Page 24 of In Her Memory

A desk sergeant looked up as she entered, taking note of her uniform.

“Sheriff Graves? They’re expecting you. Down the hall, second door on the right.”

Jenna said “thanks” and headed where indicated. She found Colonel Spelling standing in what appeared to be a conference room, conversing in low tones with a stocky man in a Clarksboro police uniform.

Spelling straightened when he saw her. “Sheriff Graves, glad you could make it so quickly.”

His formal tone didn’t match the understanding in his eyes. Since learning about her psychic abilities, Spelling had developed a new kind of respect for Jenna—one that acknowledged both her professional competence and her unique perception.

“Colonel,” she acknowledged, then turned her attention to the other man.

“This is Chief Mitch Esterhaus,” Spelling introduced. “Chief, this is Sheriff Jenna Graves from Genesius County.”

Esterhaus extended his hand. His grip was firm, his expression a mix of professional courtesy and curiosity. “Sheriff. Heard a lot about you.” His eyes lingered on her face a beat longer than necessary. “Colonel Spelling told me that the missing woman is your twin sister. I can definitely see the resemblance.”

“Thank you for calling this in so promptly,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “I understand someone spotted a woman matching my sister’s description?”

Esterhaus gestured for them both to sit at the small table. “Helen Bowerman called it in. Said she hired a woman who looked just like the photo in the APB to do some yard work. But before that, another witness saw the same woman at Ed’s Pawn & Loan.”

“The bicycle?”

“Yes,” Esterhaus confirmed, flipping open a small notebook. “According to the witness—Martha Whelan, who owns the bakery across from Ed’s—a woman matching your sister’s description arrived on a blue Schwinn, went inside with it, and came out without it. Martha didn’t think much of it until she saw the APB.”

“And this woman,” Jenna said carefully, “did anyone speak to her? Did she give a name?”

Esterhaus glanced at his notes. “Helen says she called herself Emma Kirby.”

The name hit Jenna like a physical blow. Emma Kirby—the identity Piper had assumed after she disappeared twenty years ago. So, she’d taken that name again when she fled last night. Colonel Spelling must have noticed her reaction because he shifted slightly in his chair, his attention sharpening.

“What else can you tell us about her?” Spelling asked.

Esterhaus shrugged. “Not much. Helen says she seemed desperate for work. Hired her to clear some leaves, paid her in cash.

“When was this?” Jenna asked.

“This morning, around ten. Helen suggested some other houses in the neighborhood where she might find work.”

Jenna leaned forward. “And has anyone seen her since?”

“Not that’s been reported.” Esterhaus closed his notebook. “But Clarksboro’s a small town. If she’s still here, shouldn’t be hard to find her.”

“Unless she doesn’t want to be found,” Jenna murmured.

“We should start with the pawn shop,” Spelling said, standing. “Confirm it’s the right bicycle.”

“Let’s go,” Esterhaus said. “I’ll drive you there.”

Jenna pushed back from the table. Her legs felt unsteady, but she forced herself to stand tall.

Jenna and Spelling followed Esterhaus out to his patrol car. Soon they pulled up in front of Ed’s Pawn & Loan, the shop’s faded green awning flapping weakly in the afternoon breeze. Jenna’s pulse quickened as she stepped onto the cracked sidewalk.

A bell jangled discordantly as Esterhaus pushed open the door. The interior was dim and cluttered; shelves and glass cases crammed with the discarded treasures and desperate sacrifices of Clarksboro residents. Guitar amplifiers stacked alongside tarnished silverware sets. Watches and jewelry beneath smudged display glass. Tools hanging from pegboards. The air smelled of dust and metal polish.

And there it was.

Jenna’s breath caught in her throat. Propped against the back wall among a half-dozen other bicycles stood a woman’s blue Schwinn. Jenna would have recognized it anywhere.

She moved toward it as if in a trance, barely aware of Colonel Spelling watching her carefully. She reached out toward the worn leather seat.