Page 17 of Silent Ritual

“I just can’t make a connection,” Sheila said, leaning away from the laptop and rubbing her tired eyes. “What could be ‘impure’ about the two victims?”

She and Finn were sitting in a conference room at the Coldwater County Sheriff’s Department. Finn had his own laptop open in front of him, his screen filled with images of the crime scenes. After clearing Hawthorne of suspicion, they’d taken his suggestion that the ritualistic elements of the kills—the astrological symbols, the herbs—might point to a cleansing ritual of some kind, as if the killer had been offering the victims to a higher power to compensate for some wrong done. But Sheila couldn’t find anything in the victims’ pasts to explain such a perspective.

“It was just a theory, anyway,” Finn said, stifling a yawn. It was about noon, and the hours they had spent hunched over their machines had taken a toll. "Maybe there's no connection at all."

"But there has to be," Sheila said, frustration gnawing at her. She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "The killer selected these two women for a reason. If we want to stop him from attacking again, we need to figure out what the reason is."

The room fell silent as they both stared at their laptops, lost in thought. The hum of the air conditioning filled the silence, and Sheila found herself staring blankly at the photos of Emily Greenwald and Vanessa Hart plastered on the wall.

All of a sudden, her phone buzzed with an incoming call that made her heart lurch. It was her father.

“I should take this,” she said to Finn.

“Do what you gotta do.”

Sheila rose and, stepping out into the hallway, answered the call. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

“Oh, not a lot,” he answered in that gruff voice Sheila knew so well. “I just wanted to touch base about this weekend.”

This weekend, Sheila thought, trying to remember. She was drawing a blank.

“The cabin?” her father said.

“Oh, that’s right.” Her father had asked her about going together to Natalie’s cabin to look through her things, decide what they wanted to keep and what they wanted to get rid of. Now Sheila understood why she’d so conveniently forgotten about it—because she dreaded the idea of entering that building again. She remembered all too well how it had felt to walk in there a little over six months ago and find her sister dead on the floor.

“I’m not sure this weekend is going to work,” she said. “Maybe we can try sometime next week.”

There was a long pause.

“Listen,” her dad said in a heavy voice, “I know this is difficult. But it’s been half a year. I’m not saying you need to get over what happened—God knows I never will—but this is just one of those things you gotta do. I can’t keep paying for a property nobody’s using.”

“Then just hire a crew to clean it out,” Sheila said, trying not to get frustrated. “Rent a dumpster.”

“You know you’ll regret that.”

"Fine," Sheila said, pressing a hand against her forehead, frustration creeping into her voice. "How does Saturday sound?”

“Saturday works.” A pause. “Listen, why don’t you bring Finn along? I’d like to get a chance to talk to him, get to know him a bit better.”

He knows. The realization hit Sheila like a thunderbolt. She hadn’t told her dad she was dating anyone, and she carefully avoided talking about her partner, but somehow he had figured it out. The clever bastard.

“I’ll mention it to him,” she said dismissively. “But he might have plans.” She decided to change the topic. “How are you doing, Dad? How’s the knee?”

“The knee?” A low chuckle. “Oh, the knee's fine. I just use it as an excuse to avoid your grandmother's weekly game nights. Don't tell her that.”

Sheila couldn't suppress a laugh. "Your secret's safe with me, Dad."

They both fell silent. Sheila was about to end the conversation when her dad spoke up again.

"Heard from Star lately?" he asked. Sheila recalled how, recently, her dad had asked her to check on Star. Sheila had done so, only to discover that Star had been beaten by her father, leaving her with a bruised jaw and a swollen eye. Sheila had let Star's father know what would happen if he ever touched his daughter again, and in response, he'd thrown Star out. Now, Star was temporarily crashing at Star's home while she worked on a more long-term solution.

“I never touched base with you about that,” she said. “She’s actually been staying at my place.”

“At your place?” Her father sounded confused.

“Yeah. Her dad threw her out.”

He let out a low whistle. “Well, that's something. How's she doing?"

---