Page 7 of Silent Ritual

Sheila swallowed hard. She felt a familiar pang at the mention of her sister, an ache that hadn't dulled with time. “Let’s just stay on point here, okay?”

A few more moments passed in silence.

“I think it’s important we trust one another,” Finn said. “If we’re going to be romantically involved in one another’s lives.”

“It’s not about trust.”

He faced her. “I want to help you get through this. I really do. But if you don’t let me in, how can I?”

Sheila’s voice rose. “And how can I let you in if you keep trying to force your way in?” She sighed, exasperated. “I’m sorry, I’m just—”

“It’s okay. I get it, you’re on edge.”

On edge—yes, that described it pretty well. Sheila’s mouth watered at the prospect of having a drink. If she could just have one beer—just one to calm her racing thoughts—

As the cruiser rounded a bend, the headlights splashed across a solitary SUV parked awkwardly off the road, abandoned, its silver paint gleaming dully under the moon. A Subaru Outback, just like the tag on Vanessa’s keys.

“That must be it,” Sheila said, grateful for the distraction. She parked the car. Then, sensing she owed Finn something more, she paused before getting out.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she said. “But I need some time. When I’m ready to talk about her, I’ll let you know. Can you trust me on that?”

Finn's expression softened into a sad smile. “Sure, Sheila. I just don’t like you bearing this alone. It’s too much for one person.”

Sheila, not knowing how to respond, simply nodded and climbed out of the car.

As the two officers approached Vanessa’s SUV, Finn tossed Sheila a pair of latex gloves, then snapped a pair over his own hands. “I’ll call forensics as soon as we’re done here,” he said. “See if they can’t lift any DNA or fingerprints.”

Sheila unlocked the SUV remotely, then opened the driver door and peered inside. The interior of the vehicle was chaotic—a disordered collection of maps, protest flyers, and a few half-empty water bottles all indicating a life lived passionately and on the move.

"Everything looks pretty standard for an activist," Finn said, rifling through the papers in the glove compartment.

"Except activists don't usually end up dead with herbs on their body and symbols drawn around them," Sheila said. She checked the back seats, finding more of the same—signs of Vanessa's fervor for her cause, yet nothing that screamed motive for murder.

“Well, this is interesting,” Finn murmured, his head halfway inside the trunk. He emerged holding a thick book that looked like it might have been printed on the Gutenberg Press.

“‘Celestial Sorcery: Harnessing the Powers of the Stars and Planets,’” Finn said, reading the faded spine. “Think it could have to do with those symbols around her body?”

“The herbs, too,” Sheila murmured, studying the book. Finn passed it to her, and she leafed through it, searching for highlighting, notes, or other marks, but finding none.

“Let’s keep searching,” she said. “We’ll look into this afterward.”

As she returned to the search, her fingers grazed over the worn fabric of a tote bag nestled under the passenger seat. Carefully, she drew it out and placed it on the hood of the car.

"Look at this," she said, unzipping the tote to reveal a hodgepodge of flyers for environmental rallies, petitions filled with fervent signatures, and a collection of reusable water bottles. "She lived her cause."

"Passionate," Finn said, peering into the bag. They both knew Vanessa's dedication, but the ordinary objects did nothing to help explain why her life had been snuffed out so brutally.

As she sifted through the contents, Sheila's hand brushed against something solid. Pulling it out, she discovered it was a smartphone, its screen peppered with notifications. She held it up to the silvery moonlight, and her pulse quickened as she saw the same number repeated in the log of missed calls.

"Got something?" Finn asked, his voice tight.

"Her phone—missed calls, all from tonight. All from the same number." Sheila’s thumb hovered over the callback button. Before apprehension could grip her, she pressed it and brought the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" a male voice asked.

“Who is this?” Sheila asked.

“What are you talking about? Where’s Vanessa?"

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