Brooke Jennett

That went double for this new location I found myself living in.

Like the house, the surrounding area was a bit dull.

The plains were, well, flat and devoid of any vegetation outside of a few scattered trees and fields of future produce items.

I had been born and raised in Colorado, so anything that didn't look like a Coors beer commercial was foreign to me.

As far as I was concerned, this place was as foreign as it got.

The town was about a 10 minute ride away, and the downtown consisted of a few small blocks of short squat buildings catering to local farmers and ranchers in the area.

There were a few bars, a bank, and a few small diners, two old stone churches, and a country western dance hall.

This felt like the place the New York Times sent reporters when they wanted to find out what conservative Americans thought about national politics.

I came from Denver, so this vibe was outside of my comfort zone.

Just beyond the downtown was a slate of chain stores and restaurants.

I found myself drifting there more often than not.

It was where the grocery stores were, but also the only Starbucks in a 50-mile radius.

Yes, it was inside a truck stop and not the best cup of coffee I've ever had, but the people watching more than made up for it.

It was an adjustment, but I was adjusting.

I often found myself in my room reading the latest book in my murder mystery series, scrolling through TikTok, or texting with friends back home.

I had told people I planned on moving back when this was all over, which is a nice way of saying when Agnes dies, but I wasn't sure.

Denver was nice, but life was too short to spend time in one place.

I wanted to see the world,

The first time I noticed something was off was when I entered my room after a long day and discovered one of the posters I had brought had been ripped in half.

Part of it was still stuck to the wall.