic. This is a luxury building, not some crime-ridden tenement. Do you have any idea what this will do to property values?”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Greer, a woman is dead. Property values aren’t my primary concern right now.”
Nolan took a step back, something flickering in his eyes that Jake couldn’t quite read. Was it fear? Anger? Or something more troubling?
“I need to inform the residents,” Nolan muttered. “They have a right to know what’s happening in their building.”
“We’ll handle the notifications,” Jake countered firmly. “In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you’d wait outside. This is now a restricted area.”
As Nolan reluctantly withdrew, Jake pulled out his phone to call Jenna. His eyes tracked the superintendent’s retreat, noting the stiffness in his body, the way his hands trembled slightly as he pushed through the door.
Jake’s suspicions, which had been nebulous before, now crystallized around Nolan Greer.
The man had access to every unit in the building.
And now he seemed unusually anxious about their investigation—concerned with property values rather than justice for a dead resident.
But Jake was a long way from having enough evidence to bring him in for questioning, let alone make an arrest.
As he dialed Jenna’s number, Jake watched Delgado carefully photographing the blood smudge. What had started as a routine death investigation was becoming something far more sinister. And the superintendent of Calloway House had just moved to the top of his list of persons of interest.