CHAPTER TWO
We're really doing it, Sheila thought, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. We're really doing it.
A month had passed since that fateful day at St. Luke's Hospital, and Sheila Stone's world had transformed almost beyond recognition. As she stood on the porch of her new home, a steaming mug of coffee in hand, she watched the moving truck rumble up the long, tree-lined driveway.
The house was a far cry from her small apartment in town. Nestled on five acres just outside Coldwater, it was a sprawling ranch-style home with a wrap-around porch and large windows that promised plenty of natural light. The real estate agent had called it a "fixer-upper with potential." Sheila called it a challenge.
"Hey, Sheriff!" Finn called from the truck, a grin on his face. "You gonna help, or are you just gonna supervise?"
Sheila rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "I'm strategizing," she shot back, setting down her mug and descending the porch steps.
As she approached the truck, her new badge glinted in the morning sun. Sheriff of Coldwater County. The title still felt surreal, even after a full week on the job. The election had been a whirlwind, with Hank Dawson's enthusiastic endorsement carrying significant weight. But Sheila knew the real work was just beginning.
"Earth to Sheila," Finn said, waving a hand in front of her face. "Where'd you go just now?"
She shook her head, refocusing. "Just thinking about everything that's happened. It's a lot to process."
Finn's expression softened. He no doubt understood that she wasn't just talking about the move or her new job. Eddie Mills still lay in a coma at St. Luke's, stable but unresponsive. The doctors were cautiously optimistic, but Sheila couldn't shake the fear that she might never get the answers she sought.
"One day at a time, remember?" Finn said softly, echoing his words from the hospital.
Sheila nodded, forcing a smile. "Right. So, what's first on the moving agenda?"
As if in answer, Star emerged from the house, her dark eyes wary as she surveyed the scene. She was dressed in her usual ensemble of dark clothes. "Need any help?" she asked, her voice quiet but steady.
Sheila smiled at the teenager, recognizing the offer for what it was—an attempt to contribute, to solidify her place in this new family dynamic. "Actually, yeah. Could you help me unpack the kitchen boxes? We should probably get the coffee maker set up before we do anything else."
Star nodded, a ghost of a smile flickering across her face.
Star had been living with them for two months now. Watching Finn with Star had revealed a gentle side to him that Sheila hadn't seen in their years as partners—the way he'd help with homework, listen to Star's music recommendations, teach her to change a tire. It was one of the many things that had drawn her to him romantically: his capacity for both strength and tenderness.
As they made their way to the kitchen, Sheila reflected on the challenges Star had already faced in her short life. Star's past, marked by an abusive father and years of instability, had left deep scars. There were nightmares, moments of withdrawal, and flashes of anger that seemed to come out of nowhere.
Still, Sheila was glad to have Star around. Since Star's mother was out of the picture and her father wanted nothing to do with her, the court had agreed to make Sheila the girl's legal guardian. Navigating life with a moody, obstinate teacher wasn't always easy, but it certainly did make life more interesting.
The kitchen, with its outdated appliances and worn linoleum floor, struck Sheila as a perfect metaphor for their situation—full of potential, but requiring a lot of work. As they unpacked dishes and utensils, Sheila watched Star from the corner of her eye.
"So," Sheila began, aiming for a casual tone, "what do you think of the place so far?"
Star shrugged, not looking up from the box she was unpacking. "It's big," she said after a moment. "Quiet."
Sheila nodded, understanding the unspoken comparison to the noisy apartment complex they'd left behind. "Yeah, it'll take some getting used to. But I thought maybe we could set up that darkroom for you in the basement. Give you a space for your photography."
At this, Star's head snapped up, a spark of genuine interest in her eyes. "Really? You'd let me do that?"
The surprise in her voice made Sheila's heart ache. It was a reminder of how little Star had been given in her life, how unused she was to having her interests nurtured. "Of course," Sheila said warmly. "This is your home too, Star. We want you to feel comfortable here."
Star ducked her head, but not before Sheila caught the hint of a real smile. It was a small victory, but Sheila would take it.
Their moment was interrupted by Finn, who entered the kitchen with a large box labeled "Living Room."
"How's it going in here?" he asked, setting down the box with a grunt.
"Just getting started," Sheila replied. "Star, why don't you show Finn where you want to set up your darkroom? He might have some ideas about the ventilation system we'll need."
As Star led Finn toward the basement, Sheila took a moment to survey the kitchen. The to-do list was daunting: new appliances, flooring, probably rewiring. But as she ran her hand along the worn countertop, she felt a sense of possibility. This was a fresh start for all of them.
The sound of raised voices from the basement pulled Sheila from her thoughts. She made her way down the creaky stairs to find Star and Finn in what appeared to be a heated discussion.
"I don't need someone hovering over me all the time," Star was saying, her arms crossed defensively. "I can take care of myself."
Finn, looking exasperated, caught sight of Sheila and threw up his hands. "I was just suggesting a curfew," he explained. "Given that we're further out of town now, I thought it made sense to—"
"To keep me on a leash?" Star interrupted, her voice sharp.
"Actually," Sheila interjected, "I've been meaning to mention that I spoke with Mrs. Jacobs from next door the other day, and she offered to keep an eye on things when we're working late. She's a retired teacher."
Star rolled her eyes. "Great. Another adult to babysit me."
"Nobody's babysitting you," Sheila said patiently. "But with us being further from town, it makes sense to have someone nearby who can help out if needed. Mrs. Jacobs seems nice. She even offered to help with your homework if you want."
"I don't need help with homework," Star muttered, but Sheila noticed her defensive posture relaxing slightly.
"Of course you don't," Finn said, his tone gentler now. "But it's good to have neighbors we can trust. Especially in our line of work."
Star studied the floor for a moment. "Did she really used to be a teacher?"
"Art and English," Sheila said. "She mentioned seeing your paintings through the window while we were moving in. Said she'd love to talk about techniques sometime."
A flicker of interest crossed Star's face before she could hide it. "Whatever," she said, but without her earlier heat. "I'm going to unpack my room."
As the teenager stomped up the stairs, Finn let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry, Sheila. I didn't mean to start an argument."
Sheila shook her head, wrapping an arm around his waist. "It's not your fault. We knew this wouldn't be easy. She's been through so much, Finn. It's going to take time for her to trust that this is real, that we're not going to let her down like everyone else in her life has."
Finn nodded, pulling her close. "I know. It's just... I want this to work so badly. For all of us."
"It will," Sheila said, even as a part of her wondered if she was being overly optimistic. "We just need to be patient. And having Mrs. Jacobs around will let us focus on work without worrying so much about what's happening at home."
Finn offered a wry smile. "If she can survive Star's moods, that is."
They were interrupted by the ringing of Sheila's phone.
"Sheriff Stone," she answered, her voice automatically shifting into professional mode. It was strange hearing those two words together—Sheriff Stone. It just reminded her of her older sister Natalie, who had been sheriff before her.
Or her father, for that matter.
"Sheriff, this is Deputy Morrow," the voice said. "Sorry to bother you on your day off."
"No apology necessary. What's going on?"
"A body was just found out in Coral Pink Sand Dunes."
"Homicide?" Sheila asked, glancing at Finn. He crossed his arms and watched her, his face grave.
"I'd say so," Morrow replied. "Given the fact the victim was buried in sand up to the neck. That sort of thing doesn't happen by accident."
"No, it doesn't," Sheila murmured. "Thanks Morrow. I'll head over ASAP."
She hung up the phone and slipped it back into her pocket.
"New case?" Finn asked.
Sheila nodded. "Looks like we'll have to finish unpacking later."