Page 12 of Silent Prayer

Sheila studied him for a few long seconds before turning her attention back to the road. "You don't really think that," she said.

Finn sighed. "It never hurts to be optimistic, does it?"

Sheila slowed the SUV as they neared Chester's Bar and Grill. The neon sign cast a dim, reddish glow over the nearly empty parking lot, the flickering 'R' giving the place an eerie, abandoned feel.

"Not exactly bustling," Finn said as they stepped out of the SUV.

Sheila shrugged, her eyes scanning the area. "We just need to find one person who was here three nights ago, that's it."

They entered the bar, the smell of stale beer and fried food hitting them immediately. A few patrons lingered at the bar, nursing their drinks in silence. Country music played softly froman old jukebox in the corner, the melancholy tune fitting the mood perfectly.

The bartender, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a faded tattoo on his forearm, looked up as they approached. "We're about to close up," he said, his tone weary.

Sheila flashed her badge. "Deputy Stone, Coldwater County Sheriff's Department. This is Deputy Mercer. We need to ask a few questions about a patron who was here three nights ago."

The bartender sighed, setting down the glass he'd been cleaning. "Three nights ago? Sorry, but I wasn't working then."

"Is there anyone here whowasworking then?" Sheila asked.

The bartender thought for a moment, his brow furrowed. "Well, Irene was on shift. She's in the kitchen now, closing up."

Sheila and Finn exchanged a look of renewed hope. "Can we speak with her?" Finn asked.

The bartender shrugged. "Sure, go on back. Just don't get in the way of closing procedures. Boss hates it when we're late locking up."

As they made their way to the kitchen, Sheila couldn't help but notice the worn-down appearance of the place. Faded posters of long-past events clung to the walls, and the floor was sticky beneath her boots. It was the kind of place where secrets could easily be buried, forgotten in the haze of alcohol and dim lighting.

They pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen. The clanging of pots and the hiss of a cleaning spray filled the air. A petite woman with curly red hair was wiping down a stainless steel counter, her movements quick and efficient.

"Irene?" Sheila asked.

The woman's head snapped up, her eyes widening at the sight of the deputies. "Y-yes?" she stammered, taking a step back. Her hand clutched the cleaning rag tightly, knuckles white with tension.

Sheila held up her hands in a calming gesture. "We're not here to cause trouble. We just need to ask you a few questions about a patron from three nights ago."

Irene's eyes darted between them and the exit. "I don't...I don't know anything. I just serve drinks and food, that's all."

Seems awfully edgy,Sheila thought.Maybe she's had run-ins with the law before.

Finn stepped forward, his voice gentle. "This is very important," Finn said. "A woman's life may depend on it."

Irene swallowed hard. "What exactly do you want to know?"

Sheila showed her the photo of Sophie. "Do you remember seeing this woman here?"

Irene studied the photo, recognition dawning in her eyes. "Yeah, I remember her. She was sitting at a corner table, looked kind of nervous. Kept checking her phone."

"Was she meeting someone?" Finn asked.

Irene nodded. "A man. I didn't get a good look at him, though. He was wearing a hat, kept his head down most of the time."

"Can you describe him at all?" Sheila asked, hope rising in her chest.

Irene furrowed her brow. "Um, average height, I guess? Dark clothes. Kind of looked like a politician, you know? Fancy suit and all that."

Sheila nodded, filing this information away. "Do you remember anything else? When did they leave?"

"It was late," Irene said. "We were about to close up. They left together through the side door. The man...he had his hand on her back. It looked...I don't know, possessive?"

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