Page 61 of Silent Neighbor

EPILOGUE

Sheila gazed out the window of the Coldwater County Sheriff's Department, her mind half-lost in memory as she listened to Finn read off details about the killer whom she and Finn had confronted just two days ago. She shuddered at the memory: the vertigo-inducing height, the desperation in Jessica's eyes, the cold determination of the man they now knew to be Cameron Foster.

Here, in the safety of this office, that confrontation felt almost surreal.

"Forty-two years old, former search-and-rescue climber," Finn said, scanning the file in his hands. "Well-respected in the climbing community for years."

Sheila nodded, recalling the skill Foster had displayed on the cliff. "What changed?" she asked, taking a sip of her coffee. The bitter liquid helped ground her, a reminder that this was real, that they had indeed solved the case that had terrified their community.

Finn sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Tragedy struck about fifteen years ago. Foster was on a climbing expedition with his partner, Linda. They were attempting a notoriously difficult route, aiming to be the youngest team to complete it."

Sheila listened intently as Finn recounted the story that had shaped Foster's twisted worldview. A sudden storm, a moment of inattention, and Linda had fallen to her death. Foster had been left clinging to the cliff face, traumatized and forever changed by the experience.

"After that," Finn continued, "Foster became obsessed with the idea of respecting nature's power. He saw modern climbers, especially those who shared their exploits on social media, as disrespectful to the wilderness."

Sheila shook her head, thinking of the lives lost to Foster's warped sense of justice. "And that's why he targeted his victims?"

Finn nodded grimly. "Exactly. In his mind, he was protecting the sanctity of the wilderness."

They had found the victims' belongings in Foster's trailer—Jake Pearson's phone, Brad Blackwell's watch, and Ellen Reeves' tripod and camera. There was no question Cameron Foster was the killer and that he had acted alone.

Sheila leaned back in her chair, processing the information. "It's hard to imagine someone becoming so twisted by tragedy," she mused. "To go from saving lives to taking them..."

"Grief can do strange things to a person," Finn replied softly. "Foster's experiences shaped his worldview in a way that most of us can't comprehend. He saw himself as a protector, not a murderer."

They sat in silence for a moment, both contemplating the fine line between justice and vengeance, between protection and destruction. Sheila couldn't help but think of her own quest for justice—her mother's unsolved murder, the recent arrest of Eddie Mills. How close had she come to crossing that line herself? What if she were alone in a room with him, and she knew she could get away with anything?

Would she still put her trust in the justice system?

While she was still pondering this hypothetical situation, the door to their office opened. Hank Dawson, the interim sheriff, stepped in, a proud smile on his face. "Great work, you two," he said, his eyes twinkling with barely contained excitement. "Why don't you come out to the main room for a moment?"

Sheila glanced at Finn. He looked puzzled… or was that a smile hiding beneath his frown? Did he know what was going on?

Unsure what to think, Sheila followed Dawson out of the office, while Finn trailed behind her. As she stepped into the main room of the sheriff's department, she was greeted by a burst of applause. The space had been transformed with balloons, streamers, and a large "Congratulations" banner hung across the far wall. The familiar scent of stale coffee was overtaken by the aroma of fresh pastries and the tang of fruit punch.

"You sneaky bastards," Sheila said, shaking her head. She shot Finn an accusing look. "That's why you wanted to go over the case again—keep me trapped in there."

Finn shrugged innocently. "What can I say? I'm a team player."

Dawson grinned, clapping Sheila on the shoulder. "To be fair, this isn't entirely about your excellent work on this case. It's also a bit of a farewell party for me. With the new sheriff election coming up soon, I'll be stepping down."

Sheila felt a pang of sadness at the thought of Dawson leaving, but she could see the relief in his eyes. The interim position had been a heavy burden, one he had never sought.

"Looking forward to more fishing?" she asked with a smile.

Dawson chuckled, his weathered face creasing with genuine joy. "You bet. My old boat's been out of commission for too long. But don't worry," he added, his tone turning serious, "I'll be doing everything I can to support your election. With your family's standing in the community and your recent success, I have very little doubt you'll get the job."

Sheila said nothing. Instead, she took a moment to survey the room, all the smiling faces. These people supported her, believed in her. Who was she to turn them down? She wouldn't make a perfect sheriff, no, but then again neither had Natalie. Neither had her father. She would make mistakes, yes, but she could also learn from them.

Wasn't that really what counted?

I guess I'm doing it, then, she thought, feeling a strange thrill of excitement. Sheriff Sheila Stone.

Feeling lighter than she had in months, Sheila began to mingle with her colleagues. The room buzzed with conversation and laughter, a welcome change from the tension of the past few weeks. As she moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and sharing stories, she was struck by the sense of community in the department. These people had become more than coworkers; they were a family, united by their shared commitment to protecting Coldwater.

Sheila felt a growing sense of responsibility. If she did become sheriff, these people would be looking to her for leadership.

As she pondered this, a familiar face caught her eye. Star stood near the refreshment table, looking slightly out of place. Surprised and delighted, Sheila hurried over to her.

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