Page 8 of Silent Past

"And I'll swing by the post office on my way in," Finn added. "Someone there owes me a favor."

Sheila raised an eyebrow. "Do I want to know why?"

"Probably not." He grinned, then grew serious. "We'll find him, Sheila. Together."

As she walked to her truck, Sheila thought about how much had changed since she'd first started looking into her mother's murder. Back then, she'd been alone, carrying the weight of it by herself. Now she had Finn, had Star, had a whole department at her disposal.

At least to the extent that she could trust her department.

That thought followed her as she pulled into the Coldwater County Sheriff's Department parking lot twenty minutes later. The brick building sat squat and solid against the brightening sky, its windows reflecting the morning sun. Inside, the familiar smell of coffee and printer toner greeted her as she made her way through the bullpen.

Deputy Sarah Neville looked up from her desk. Sheila had come to rely heavily on the veteran deputy over the past year—her methodical nature and sharp investigative skills had solved more than a few tough cases. Now, despite the early hour, Neville was already fully engaged in her work, copper-red hair pulled back in her characteristic neat braid, forest-green eyes alert as she sorted through case files.

"Morning, Sheriff," Neville said, rising from her desk. "Got an update from Baxter about ten minutes ago. No change in Tommy's condition, but they did notice increased activity in his room last night. More medical staff than usual."

Sheila paused by Neville's desk. "Any visitors?"

"None."

Sheila nodded. "Star says hi, by the way."

Neville's lips curved in a slight smile. "Hi back."

"You two have fun watching movies the other day?" She'd asked Neville to keep an eye on Star during the previous investigation, due to the threat on Star's life by the man who had hijacked Sheila's truck. The man with the Irish accent.

"She's a good kid, even if she's a bit infatuated with superhero movies."

"Thanks for spending time with her," Sheila said quietly. "It means a lot."

Neville shrugged. "Someone needs to educate her about classic films. All that CGI stuff rots your brain."

Sheila smiled, remembering how Star had described movie night with Neville: She made me watch some old black-and-white thing where people just talked for two hours. But it was kind of cool.

The morning routine of the department continued around them. Deputies filed reports, answered calls, checked schedules. On the surface, it looked like any other day. But Sheila couldn't help wondering how many of them might be involved in the corruption her father had been investigating.

How many might be reporting her movements to the very people she was trying to put behind bars?

She was about to head to her office when Neville's phone rang. The deputy answered it, her expression growing serious as she listened.

"Sheriff," Neville said after hanging up, "we've got a situation. Highway Patrol just called in a body discovered in the Wasatch ice caves. A couple of spelunkers found it yesterday."

"The ice caves?" Sheila frowned. "Those have been closed to the public for years."

"Apparently these spelunkers didn't get the memo."

Sheila frowned, thinking. "You said they found the body yesterday. Why'd it take them so long to report it?"

"Because they were trapped. Apparently someone cut the rope they used to rappel down."

CHAPTER THREE

Cold air hit Sheila's face as she stepped out of her department SUV at the ice caves trailhead. The sun did little to warm the October chill, and her breath formed clouds in front of her face. A Highway Patrol car and two other vehicles were already parked in the gravel lot—one belonging to Search and Rescue, the other a battered Camaro that had to be the spelunkers'.

Finn pulled up beside her in his own vehicle just as she was zipping up her jacket. The caves loomed ahead, their entrance a dark gash in the mountainside, partially hidden behind weather-worn "No Trespassing" signs.

"Kelly Bishop and Mike Ramirez," Finn said as he approached, checking his phone. "The spelunkers. They're at a nearby base camp being checked out by medical personnel. Mild hypothermia, some dehydration. They're pretty shaken up, according to the patrolman who took their statement."

"Can't blame them," Sheila said. "Being trapped in a cave overnight with a body..." She let the thought trail off as she retrieved her gear from the trunk. "Who cut their rope?"

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