Page 8 of Silent Home

"Just get it done," Sheila said."The sooner, the better."

Outside the office, the festival sounds had grown louder.Someone was testing a microphone on the street stage, their tapping echoing through the building.Somewhere, a film was starting, its bass notes thrumming through the walls.

"Mara Winters," Finn said quietly."Want to split up?I can take the coffee shop while you talk to Charlotte about the costume department."

Sheila nodded, but her mind was already racing ahead.A young actress in a vintage dress posed like a scene from a film.The killer had chosen that theater, that costume, that pose for a reason.This wasn't just murder—it was performance.

And somewhere in this building full of storytellers, someone knew the rest of the script.

CHAPTER THREE

The costume department occupied what had once been the theater's ballroom, back when the building hosted vaudeville shows in the 1920s.Ornate crown molding still traced the ceiling, though now clothing racks dominated the space, creating narrow aisles between walls of fabric and forgotten stories.

Charlotte Davis worked at a heavy wooden table near the windows, her silver-streaked hair caught up in a messy bun secured with what appeared to be a pencil.Pins bristled from the magnetic bracelet on her wrist as she marked alterations on a man's suit jacket.She looked up as Sheila approached, her round face creasing with concern.

"Sheriff Stone."She set down her chalk."I heard about Jessica.Is it true what they're saying?That she was..."Charlotte trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

"I'm afraid so."Sheila pulled out her phone, bringing up a photo of Jessica in the blue dress."I'm hoping you can help us identify this costume."

Charlotte slipped on her reading glasses, then went very still."Oh," she said softly."Oh no."

"You recognize it?"

"Of course I do.I designed it."Charlotte sank onto her work stool, her hands trembling slightly."It was for 'The Winter Palace'—independent film, shot here last spring.Period piece about the Russian revolution."She touched the screen gently."The lead actress was supposed to wear it in the execution scene."

Sheila felt a chill despite the warmth of the room."Was Jessica involved in that production?"

"She auditioned for the lead.Made it to the final round of callbacks, but..."Charlotte shook her head."She was devastated when she didn't get it.Kept the sides—the audition scenes—in her locker for weeks afterward.I'd find her in here sometimes, just looking at the costumes, running her lines."

The room suddenly felt closer, heavier with meaning.Racks of period clothing loomed around them like silent witnesses: Civil War uniforms, flapper dresses, Victorian mourning gowns.How many other dreams were stored here, preserved in fabric and thread?

"Tell me about Jessica," Sheila said, pulling up a nearby chair."How well did you know her?"

Charlotte began absently sorting her pins, a nervous habit that seemed to help her think."She started coming here about a year ago, between customers at the concession stand.Said the costumes helped her get into character, understand the people she was trying to portray."A ghost of a smile crossed her face."Most actors just want to look good, you know?But Jessica wanted to understand.She'd ask about the historical details, the social context, how the clothes would have affected movement and posture."

"Sounds like she was serious about her craft."

"She was.Maybe too serious, sometimes.This business..."Charlotte gestured at the surrounding costumes."It can consume you if you let it.All that pressure to be perfect, to be what everyone else wants you to be."She set down her pins."I got into this work because I love the artistry of it, the way clothing can tell a story.But I've seen what the industry does to young people like Jessica.The constant rejection, the criticism, always being told you're not quite good enough..."

Sheila thought of her own experience with Olympic kickboxing, the years of training only to fall short at the crucial moment and be eliminated from the competition."How did she handle her rejection from 'The Winter Palace'?"she asked.

"She was different afterward.More driven, maybe.Started taking on extra shifts to pay for private acting coaches.Applied to every casting call within a hundred miles."Charlotte began straightening items on her worktable."I tried to tell her to pace herself, that her time would come.But she was convinced she was running out of chances."

"Any conflicts with other actors?People who might have resented her dedication?"

Charlotte considered this."There's always competition, especially in a small market like this.But Jessica wasn't the type to make enemies.Though..."She paused.

"What is it?"

"Last week, I overheard her arguing with someone in the hallway.A man's voice, but I couldn't him clearly enough to tell if I recognized it."Charlotte frowned."I didn't think much of it at the time—actors and directors are always having intense conversations around here.But Jessica seemed upset afterward."

"Could you make out what they were arguing about?"

"She said something about 'promises that had been made'—that was all I caught.But..."Charlotte's hands stilled on her table."She came in here right after, asked to try on that blue dress.Said she needed to remind herself of something."She looked up at Sheila."I never thought...I mean, who would do something like this?Stage a murder like a scene from a film?"

"Someone who wanted to send a message," Sheila said quietly."Do you remember anything else about the man's voice?Any distinctive qualities?"

Charlotte shook her head."Just that he spoke quietly, intensely.Like he was trying not to be overheard."

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