Page 15 of In Her Bed
Jenna waited until Morgan and Spelling were out of earshot before responding.
“The dream showed me those vacuum tubes for a reason,” she whispered back.“And it’s too much of a coincidence that Derrick was ranting about the same technology that appeared in my vision.”
Jake’s expression remained neutral, but she could see the concern in his eyes.“You think he might have been right?That someone was after him because of what he knew?”
Jenna glanced ahead to ensure Morgan and Spelling couldn’t hear them.“I think,” she said quietly, “that just maybe he was.”
If Derrick’s paranoia had been justified, if some mysterious “them” had come after him, then his murder wasn’t random and other lives could also be at risk.
Suddenly, the old vacuum tube radio seemed less like an eccentric’s toy and more like a key to this case—to finding out why Marcus Derrick had to die.
CHAPTER SIX
The gates of Howard Mitchell’s estate opened for Chief Morgan’s SUV, as though acknowledging their authority.Jenna watched through the passenger window as the sprawling property unfolded before her—manicured lawns stretching toward a mansion with stone columns flanking the entrance and meticulous hedgerows lining a circular driveway.
“Quite the spread,” Jake murmured from the back seat.
Chief Morgan parked near the front entrance, killing the engine.Mitchell built this place 25 years ago.Later, he made a fortune with his chain of electronics stores.”
Jenna looked around as she and her colleagues stepped out of the car.It seemed odd that this place, with its perfected appearance, was connected to the bizarre scene they’d left behind in that lonely trailer.The men who had lived in such contrasting surroundings had shared a common interest in electronics.Or was it death that had tied these two worlds together?
“His daughter’s managing the estate sale,” Chief Morgan continued as they approached the heavy oak doors.“Been going on for a couple of months now.Mostly specialized collectors.She’ll be expecting us.”
Before they reached the entrance, one of the doors swung open.A man in his fifties, dressed in what Jenna recognized as the uniform of household staff for the wealthy, stood in the doorway.His posture was impeccable, and his expression was professionally neutral despite the circumstances.
“Chief Morgan,” he acknowledged.“Ms.Mitchell mentioned you would be stopping by.”
“Franklin,” Morgan nodded.“Sheriff Graves and Deputy Hawkins from Genesius County, and Colonel Spelling from the State Highway Patrol.”
Franklin’s gaze swept over them, betraying no curiosity about why three law enforcement agencies were at his employer’s doorstep.“Please, come in.Ms.Mitchell is in the main gallery.”
The foyer opened into a two-story entryway with a crystal chandelier hanging from a coffered ceiling.Jenna noted the tasteful art on the walls—original paintings, not prints.But what caught her attention wasn’t the wealth on display but the voices echoing from deeper in the house—the murmur of multiple conversations and occasional exclamations of appreciation.
Franklin led them through double doors into what could only be described as a museum.Jenna stopped short, momentarily stunned by the display before her.
The room was massive, easily sixty feet long, with vaulted ceilings and track lighting that illuminated hundreds, perhaps thousands, of audio devices arranged by era.Glass cases held what appeared to be the oldest pieces: wax cylinders, hand-cranked phonographs with massive horns, ancient-looking record players.Free-standing displays featured radios from every decade, their wooden cases gleaming under the carefully positioned lights.
“My God,” Jake whispered beside her.“It’s like walking through the entire history of sound.”
About twenty people moved through the space, examining pieces with the reverent attention of true enthusiasts.Jenna watched as a man with wire-rimmed glasses bent to study a 1930s radio, hovering over it without touching anything.
“Mr.Mitchell insisted nothing be kept in storage,” Franklin explained, noticing their reactions.“He believed collections were meant to be displayed, not hidden away.”
Jenna’s gaze traveled along the collection, taking in the progression from primitive technology to more sophisticated equipment.She stopped when she reached a section dedicated to ham radios—equipment similar to what they’d found at Derrick’s.Several spaces were empty, and tags indicated items had been sold.
“Ah, there’s Rebecca now,” Chief Morgan said, drawing Jenna’s attention to a woman making her way toward them.
Rebecca Mitchell appeared to be in her early forties, dressed in a simple black dress.Her dark hair was pulled back in a loose knot, and though her makeup was understated, Jenna could see the evidence of sleepless nights around her eyes.As she drew closer, Jenna felt the weight of grief surrounding the woman, not the raw, new anguish of sudden loss, but the bone-deep exhaustion that comes from dealing with death’s aftermath.
It was a feeling Jenna knew intimately from her father’s passing.The decisions no one prepares you to make, the constant platitudes from well-meaning acquaintances—all while trying to process your own grief.
“Hello, Chief Morgan,” she said.“How may I help you?”
Morgan made introductions.“This is Sheriff Jenna Graves from Genesius County, her deputy Jake Hawkins, and Colonel Spelling from the Highway Patrol.”
Rebecca shook each of their hands, her grip firm despite her evident fatigue.“Three different agencies?I’m not sure whether to be intrigued or alarmed.”
“It’s a somewhat unusual situation,” Jenna said, offering a smile meant to reassure.“First, though, I want to express my condolences for your loss.Losing a parent is never easy, regardless of the circumstances.”
