Page 33 of In Her Memory

“My great-grandfather worked in Shannon’s mines. So did his brother. Stories passed down in my family about the conditions they endured—twelve-hour shifts, cave-ins that were never properly addressed, wages that barely fed their families.” Nolan’s voice had taken on a bitter edge. “My great-grandfather’s brother died when a support beam collapsed. Shannon didn’t even pay for the funeral.”

Jenna watched him carefully. The pain in his voice seemed genuine—old wounds inherited through generations.

“I wish this place had been torn down and forgotten,” Nolan continued. “Instead, Boyd Calloway comes in, puts a fresh coat of paint on it, and suddenly it’s a luxury address. People living in modern comfort where a man who caused so much suffering once walked.” He exhaled slowly. “But since that decision wasn’t mine to make, I might as well have a job here.”

“And make everyone’s life difficult in the process?” Jake asked.

Nolan replaced the sheet over Shannon’s portrait with unexpected care. “I’ve been as open and honest as I can be. If you have any more questions, I’ll only answer them with a lawyer present.” He turned toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go assist Mr. Bickel in his investigation. You can show yourselves out.”

They watched him leave, the door left slightly ajar behind him.

“Well,” Jake said after a moment, “that was illuminating.”

Jenna remained focused on the covered portrait, her mind turning over everything Nolan had said—and everything he hadn’t.

“Do you think he’s still hiding something, besides that he’s probably been deliberately causing maintenance problems?”

“I’m not sure.” She turned away from the portrait. “But I don’t think he killed Donna Marsh.”

They made their way back through the hallway, the foyer, and out the heavy front door into the crisp October afternoon. The sun had slipped lower, casting long shadows across the manicured grounds of Calloway House.

“You don’t think Nolan is our killer?” Jake asked as they walked down the stone steps. “He could have motive—if Donna caught him sabotaging something. He had opportunity. And he clearly has a grudge against this place and what it represents.”

Jenna shook her head. “It doesn‘t fit. The sabotage was petty, annoying—not dangerous. Flickering lights and drafty rooms don’t escalate to murder overnight.”

“Unless he was cornered. People do unexpected things when they’re backed into a corner.”

They reached the patrol car, and Jenna paused with her hand on the door handle. “What about the ghost?”

Jake snorted. “Convenient distraction. He knew what Shannon looked like from that old portrait and made up the ghost story to throw us off track.”

“Maybe.” But something about Nolan’s fear had seemed genuine to Jenna. She’d interviewed enough suspects over the years to recognize authentic emotion. And what she’d sensed from Nolan when he described seeing Shannon’s ghost was pure, undiluted terror.

“The mayor said Boyd Calloway was coming to Trentville tonight,” Jake reminded her. “He’s holding a meeting here tomorrow morning.”

“We’ll want to be here for that,” Jenna said. “Meanwhile, I think maybe we should give Calloway a call and let him know that his super has been sending letters attacking his project.”

She slid into the driver’s seat while Jake settled beside her. Before she could turn the key in the ignition, Jake’s phone rang. He answered with a curt “Hawkins,” then listened for several moments, his expression shifting to one of resignation.

“We’ll be right there,” he said, ending the call. “That was Hugh at the station. Bar fight brewing at the Rusty Nail. Apparently, someone accused someone else of cheating at darts, and now there are four pickup trucks in the parking lot with their engines running.”

Jenna sighed and started the car. “The ghosts of Calloway House will have to wait.”

“You don’t actually believe— “

“I don’t know what I believe.” She pulled out of the driveway, tires crunching on gravel. “But right now, we’ve got a normal job to do.”

Jake reached for the radio to alert dispatch they were en route. Jenna cast one final glance at Calloway House in her rearview mirror. For now, the mystery would have to simmer. But Jenna couldn’t shake the feeling that Nolan’s ghost story wasn’t just a convenient lie—and that whatever haunted Calloway House was far more complicated, and more dangerous, than the restless spirit of old Pete Shannon.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Emma trudged along a dirt road, her worn sneakers kicking up small clouds of dust with each weary step. The long day – the freight car hopping, the hours spent collecting discarded bottles, the nervous glances over her shoulder – had tired her. But she wasn’t alone on this empty stretch of road; the life-sized figure of Loyalynne drifted beside her, its porcelain face turned toward the dying light.

“You need to move faster,” Loyalynne said, her glass-blue eyes fixed on the horizon. “We need to be far from town before full dark.”

Emma swallowed a retort, tasting dust and thirst. Her legs ached from the day’s efforts.

“I’m trying,” she finally replied, adjusting the small backpack that contained everything she now owned. “Not all of us are made of porcelain and magic.”