Page 56 of In Her Memory

“Kay Oster could help with that,” Jake suggested. “She’s good with genealogy research.”

Jenna agreed. The police station’s IT/Technical Support person was just the right person for that kind of research.

"Call her. Tell her we need everything she can find on Shannon descendants—anyone with a connection to the mansion or a grudge against the Calloways." She paused, thinking through the next steps. "And don't release Nolan yet. He might be useful—he knows this building better than anyone, passages aside."

“What about the residents?” Jake asked. “If our killer is using those passages to move around unseen— “

“They’re not safe,” Jenna finished. “Arrange for all of them to be moved out. To the Trentville Inn. If we take over an entire floor, that should be comfortable enough for them. Use whatever excuse you need to—tell them it’s temporary and just for their protection while we investigate.”

“And you?” Jake asked.

“I’m going to talk to Ray Pruitt,” Jenna said. “If he knew about those passages and kept it quiet, I want to know why.”

As she headed for the front door, Jake called after her. “Be careful. If Pruitt’s our guy—”

“I’ll be fine,” Jenna assured him. “Just get those residents relocated.”

She stepped out into the crisp October air, breathing deeply to clear her head. The mansion loomed behind her, its Gothic facade now seeming sinister rather than merely historic. Somewhere inside those walls, a killer had moved unseen, watching, waiting—perhaps was there even now.

“Sheriff Graves!”

The voice pulled her from her thoughts. Ethan Pierce stood at the bottom of the steps, camera bag slung over one shoulder, notebook already in hand.

“Mr. Pierce,” Jenna acknowledged, maintaining her pace toward the parking area. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for questions right now.”

“I just need a minute,” he persisted, falling into step beside her. “The public has a right to know what’s happening. One death might be coincidence, but two in the same building in such a short time? People are worried.”

Jenna stopped, turning to face him. “What I’m concerned about, Mr. Pierce, is having a reporter sensationalize a tragedy.” She kept her voice level despite the frustration building beneath it. “I’ll issue a statement when we have more information. Until then, I’d appreciate if you’d respect the integrity of our investigation.”

Pierce held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just doing my job, Sheriff. The same as you.”

“Then do it somewhere else,” Jenna replied, continuing toward her car.

She slid into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with more force than necessary. She pulled away from the curb, heading toward Pruitt Restoration & Contracting on the east side of town.

As she drove, her thoughts returned to the mansion—to the hidden passages and the deaths they must have facilitated. Jake might be right about the historical connection. The feud between the Shannons and Calloways had begun with betrayal and resentment; perhaps those emotions had been passed down through generations, finding new expression in the present day.

Perhaps this whole case was a story of simmering revenge that had at long last boiled over into murder.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Jenna turned right at Miller Avenue, heading east toward Pruitt Restoration & Contracting. Ray’s office was only ten minutes away, but her thoughts raced ahead, already rehearsing the confrontation.

Ray Pruitt. The man had been a thorn in her side since she’d taken office as sheriff. She’d cited him for code violations, hauled him in for drunk and disorderly, questioned him about equipment sabotage at rival job sites. He’d never given her an inch—always arguing, always deflecting, always somehow evading the worst consequences of his actions. His permanent scowl and confrontational attitude had earned him few friends in town.

But was he a killer?

Jenna thought back to their last encounter. She and Jake had responded to a call about a fight at The Centaur’s Den. Ray had been in the middle of it—bloody knuckles, torn shirt, and a wild look in his eyes as he squared off against a smaller man, a contractor who’d underbid him on a renovation job. It had taken both her and Deputy Hawkins to separate them, Ray still shouting threats even as they cuffed him.

I really can’t stand the guy, she thought.

But now, faced with the reality of two suspicious deaths, she had to put aside her personal dislike. The job required objectivity—a cold assessment of facts, not a reflection of past grievances. If Ray had information about those passages, she needed to hear it, whatever her feelings about the man. And even if he was the killer, she needed to find something more solid than her own suspicions. A motive, for example.

Jenna swung her car into the small parking lot beside Pruitt Restoration. The company operated out of a converted storefront, its large display windows now covered with photos of completed projects. A faded sign hung above the entrance—the paint peeling at the edges but the company name still visible: “Pruitt Restoration & Contracting: Quality Work Since 1985.”

She killed the engine and sat for a moment, gathering her thoughts. The morning had already brought too many surprises—Boyd’s death, the hidden passages, Nolan’s alibi. She needed to approach this interview methodically, not let her previous experience with this man cloud her judgment.

The bell above the door jingled as she entered. The reception area was small but neatly kept—a counter with a computer, a row of plastic chairs against one wall, and a coffee table covered with dog-eared magazines.