CHAPTER EIGHT
Sheila wiped sweat off her forehead as she and Finn made their way along the winding trail.
Why, oh why, did we have to pick the hottest part of the day? she wondered.
The Coral Pink Sand Dunes stretched out before them, an endless sea of undulating pink and orange hues. Despite the beauty of the landscape, Sheila was acutely aware of the potential danger lurking in this deceptively serene environment. Get lost out here, and dehydration would set in fast.
"Any luck reaching Blackwood?" Finn asked. He had traded his suit for a polo shirt and a pair of cargo shorts, and he looked far more comfortable now. Sheila had never really seen him as the suit-wearing type, anyway.
Sheila shook her head, pocketing her phone. "Still nothing. Reception out here is spotty at best. Maybe he's in a dead zone."
They paused at a trail marker, taking a moment to catch their breath and survey their surroundings. The park seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction, the dunes creating a disorienting landscape where it was all too easy to lose one's bearings.
Sheila pulled out a map, spreading it across a nearby boulder. "Okay, according to Jesse at the visitor center, Blackwood's tour was supposed to follow this route." She traced a dotted line on the map that snaked through the dunes. "They left about two hours ago, so they should be somewhere in this general area by now."
Finn leaned in, studying the map. "That's a lot of ground to cover. And in this heat..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
Sheila's eyes narrowed as she considered their options. After a moment, she pointed to a section of the map. "What if we cut across here? It's not a marked trail, but it could save us a good hour of hiking. We might be able to intercept Blackwood's group before they loop back to the visitor center."
Finn frowned, clearly uneasy with the suggestion. "Sheila, that's off-trail. It's easy to get lost out here, and in this heat..."
"I know the risks, Finn," Sheila said, a hint of irritation creeping into her voice. She sighed, trying to calm herself. "We need to talk to Blackwood as soon as possible. Every minute we waste gives him more time to potentially cover his tracks—if he is our guy."
They stood in tense silence for a moment. Sheila thought Finn would argue, but instead he raised his hands in defeat. "You're the boss. If you think it's worth the risk, we'll do it your way."
The formality in his tone stung. Three months ago, he would have challenged her thinking, pushed back with that half-smile that always made her pulse quicken. She missed their easy give-and-take, missed the way his hand would brush her arm as they pored over case files together. Now she second-guessed every casual touch, every shared glance, worried about maintaining professional boundaries.
Was she overcompensating? Making their relationship more complicated than it needed to be? She tried to think of the last time they'd kissed, and found she couldn't.
Would an outside observer even know you two were dating? she wondered. Or would they think you're just colleagues?
While she was still pondering this, he started walking without waiting for her. She folded the map and hurried after him.
"You know," she said, "things don't have to be different just because I'm your boss now. We're still partners, aren't we?"
Finn's stride didn't falter, but Sheila could see the tension in his shoulders. "Partners, sure, but with one tiny difference: You can overrule whatever I say."
"It's not like that. I'm not trying to steamroll you."
Finn said nothing. Sheila felt a desperate urge to win him back. Surely he could understand the pressure she was under, the need to solve this case quickly. She quickened her pace to catch up with him.
"Finn, wait," she called out, her voice softer now. "Can we talk about this?"
He slowed his pace but didn't stop, his gaze fixed on the dunes ahead. "What's there to talk about, Sheila? You made your decision. We're going off-trail."
Sheila felt a pang of frustration. "That's not what I mean, and you know it. This tension between us... it's affecting our work. We need to clear the air."
Finn finally stopped, turning to face her. The look in his eyes was a mixture of hurt and resignation. "Fine. You want to talk? Let's talk. How exactly do you see this working, Sheila? Because from where I'm standing, every decision, every move we make, it all comes down to what you say."
"That's not true," Sheila protested, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew they rang hollow.
Finn raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it? Just now, I raised valid concerns about going off-trail. Concerns that, a month ago, you would have taken seriously. But now? Now you just override me because you can."
Images flashed through Sheila's mind: Finn anticipating her next move during a suspect chase, wordlessly handing her the exact evidence bag she needed, knowing when to push her theories and when to let her process in silence. They'd built that connection carefully over three years, learning each other's strengths and weaknesses, finding ways to turn their shared stubbornness into an asset instead of an obstacle. Back then, their different approaches had made them stronger. She'd admired his intuitive leaps, while he'd respected her methodical analysis.
What would he think if he knew how much she missed that balance, how many times she'd almost called him in the middle of the night to brainstorm like they used to, before rank and romance had complicated everything?
She took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Finn, I value your input. I always have. But sometimes, as sheriff, I have to make tough calls."
"And that's exactly my point," Finn said, his voice rising slightly. "You're the sheriff now. Every decision you make affects not just the case but the entire department. Including me. Do you have any idea how that changes things between us?"
Sheila felt a lump forming in her throat. "I never wanted this to come between us, Finn. Our partnership, our relationship... it means everything to me."
For a moment, Finn's expression softened. "I know, Sheila. And that's what makes this so damn hard. Because I care about you, about us. But I also care about doing my job well. And right now, those two things feel like they're in conflict."
The hurt that flashed across Finn's face made her stomach clench. She wanted to reach for him, to smooth away the tension in his shoulders like she used to do before they went to sleep. But the weight of her badge seemed to create an invisible barrier between them. Every decision felt like choosing between being a good sheriff and being a good partner—both professionally and personally.
No wonder he'd stopped bringing her coffee in the mornings, stopped sending her those little texts that used to make her smile during long days. She was building walls, and he was respecting them, even if it was slowly killing what made them special together.
Before Sheila could think of anything to say, her phone rang. The shrill sound felt like an intrusion in the vast, quiet expanse of the dunes.
With a frustrated sigh, she answered. "Sheriff Stone."
"Sheriff, it's Deputy Wilkins," came a voice tinged with urgency. "We've got a situation developing at the Coldwater High football game."
Sheila's brow furrowed. "What kind of situation, Wilkins?"
"A group of guys from Rockville showed up. They're drunk, looking for trouble. Already had to break up one shoving match in the parking lot."
Sheila pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes briefly. "How many?"
"At least six, maybe more," Wilkins replied. "I think we might need you down here. This could get ugly fast."
Sheila's eyes snapped open, meeting Finn's questioning gaze. She shook her head slightly before responding. "No, I'm in the middle of an important investigation right now. Send Deputies Goulding and Rodriguez to handle it."
"But Sheriff—"
"That's an order, Wilkins," Sheila said. "Goulding and Rodriguez have experience with crowd control. They can handle this. Keep me updated if the situation escalates beyond their capabilities. Understood?"
There was a brief pause before Wilkins responded, "Yes, Sheriff. Understood."
"Good. I'll expect a full report on my desk tomorrow morning."
Sheila ended the call, letting out a long breath. She turned to Finn, who was watching her with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"Everything okay?" he asked, his earlier frustration momentarily forgotten.
Sheila nodded, already refocusing on their current task. "Just a scuffle at the high school football game. Nothing our people can't handle."
She could see the questions in Finn's eyes, and for a moment she thought he was going to pick up the conversation where they'd left off. But he said nothing, and after a moment, he turned back to the trail ahead.
"We should keep moving if we want to catch up with Blackwood," he said over his shoulder.
Sheila felt a wave of sadness wash over her. She had thought becoming sheriff would be the culmination of her career, a chance to make a real difference. But standing there in the vast expanse of the dunes, watching Finn walk away from her, she wondered if the cost might be higher than she'd anticipated.
With a sigh, Sheila followed, her mind whirling with both the case at hand and the personal complications that seemed to be mounting by the hour.
They hiked in silence for another twenty minutes, the only sounds the crunch of sand beneath their boots and their labored breathing in the thin, dry air. Just as Sheila was about to suggest they reassess their route, Finn held up a hand.
"Look," he said, pointing to a distant ridge. "I think I see movement."
Sheila squinted against the glare, her heart rate quickening. Sure enough, she could make out a group of figures moving along the top of a large dune about half a mile away.
"That has to be Blackwood's tour group," she said, already picking up her pace. "Come on, we can intercept them before they start heading back."
As they drew closer, the group came into clearer focus. About a dozen tourists, most middle-aged or older, were gathered around a tall, lean man with sun-weathered skin and a mop of unruly brown hair. He was gesturing animatedly, pointing out various features of the landscape.
"...and this particular formation," they could hear him saying as they approached, "is known as a star dune. It's formed by winds coming from multiple directions, creating a complex, multi-armed structure. Quite rare, actually, and a testament to the unique conditions here in the park."
The tourists oohed and aahed , snapping photos with their phones and cameras. The guide—presumably Blackwood—seemed to be in his element, his eyes bright with passion as he explained the intricacies of the dune ecosystem.
Sheila and Finn exchanged a glance before approaching the group. As they drew near, Sheila called out, "Excuse me, Mr. Blackwood?"
The guide turned, his expression curious but not alarmed. "Yes? Can I help you?"
Sheila flashed her badge discreetly. "I'm Sheriff Stone, and this is Deputy Mercer. We'd like to have a word with you if that's alright."
Blackwood's eyebrows rose slightly, but he nodded. "Of course. Just give me a moment to wrap up here." He turned back to the tourists, quickly explaining that they'd take a short break before continuing the tour.
As the group dispersed to take photos and rest, Blackwood approached Sheila and Finn. "What can I do for you, Sheriff?"
"First," Sheila said, "would you mind telling us where you were last night, between 8 PM and midnight?"
The change in Blackwood's demeanor was subtle but immediate. His eyes narrowed slightly and his stance shifted, becoming more defensive. "Last night? I was at home, I believe. Why do you ask?"
Sheila watched him carefully as she spoke. "We're investigating the death of Amanda Weller. I'm sure you've heard about it."
Blackwood's expression darkened. "Yes, I heard. Terrible business. But I'm not sure what that has to do with me."
"We're just covering all our bases, Mr. Blackwood," Finn said smoothly. "You spend a lot of time in the park, know the area well. We thought you might have noticed something unusual last night."
Blackwood's laugh was sharp and humorless. "Something unusual? Like a murderer dragging a body through the dunes? No, I'm afraid I didn't see anything like that."
Sheila could feel the conversation slipping away from them. She decided to change tack. "Mr. Blackwood, we understand you've had some... disagreements with park visitors in the past. Particularly those who don't respect the park's rules."
The guide's face flushed, his voice taking on an edge. "If you're implying what I think you're implying, Sheriff, you're way out of line. Yes, I've had confrontations with people who disregard the park's regulations. But that's my job—to protect this fragile ecosystem from those who would damage it for a few likes on social media."
"No one's accusing you of anything, Mr. Blackwood," Sheila said, keeping her voice calm. "We're just trying to understand the full picture. Can anyone corroborate your whereabouts last night?"
Blackwood was silent for a long moment, his jaw working as he seemed to debate how much to say. Finally, he sighed. "I was with someone. A woman I've been seeing. But I'd rather not drag her into this if I don't have to."
"We may need to speak with her to confirm," Finn said. "I'm sure you understand why it's in your best interest to be cleared of this matter."
Blackwood hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But please, be discreet. She's... well, let's just say our relationship is complicated."
Blackwood wrote down the woman's name and number on a scrap of paper and handed it to Sheila. "Alright," he said with a deep breath. "Now, if there's nothing else, I really do need to get back to work."
"Of course," Sheila said with a polite smile. "But we may have some follow-up questions. I'd appreciate it if you'd make yourself available should we need to speak again."
Blackwood's smile was tight. "Of course, Sheriff. Always happy to assist law enforcement. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a tour to finish."
As they watched him return to his group, Finn leaned in close to Sheila. "What do you think?"
Sheila shook her head slightly. "I think we need to speak to this woman he mentioned, this…" She glanced down at the paper. "Debbi Ryder."
"And in the meantime," Finn said in a low voice, "we'll keep an eye on Blackwood. I'll tell the park staff to keep an eye out for him. If he tries to flee, we'll know."
"Unless he hides in the park," Sheila said. "Because if anyone would know where to go… it would be a tour guide."