Page 27 of In Her Path

The coroner’s voice came through, crisp and professional. “I wanted to update you on the Paige case. I’ve completed the autopsy, and there’s no change to my earlier assessment. Toxicology’s still pending. The lab’s backed up, but I’ve asked them to put a rush on it. If there’s anything unusual, I’ll call you the minute I know.”

Jenna caught Jake’s eye. “Thanks, Melissa. That’s helpful.”

There was a pause, then Dr. Stark added, “One more thing. You mentioned the possibility that Paige was killed with a letter opener. But whatever the killer used, it wasn’t as wide as that. The weapon was too slender, also cylindrical, about a quarter of an inch in diameter. And it was very sharp at the point, not a blade that could cut sideways. It sure looks like an ice pick to me.”

Jenna thanked Melissa and ended the call, then turned to Jake. “So, we’re back to ice pick.”

“And moving further away from Natalie Grasso,” Jake said. “Her alibi checked out, and now we know she couldn’t have done it with a letter opener anyway.”

“Did you hear back from your contact at the state crime lab?”

“Fingerprints from the scene are being processed now. They’ve promised results by tomorrow morning. Anything they find will go straight to our database. Has Deputy Ellison reported in?”

“Repeatedly,” Jenna said. “She’s been poring over documents taken from Paige’s office with a fine-tooth comb, all day long. What she’s finding isn’t pretty. Paige was up to no good about all sorts of local matters. But so far, Ellison hasn’t found anything that might point to Paige’s killer.”

Jenna leaned forward, pulling Natalie’s folder toward her. “Let’s go through this again. There has to be something we’re missing.”

Jenna had been through Natalie’s research twice already, but she spread the documents across her desk once more. Newspaper clippings, printed emails, financial records, photographs—all meticulously organized and labeled in Natalie’s tight, angular handwriting. Each item represented a piece of Curtis Paige’s corruption—dirt dug up, connected, and documented with the thoroughness of a true journalist.

“The problem isn’t finding people who wanted him dead,” Jake said, flipping through a stack of city council meeting minutes. “It’s figuring out which one actually did it.”

Jenna checked her watch—6:50. “We need to get going. The mayor’s meeting starts at seven.”

Jake’s expression darkened. “You know she’s going to announce that we’ve caught the killer, right? That’s what the press release said.”

“I know.” Jenna gathered her notes, shoving them into her bag. “And we’re going to have to set the record straight.”

“She’s not going to like that.”

“No, she’s not.” Jenna grabbed her jacket from the hook behind the door. “But I didn’t get elected to make Claire Simmons happy. I got elected to find the truth.”

Jake grinned. “And I’m with you, Sheriff. Now and always.”

They headed for the main exit, Jenna pausing to tell the desk sergeant where they’d be. Outside, the evening air had turned cool. Jenna breathed it in, letting it clear her head.

“What are we going to do about Oswinkle?” Jake asked as he slid into the driver’s seat, starting the engine.

“Hold him on the resisting and assault charges until we can either eliminate him as a suspect or find something that tells us he’s our guy.” Jenna said. “In the meantime, we’ve got to keep looking.”

*

As Jake pulled the patrol car into the City Hall parking lot, Jenna could see a crowd already forming on the steps—at least thirty people clustered in small groups, their voices carrying across the square in a low, expectant hum. Portable lights had been set up near the entrance, casting harsh shadows across the gathering. A makeshift podium stood at the top of the steps, a cluster of microphones waiting for the evening’s speakers.

A van with the Gateway Herald logo was parked near the square, a reporter she didn’t recognize conducting an interview with an older woman at the edge of the crowd. Nearby, a camera crew from the Pinecrest affiliate station was setting up, their equipment catching the last of the day’s light. A woman in a bright blue suit adjusted her earpiece as she consulted with her producer, her expression serious.

As Jenna and Jake crossed the square, snippets of conversation reached them:

“—heard they caught him at his old store—”

“—always knew he was trouble, ever since—”

“—thank God it’s over, I haven’t slept since—”

People nodded at Jenna as she passed, some smiling with relief, others watching her with wary eyes. A man she recognized as the owner of the gift shop on Elm Street waved in greeting. “Sheriff, thanks for getting this taken care of so fast.”

Jenna was unsure how to respond. The town already believed they had their killer—the news had spread with the efficiency of small-town gossip, facts bending to fit the narrative of closure and safety.

At the foot of the courthouse steps, Mayor Claire Simmons stood at the center of a cluster of council members, her back straight, one hand cutting a short, decisive arc through the air as she made a point. She wore a navy blue pantsuit with decorative brass buttons, low-heeled pumps, and a hat with a brim. When she spotted Jenna and Jake, her expression shifted from conversation to command in an instant. She gestured, beckoning them over.