Page 53 of In Her Path

Jenna studied the house. The front curtains were drawn, the porch swept clean. A pot of bright red geraniums sat beside the front door. Nothing suggested urgency or alarm.

“We need to get inside,” Jenna said.

Quinn hesitated. “We don’t have a warrant, Sheriff.”

“I’m aware of that, Officer. But given the circumstances—two homicides and a missing mayor—I think exigent circumstances apply.”

Quinn exchanged a glance with his partner, a younger officer with a patchy attempt at a mustache. Then he turned back to Jenna and told her, “Yes, ma’am, if you say so.”

They moved toward the house as a group. Jenna felt Piper’s hand brush against her arm—a brief, light touch. Her sister’s face had taken on that inward look again, her attention turned to something beyond the physical world.

“We need to hurry,” Piper said quietly.

Jenna could feel her sister’s anxiety. “Jake?”

He was already moving, testing the front door. Locked. He stepped back, raised his foot, and delivered a solid kick just beside the lock. The doorframe splintered, and the door swung inward with a groan.

They entered in formation with their guns drawn—Jenna first, then Jake. Quinn and his partner followed, also with weapons ready. The interior was quiet and still.

“Meredith?” Jenna called.

No answer came.

When Jenna and her team moved carefully ahead, Frank and Piper stepped into the house behind them.

The small entryway opened into a living room furnished with a couch, armchair, and coffee table—all neat, all showing signs of careful maintenance. A television sat on a stand in the corner, remote control aligned precisely beside it. A hallway led deeper into the house.

“We’ll check the kitchen,” Quinn said, already moving ahead with his partner.

“You two stay here,” Jenna said to Frank and her sister. Frank stood protectively in front of Piper, waiting for them to return.

Jenna moved ahead and through a bedroom doorway, sweeping it with her weapon. A quilt pulled tight across the bed, corners tucked with almost institutional precision. Closet door open—she pushed it wider. Clothes arranged by color, shoes paired on a rack below them.

“Well, she sure keeps a tidy house,” Jake said, following behind her.

Quinn’s voice called from down the hall. “All clear in the kitchen. There’s a spare room—looks like a home office. Nobody there.”

“Check the yard,” Jenna instructed. “We’ll finish up in here.”

Jenna moved toward the bedroom window, peered through the curtain at the empty driveway. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get back to the others.”

She and Jake both holstered their weapons. When they returned to the living room, Frank’s eyes were full of questions.

“Nothing,” Jake told him. “No sign she was taken, no sign of violence.”

But something about the house felt wrong to Jenna. Too quiet. Too still. As if it were holding its breath.

“Buttons,” Piper said suddenly. She was standing in the center of the living room, her body rigid with concentration.

“What?” Frank asked.

“Buttons. They keep saying it. Brass buttons lie in ashes.”

“Brass buttons,” Jenna repeated. “The Mayor’s suit, remember. It had large brass buttons.”

“They ‘lie in ashes,’” Jake echoed Piper’s words. “What does that mean?”

Jenna turned, scanning the room. Her gaze landed on the fireplace—a small, brick affair set into the far wall. A decorative screen stood before it, but through the mesh, she could make out the gray-white remnants of ash.