Page 6 of Silent Past

Sheila met her father's gaze. "I've been ready since the day Mom died."

Gabriel studied her face for a long moment, then nodded and released her arm.

They approached the house carefully, staying in the shadows. The front porch steps creaked under their weight. Sheila examined the lockbox while Gabriel kept watch.

"Could get a warrant," he suggested.

"And give him time to destroy evidence if he's staying here? No. We need to do this now." She moved to one of the windows, testing the frame. It didn't budge.

They circled the house, checking windows as they went. At the back, they found what they were looking for—a window with a broken latch, probably damaged during a storm.

"You sure about this?" Gabriel asked as Sheila worked the window open. "Breaking and entering's a felony."

"So is murder," she replied. "Besides, I'm the sheriff. If anyone asks, we had probable cause."

The window opened with a soft scrape. Sheila climbed through first, landing quietly on what felt like carpet. She pulled out her flashlight and swept the beam around what appeared to be a home office. Empty filing cabinets stood open, their drawers pulled out at odd angles. A layer of dust covered everything.

The room smelled musty, like old paper and neglect. Empty shelves lined one wall, their surfaces showing lighter rectangles where pictures or books had once sat. A heavy desk dominated the center of the room, its wood surface bare except for a few rings left by coffee cups.

Gabriel climbed in behind her, his movements less graceful but equally quiet. His eyes scanned the room, and Sheila noticed how his gaze lingered on certain spots—the desk, a particular shelf, the corner where a filing cabinet might have stood.

"You spent time in this room," she said. It wasn't a question.

Gabriel didn't answer. Instead, he moved to the desk and began opening drawers. They were all empty.

Sheila continued her sweep of the house. The kitchen was bare, its counters clean. The living room held only an old armchair and some wall-mounted shelves. In the master bedroom, she found a real estate brochure on the floor near the closet. Picking it up, she saw the house was listed for sale.

She glanced out the front window, and that was when she noticed the FOR SALE sign fallen on its side at the edge of the yard. They had missed it in the darkness.

Her heart sank as she realized the truth. She returned to the office where her father stood by the desk, his expression distant.

"He's gone," she said, holding up the brochure. "House is on the market. Has been for months, by the look of it."

Gabriel nodded slowly but said nothing. His mind seemed to be elsewhere.

"If I ask you a question," she said softly, "will you tell me the truth?"

He didn't look up, didn't speak.

"How well did you really know him?" she asked.

Silence.

"Were you friends?" she asked.

Gabriel sighed and finally turned toward her. "Look, it doesn't matter now. If he's involved, we'll bury him—together. It doesn't matter what's in our past."

Sheila studied her father in the dim light. "That's not what I'm asking. I need to know if I can trust you on this. If your loyalty is—"

"Don't." His voice was sharp, cutting through the darkness. "Don't ever question where my loyalty lies. Not after your mother." He moved toward the window they'd entered through. "We're done here."

Sheila watched him climb out, her throat tight with unasked questions.

***

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows as Finn flipped pancakes, humming off-key to some country song on the radio. Star sat at the counter, her dark hair falling in her face as she focused intently on her phone, probably texting one of her new friends from school.

Sheila had yet to tell Finn about last night's little adventure. By the time she came back, he'd already been asleep, and then he'd gotten up before she did.

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