CHAPTER TWO
"This is it," he said quietly.
Sheila studied the darkened house set back from the road. A "FOR SALE" sign stood in the overgrown yard, its post tilting slightly to one side. Through the bare branches of a maple tree, Sheila could see sheets draped over furniture in the front room.
Sheila's heart sank—it was looking less and less likely they'd find Vance here. "You sure this is the house?" she asked.
"I remember the house number." Gabriel shifted in his seat. "Used to come here sometimes. Department meetings."
Something in his tone made Sheila glance at him. Her father was staring at the house with an odd expression, one she couldn't quite read in the dim light. "Just department meetings?"
"What else would it be?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
Gabriel's jaw tightened. "There's nothing to tell."
She wanted to press further, but years of experience had taught her when her father's walls were up, they stayed up. Still, the way he avoided her gaze told her there was more to the story of his relationship with Carlton Vance than he was sharing, which made her very uneasy.
The empty house stood silent and dark. Dead leaves had collected in drifts against the foundation, and the lawn needed mowing. The realtor's lockbox hung prominently on the front door handle. No lights shone in any of the windows, and the driveway was empty except for a few scattered pine needles.
"Looks like Vance cleared out," Sheila said. "But maybe he left something behind."
She reached for the door handle, but Gabriel's hand shot out, gripping her arm. "Wait." His voice was low, urgent. "Before we do this, you need to understand something."
"What?"
"If we find anything connecting him to your mother's murder, there's no going back. These people, they won't just roll over because we have evidence. They'll fight back hard. You ready for that?"
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.
"Earth to Sheila," Finn said, waving a spatula in front of her face. "You want blueberries in yours?"
Sheila blinked, pulling herself from her thoughts. "What? Oh. Yeah, sure."
Finn raised an eyebrow. "You've been somewhere else all morning. Want to talk about it?"
She watched him slide a perfect golden pancake onto a plate. Normal. Domestic. Safe. Everything their life could be if she just let this go.
But she couldn't.
"I need to find someone," she said. "Carlton Vance. He used to work with my dad in Internal Affairs. Now he's gone—moved out of his house, disappeared."
"And you think he knows something about your mom?"
Sheila nodded, grateful for how quickly Finn understood. "He might have been involved. But how do you find someone who doesn't want to be found?"
Finn set the plate in front of her, his expression thoughtful. "Well, you're the sheriff now. You've got resources. Start with the basics—property records, DMV, tax returns. People leave traces, even when they try not to."
Sheila pushed her pancakes around the plate, considering. "I was thinking about checking with the post office—see if Vance left a forwarding address. Also, check with the realtor who listed his house."
"Good places to start," Finn said, pouring more batter onto the griddle. Star had finally looked up from her phone, her interest caught by their conversation.
"What if he's using a different name?" Star asked. "Like in witness protection or something?"
Sheila and Finn exchanged a look. It wasn't a bad question.
"That's possible," Sheila admitted. "But he'd need resources to set that up. Money trails, connections..." She paused, remembering something from the documents her father's contact had provided. "Meridian Holdings. The shell company that was making payments to his account."
Finn leaned against the counter. "Shell companies leave paper trails too. Incorporation documents, tax filings—"
"Bank records," Sheila said. "If we can track recent transfers from Meridian, we might find where he went." She stood up, her breakfast forgotten. "I need to get to the office."
"Hey," Finn called as she headed for the door. "At least take a pancake with you."
She turned back, managing a small smile as he held out a paper towel-wrapped pancake. "Thanks." She hesitated, then added, "For everything."
"I'll meet you at the station in twenty minutes," Finn said, already moving to turn off the griddle. "Just need to drop Star at your dad's gym."
"Finn, you don't have to—"
"Yes, I do." His voice was firm but gentle. "We're partners, remember? And not just at home." He glanced at Star. "That okay with you? Going to the gym a little early?"
Star shrugged, sliding off her stool. "Coach Gabriel's there anyway. He always shows up at dawn, like some kind of crazy person."
The gym had become the central focus of Gabriel's life after he stepped down from being sheriff. It was where he'd trained both Sheila and her older sister Natalie to fight, and he still regularly went there to stay in shape and to pass on his skills to future generations.
"And Bo," Sheila said. "He's gonna be keeping an eye on you."
Star rolled her eyes. "Really? A babysitter?"
"Just till things calm down. Besides, he can teach you a thing or two. He's got a nasty left hook."
"It'll be fun," Finn said, nudging Star. "You'll hardly even know he's there."
Star grunted. "Sure, I won't."
Sheila felt a familiar warmth in her chest as she listened to the two of them. This was her family now—cobbled together and unconventional, but real. She thought of her mother, of all the family moments Henrietta had missed, and her determination hardened.
"Okay," she said. "Twenty minutes. I'll start pulling what records we have on Meridian Holdings."
"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."