CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“Found something!”

At those words, the three people watching the Coroner’s work at the old gravesites stepped forward eagerly. Melissa Stark, clad head-to-toe in a white hazmat suit that made her look like an astronaut, was directing her team with clinical precision. One of the workers gestured for the watchers to stay back.

Mayor Claire Simmons’s glared at both Jenna and Jake. “Stay out of their way,” the mayor had commanded them upon her arrival, as if she was the one in charge. The mayor’s charcoal suit was crisply tailored. Her hands were folded across her chest, each tap of her polished fingernail against her forearm expressing her annoyance at everything taking place around her.

As they stood waiting for the team to reveal their discovery, the Mayor asked sharply, “Sheriff, just what are you expecting to find here?” The question wasn’t just about the graves; it was a thinly veiled probe into Jenna’s methods, which so often strayed from the conventional path.

“Answers,” Jenna replied succinctly, her voice betraying none of the conflict she felt brewing inside her.

“Let’s hope they’re the right ones,” Mayor Simmons retorted, her skepticism audible. Jenna nodded, knowing that whatever was unearthed from the damp soil, it was as likely to raise questions as answers.

A few moments later, a second call echoed from workers at the adjacent gravesite, “Here too!”

Then Melissa Stark waved for Jenna and Jake to come closer, and they stepped gingerly across the soft earth. “Not too close, and don’t touch anything,” the coroner warned them.

Jenna and Jake stepped carefully forward, but the mayor lagged behind them. Among the sodden leaves and moist earth, there was no city seal or document to shield her from the raw reality of death.

As Jenna approached the two graves, the air was thick with the scent of disturbed soil and decay. Two human forms lay exposed, one a mere skeletal echo of its former self, the other still retaining some semblance of the flesh that once clothed it. Jenna’s gaze lingered on the body to the left; time had ravaged it far more than its companion.

“Forty years, at least,” Melissa Stark observed clinically from behind her hazmat mask as she surveyed the more decomposed corpse. “The other, about half as long.”

Jenna nodded, her throat tightening at the reality before her. It was one thing to speculate on the presence of bodies beneath the ground; it was another entirely to see them laid bare, victims of violence forgotten by time. She heard Jake clear his throat; even the former city cop was moved by the sight.

A rustling sound drew their attention to an examiner kneeling beside the body that had been buried for a longer time. With a gloved hand, he held up a weathered wallet plucked from the pocket of the remains. He passed it carefully to Melissa, who opened it with reverence due a relic of a bygone era.

“Lisa Donovan,” she read aloud, extracting a faded Trentville High School I.D. card. Jenna glanced over the coroner’s shoulder at the laminated snapshot of youth, the bright smile forever frozen in time.

Jenna stared at it silently. That long dark hair … those features … they did bear a resemblance to both of the women she’d seen in her dream, and also to the missing Amber.

The name meant nothing to anyone present—as far as they knew no family had reported Lisa missing, no classmates had cried out for justice. She was a phantom from 1984-85, lost to the world until now.

“Her Senior year,” Jake commented, looking at the card without touching it.

Jenna felt his gaze on her, full of unspoken questions that mirrored her own. A high school student, buried and forgotten, now unearthed by the hands of those seeking answers for another girl whose fate remained unknown. Like her own lost sister, some long past story clung to them, demanding to be acknowledged, to be solved. And Jenna would oblige; it was what she did.

The coroner’s movements were precise and respectful, treating the tragedy uncovered with professional detachment. After conferring with her team members, she turned and spoke to Jenna, Jake, and the mayor.

“It’s too soon to say the cause of the first victim’s death. But the second one seemed to have died from a gunshot wound to her head.”

“Sheriff,” Mayor Simmons’s voice cut through the solemnity of the scene, demanding attention while maintaining a slight distance. “What does this mean? Are these people related to Amber Stevens?”

Jenna met the mayor’s gaze. “I have reasons to suspect they might be connected,” Jenna replied, her words measured, hinting at knowledge she wasn’t prepared to reveal.

“Reasons?” Simmons’s tone sharpened, mirroring the impatience that flickered across her features. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

Jenna shifted uncomfortably, aware of every pair of eyes upon them. “It’s part of the ongoing investigation,” she managed to say, “which I’m not at liberty to discuss in detail.”

Simmons’s lips thinned, forming a line of disapproval. “How did you even find these graves?”

“Jake and I were following up on leads,” Jenna said, her voice steady. She could feel images from her dreams blending with reality, but she held firm. “As to the specifics, it’s...complicated.”

“Complicated,” the mayor echoed, disbelief etched into every syllable. “This isn’t something you can just leave unexplained.”

Jenna looked away toward the trees bordering the clearing, their branches swaying gently as if whispering secrets only she could hear. She knew she couldn’t provide the answers Simmons demanded—not yet. With a heavy heart, she repeated firmly, “It’s part of our investigation, Mayor. That’s all I can say right now.”

Mayor Simmons’s scrutiny lingered a moment longer before she turned her attention back to the grim task unfolding before them. Jenna took a deep breath and nodded to Jake, signaling that they needed to remain focused on the path ahead, no matter how murky it seemed.

Then Mayor Simmons’s voice cut through the morning air again, sharp and unyielding. “You told me there was no reason to believe Amber Stevens’s disappearance was part of a larger pattern, Sheriff. Have you changed your mind?”

Jenna felt the intensity of the situation pressing down on her. She swallowed hard, the dryness of her throat making it difficult to speak. “Yes,” she admitted, the words tasting like ash. “It’s looking more and more like we may have some sort of serial murders on our hands.” She paused, her green eyes scanning the dismal scene before her. “However, we have no concrete evidence that Amber Stevens is dead. Not yet.”

The mayor’s frown deepened, her arms still crossed in front of her as if bracing against Jenna’s revelation. “That makes no sense,” Simmons snapped. “How can you even link these two decayed bodies to a girl who’s been missing less than forty-eight hours?”

Before Jenna could muster a response, Jake stepped forward, his posture firm. “Mayor, I’ve seen Jenna piece together puzzles that seemed hopeless at first glance. Her instincts—” He glanced at Jenna, conveying silent reassurance, “—well, they’re sometimes astonishing. Not once have they led us astray.”

Jenna caught the earnest look in Jake’s eyes, grateful for his unwavering support even when she herself harbored doubts. The tightness in her chest eased a fraction, allowing her to draw a steadying breath. She wished she could share the dream that had led her here, but even with Jake’s endorsement, she knew those revelations would only invite much more than mere skepticism. Such claims would only convince both the mayor and Melissa Stark that Jenna was out of her mind—and that Jake was also crazy for giving her any credence.

“Instincts are all well and good, Sheriff Graves,” Mayor Simmons retorted, her voice threading the air with impatience, “but they need to be substantiated by solid evidence. And right now, you’re not providing any.” The mayor’s gaze lingered on Jenna, intense and demanding.

Jenna met the mayor’s glare, her throat tight. “I’m sorry, Mayor Simmons,” she said, her apology punctuated by the distant sound of shovels against earth. “I wish I could offer more concrete information at this stage.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Jenna,” the mayor snapped back. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she cast a final, disparaging glance over the site. “I’ll be heading back to City Hall. It’s my job to manage the repercussions of whatever mess this turns into.”

As Mayor Simmons stalked off toward her car, Jenna turned to Melissa Stark, who was still standing beside the open graves. “Melissa, please keep me updated on any new developments. We need to know who the second victim is,” Jenna said, her voice expressing urgency.

“Of course, Jenna,” Melissa replied through the muffled confines of her hazmat suit. Her nod was barely perceptible as her team continued their meticulous work.

Jenna left the scene with Jake, the two making their way back to the cruiser. When she closed the door with a soft thud, the sound somehow marked the end of one phase of the investigation and the beginning of another.

Jenna’s mind considered the images of the bodies, the ID card, the unanswered questions. Her hands tightened around the steering wheel, the key still resting in the ignition, yet to be turned. Jake’s presence was a tangible comfort, his steady breathing a counterpoint to her turmoil.

“What next?” Jake asked.

“We need to check in with Spelling,” Jenna said.

Jenna flicked on the speakerphone and dialed the number for Colonel Chadwick Spelling of the Highway Patrol. The line clicked, and the sound of his voice, crisp and authoritative, filled the confined space of the car.

“Colonel Spelling,” he announced with an inflection that brooked no nonsense.

“Colonel, it’s Jenna Graves. Any updates on Amber Stevens?” She cut straight to the chase, her eyes meeting Jake’s as they both waited for an answer.

“Still searching. No sign of her yet,” Spelling replied, displeasure clear in his tone. Jenna sensed the frustration behind his words—another hour passed, another hour that Amber remained missing. It was conventional wisdom in law enforcement that every minute a missing person remained unfound, decreased the chances that she was still alive.

“Sir, we’ve got a new development,” she continued. “We’ve just uncovered two bodies buried near the railroad crossing on Freeport Road outside Trentville. Not fresh burials, but possibly related to our current case.”

There was a brief pause on the line, a moment where protocol seemed to clash with surprise.

“Two bodies? Can you elaborate?” Spelling’s voice now carried an edge of concern.

“Both female,” Jenna said, her emerald eyes narrowing as she focused on the details. “One victim—Lisa Donovan, a high school senior from ‘84 or ‘85.”

“Lisa Donovan...” Spelling repeated, contemplative. “I’ll check our archives. How are these related to Stevens?”

“We’re not sure, but there’s a fear they might be connected to her disappearance.” Jenna’s admission was reluctant—a hunch without tangible proof.

“The other body,” she told Spelling, “was buried more recently and is still unidentified. Dr. Stark and her crew are on it. They’ll do everything they can for an ID.”

“Understood,” came Spelling’s reply, his tone practical and focused. “Your findings are disturbing, Sheriff Graves, but those graves are more your concern than mine at the moment. For the time being, I’ve got to concentrate Highway Patrol resources on finding Amber Stevens alive.”

“Agreed,” Jenna replied.

“Keep me informed, Sheriff Graves. We need facts, not speculation,” Spelling instructed, his voice returning to its habitual tone of command.

“Understood, Colonel. We will,”

Jenna’s thumb pressed the end call button, severing the connection with Colonel Spelling. She remained silent for a moment, processing the conversation.

“Frank Doyle might know something,” she murmured. The retired Sheriff had been around long enough to remember cases that everyone else had forgotten. Jenna reached for her phone, dialing Frank’s number with practiced ease. As the call connected, she placed the phone on the dash, activating the speaker function.

“Frank, it’s Jenna,” she said, “and Jake is here with me. I had another dream last night...” There was no need to embellish; Frank understood the significance of her dreams better than anyone.

She continued, “It led us to two old unmarked graves near a railroad crossing on Freeport Road.”

“Two graves,” Frank echoed, his response measured, carrying the gravitas of experience. Jenna could picture him now, sitting at his old wooden desk, deep in thought. Even after handing over the reins of local law enforcement to Jenna, he remained ever the protector of Trentville’s peace.

“One of the victims has been identified,” she said. “Lisa Donovan. She was a high school student when she died, around 1984 or 1985. Is that name familiar to you?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Jenna could almost hear the mental shuffling through memories and case files. Then Frank’s voice came through, gruff and laden with significance.

“Yes,” he said, his tone somber, “I know that name very well.”