Page 52 of In Her Path

The room went silent. Whatever invisible thread connected Piper to the world beyond ordinary perception, it had just delivered a warning they couldn’t ignore.

“Frank,” Jenna said, not taking her eyes off Piper. “You know Meredith. Where does she live?”

“West side of town,” Frank replied. “Maple Street. Small yellow house with a white porch.”

“Then that’s where we’re going.” Jenna turned to Jake. “Call Clancy. Have him send a unit to meet us there, but tell them no forced entry until we arrive.”

Jake was already reaching for his phone. “On it.”

Jenna moved to the door, pausing to look back at the evidence spread across the Mayor’s office—the ice pick, the filing cabinet with its drawer still open, the box with its awful contents. The Highway Patrol’s forensics team would be here soon to process it all. For now, it would have to wait.

“Piper,” she said, “are you coming with us?”

Her sister was already moving toward the door. “Yes. I need to be there.”

They gathered their things quickly—phones, notebooks, sidearms checked and secured. No one spoke as they left the Mayor’s office, closing the door carefully behind them. The building had come fully awake now, the morning routine in full swing. Administrative staff moved through the corridors with coffee cups and folders, glancing curiously at the sheriff’s party as they passed.

No one stopped them. No one asked questions. But Jenna could feel the scrutiny of watching eyes, the whispers that would follow their departure. They rushed out through the front doors. Their county vehicle sat in the reserved spot near the entrance.

As they crossed the parking lot, Jenna fell into step beside Piper. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

Her sister nodded, though the tension around her eyes suggested otherwise. “I will be. Once we know Meredith’s safe.”

Jake reached their vehicle first, unlocking it with a chirp of the remote. “I’ll drive,” he said, already moving toward the driver’s door.

“Piper and I will ride with you,” Frank said. He steered Piper into the back seat and got in beside here. As Jenna slid into the passenger seat, she wondered whether they were on the right track. Could they save a life in the next few minutes, or were they going to lose yet another one?

CHAPTER TWENTY

Jake hit the siren as they left downtown, heading west toward the residential side of Trentville. The storefronts and parking meters soon gave way to chain-link fences and yard signs. In the back seat, Frank sat with his arms crossed and Piper with her hands folded, both of them quiet. Jenna watched the houses blur past her window and turned over the same thought she had been trying to set aside for the last ten minutes.

Sure that Jake must be dealing with the same issue, she asked him, “A little while ago, we were trying to figure out why Claire would leave evidence in her office and let herself appear on the security tape. And you said, ‘I wonder,’ but then you stopped short. What was on your mind?”

“Look, I hate to say this …” Jake began cautiously, still keeping his eyes on the road. “But I can’t help wondering about Meredith Soll. I know, she seemed genuinely upset, but … Shouldn’t she be on our radar—as a suspect, I mean?”

Jenna frowned. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. Fighting it, but thinking it.”

“You two are way off base,” Frank said firmly from the back seat. “I’ve known Meredith all her life. She’s one of the gentlest people I know.”

“You’re probably right, Frank,” Jenna replied. Meredith was the last person Jenna wanted to suspect. She had always seemed so devoted to Claire, and she’d looked truly horrified at the idea that the Mayor might be a murderer. Jenna’s heart had gone out to her.

No, it just can’t be Meredith, she told herself.

But then, even if Frank was right, there was still the question of where the two women were now. Was Meredith about to become a victim of the real killer? Was it possible that the killer might be Mayor Claire Simmons? Or were both women in danger from someone they had failed to identify yet?

Jake shut down the siren and turned onto a tree-lined avenue of modest homes that had been built in the 1950s. Most were single-story with postage-stamp front yards and carports instead of garages. “Which house?” he asked.

“Yellow, white porch,” Frank replied. “On the left, about halfway down.”

They found it quickly—a small bungalow with faded siding and a covered porch on the front. A county patrol car was already parked at the curb, two officers standing beside it. One of them—Officer Quinn—straightened when he saw their vehicle.

Jenna was out of the car before it had fully stopped, Frank and Piper close behind.

“Sheriff,” Quinn greeted her. He was a solid man in his forties, his uniform crisp, his expression concerned. “Deputy. Mr. Doyle.” He spoke to each in turn, then paused when he saw Piper. “Ma’am.”

“This is my sister,” Jenna explained briefly. “She’s consulting on the case.” She gestured toward the house. “What have you found?”

“Nothing yet,” Quinn replied. “No answer at the door, front or back. Lights off inside. Car’s not here.”