Silent Night, page 4
Gabe's expression remained calm, betraying no hint of fear or frustration. "Sheila here is an Olympic kickboxer," he said evenly. "You're welcome to try your luck."
The man dismissed Gabe's claim with a sneer. "You're lying."
Gabe simply shrugged. "You sure about that?"
As Sheila stared unflinchingly into the man's eyes, her mind raced with the possible consequences of engaging in a fight. She knew any further head trauma could be disastrous for her. But this mission – finding the truth about her mother's death – was too important for her to back down now. She steadied her breathing, mentally preparing herself for whatever might come next.
The man hesitated, his eyes darting between Sheila and Gabe as he weighed his options. After a tense few seconds, he let out a snort of indifference and took a step back. "Fine," he growled, "I don't care one way or the other." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, unlocking the gate with a loud clang.
Sheila relaxed, relieved at this sudden resolution. Gabe met her eyes and winked.
As they made their way back to the truck, Sheila couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for her father. "I'm impressed, Dad," she said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You haven't lost a step."
Gabe chuckled, a hint of his former confidence shining through. "They probably would've jumped me if you hadn't been there, Sheila. They could tell you meant business."
"You could've kicked their asses just fine without me," she said.
The truck's door creaked as Gabe pulled it open, and they climbed inside. Star sat silently in the back seat, her eyes fixed on some distant point outside the window. Gabe started the engine, and the truck rumbled to life as he steered it through the now-open gate and into the heart of the junkyard.
The early sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the heaps of discarded vehicles that sprawled out before them like the carcasses of metal giants. Rust crept up the sides of the cars, vines snaking their way through cracked windshields and empty eye sockets where headlights once shone. The air was heavy with the scent of decay, gasoline, and damp earth, making Sheila's nose wrinkle in response.
"Looks like we've got our work cut out for us," Gabe muttered, steering the truck down a narrow path between piles of twisted metal.
Sheila nodded, her eyes scanning the rows of abandoned cars, searching for any sign of the vehicle they were seeking. She knew it wouldn't be easy—this place was a graveyard of forgotten stories, each car holding the secrets of its past beneath layers of rust and grime. But somewhere among the wreckage lay the key to unlocking the truth about her mother's death, and she was determined to find it.
"So what exactly are we looking for?" she asked.
Gabe glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to the path ahead. "It's an older model sedan, dark green. License plate starts with TQV."
Sheila nodded and resumed her visual search, trying to match the description to any of the cars piled haphazardly around them. How could they possibly find one specific car in this labyrinth?
"Are you sure it's going to be out here?" she asked doubtfully, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"Not absolutely sure, no," Gabe said after a moment's hesitation. "I talked with someone who said it was here, but I haven't seen it for myself."
Whoever you were talking to, Sheila thought, I sure hope they knew what they were talking about.
As they continued along the dusty track, Star remained silent in the back seat. Sheila couldn't help but wonder what was going on inside the teenage girl's head. She seemed so detached from everything around her.
Then the girl spoke up suddenly, surprising Sheila. "You do realize we've passed it two times now, right?" Her voice was flat and indifferent, as if she had a thousand places she'd rather be.
"Where?" Gabe asked, startled.
"Right there." Star pointed languidly out the window at a partially concealed vehicle, its dark green paint barely visible beneath a thick layer of rust and weeds. It was stacked precariously atop several other vehicles so that it looked as though a strong wind might send it tipping over the edge.
"Good eye, Star," Sheila said, impressed by the girl's observation skills. She turned to her father, excitement sparking in her eyes. "That's got to be it, right?"
"Looks like it could be," Gabe agreed, bringing the truck to a stop. "Let's see if the license plate matches."
As they climbed out of the truck, Sheila couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. Her eyes scanned the precarious pile where the car was partially hidden, gauging the best path to reach it without causing an avalanche of scrap metal.
"I'd climb up there myself, but my knee's been giving me trouble lately," Gabe said, rubbing his leg for emphasis.
"I'll do it," Sheila said immediately.
Gabe took a cautious breath. "Just be careful, okay? I don't want that hunk of metal coming down on top of you."
"I'll be careful," she said, her determination trumping any hesitation she might have felt. She took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to navigate the treacherous terrain.
With calculated precision, Sheila stepped onto a crushed fender, gripping an exposed side mirror for support. Her muscles, honed from years of rigorous kickboxing training, tensed as she balanced on the unstable surface. She focused on each step, avoiding jagged edges and potential pitfalls as she made her way upward.
"Take your time," Gabe warned, watching her progress with concern. His voice carried the weight of a father's love and worry, but also the unspoken understanding that his daughter could handle this challenge.
Sheila nodded in acknowledgment, her eyes never leaving her intended path. Eventually, she reached the car, its rusted exterior groaning under her weight as she leaned closer to read the faded license plate.
"TQV...6FQ," she called down to Gabe, who had his phone at the ready.
"Read it again, slowly," he said, fingers poised over his screen.
"T – Q – V…6 – F – Q."
Gabe tapped his phone a few more times before looking up at her with a grave expression. "It's a match. This is the car used by the person who killed your mother."
Sheila's heart clenched in her chest, her breath catching in her throat. The weight of the revelation threatened to crush her as surely as the mound of wreckage beneath her feet. But she refused to let fear or despair take hold; she had come too far and fought too hard for answers.
Sheila's fingers trembled as she pressed them against the cold, rusted metal of the car. She stared into its empty, shattered headlights, trying to make sense of her racing thoughts. "So, what do we do now?" she asked.
Gabe scratched his chin, his brow furrowed in thought. "We'll have to find out who sold this car to the junkyard. It won't be easy, though. There might not be any digital records. We'll need to be patient."
"Patient? My mother's murderer is still out there. How can I be patient?" Sheila's tone was desperate, but she knew her father was right. They couldn't afford to rush and risk losing the trail.
"Sheila, we'll get there. But for now, climb down from there, and let's get going." Gabe's voice was firm but gentle, a reminder that they were on the same side.
But Sheila couldn't tear herself away from the vehicle just yet. With one last glance at her father, she gripped the damaged door handle and pulled it open. The hinges protested with a loud screech, and she winced.
Her heart pounded in her ears as she ran her hands under the seats, not entirely sure what she was looking for. Dust and grime coated her fingertips, but she didn't care. All that mattered was finding something – anything – that could lead them to her mother's killer.
The glove box creaked open, revealing an assortment of old receipts and wrappers. Disappointment washed over her as she sifted through the detritus, each scrap of paper another dead end.
"Damn it," she muttered, frustration building within her like a tightening coil. She searched every nook and cranny of the car, her desperation growing by the second. The metallic smell of the rusted interior mingled with the faint scent of decay, and she fought back the bile that rose in her throat.
I need to find something. Anything.
"Sheila," Gabe called again, his voice laced with concern. "That thing's going to roll right over the edge with you in it. We'll buy the scrap, have someone get it down for us so we can search it thoroughly. It's not worth your safety."
Sheila hesitated, her fingertips lingering on the edge of the torn upholstery. She knew he was right, but it felt like surrendering the car meant giving up on justice for her mother.
The shrill ring of her phone cut through the oppressive silence of the junkyard, jolting her from her thoughts. She scrambled for balance on the unstable pile of metal beneath her feet as she fumbled for the device in her pocket. Glancing at the screen, she saw Natalie's name flash across the display.
With one last look at the car's decaying interior, Sheila climbed out and steadied herself on solid ground.
"Hey, Nat," she said, trying to keep her voice steady and casual. "What's up?"
"Where are you?" Natalie asked, her voice laced with concern. "It sounds like you're in the middle of a construction site or something."
Sheila hesitated, remembering her father's insistence on keeping Natalie out of their investigation. Natalie had enough on her plate already, and she didn't need to focus on finding her mother's killer, as well. If they got results, they would tell Natalie, but otherwise it seemed best to Sheila – and to her father – to avoid discussing the subject with Natalie.
"Just running some errands," she lied, her gaze flicking to Gabe as he watched her from a distance. "What do you need?"
"Another case just came in," Natalie said, her tone shifting to businesslike. "My car's in the shop – there was an issue with the hand controls – so I'm temporarily grounded."
"Are you saying you need a ride?" Sheila asked, her mind still reeling from the discovery of the vehicle that had apparently been used by her mother's killer.
"Yes…" Natalie paused. "And it's also an opportunity for you to get a bit more experience under your belt. Besides, I could use the help. What do you think? Are you up for it?"
Sheila chewed her lip for a moment. As eager as she was to learn more about the vehicle she'd come to the junkyard to find, it could take some time to discover who had sold the vehicle to the junkyard. Working on another case would be a good way to pass the time.
"What's this case about?" she asked.
Natalie hesitated. "Well, put it this way. Ever seen a body encased in salt?"
CHAPTER FOUR
Sheila pulled up to Natalie's house, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel of the van. She couldn't stop replaying in her head Natalie's words about this latest case and the discovery of the body of a young woman floating in the Great Salt Lake. Who would have left a body there, and why?
And how long might the body have been preserved?
The Stone residence looked like any other on the block: a one-story brick house with a small garden out front. Roses climbed up trellises by the porch, a touch of life against the brick facade. As Sheila watched, the garage door lumbered open, revealing Natalie in her sheriff's uniform. Natalie paused for a moment, hitting the button to close the door before rolling out of the garage in her wheelchair, her gaze fixed on the ground.
Sheila couldn't help but notice how Natalie seemed stiffer than usual, like she was in more pain. A pang of guilt washed over her as she remembered the day her sister had been shot—a day that should have ended in victory, but instead left Natalie confined to a wheelchair. She still blamed herself for getting Natalie into that situation.
Natalie rolled herself toward the van, and Sheila waved at her sister but remained where she was, knowing all too well that Natalie preferred handling things on her own. As Natalie maneuvered her wheelchair toward the side passenger door to use the chair lift, Sheila couldn't help but notice the strange positivity in her sister's demeanor. She wondered if Natalie was putting up a front, masking her pain to appear strong.
As she contemplated this, a sudden buzz from her phone diverted her attention. Glancing down, she saw a text message from Star, the last person she expected to hear from. The message read, Hey, I forgot to give you your charger back.
Sheila typed out a quick reply: No worries—keep it. It's my old one, anyway.
It felt good to be able to offer even such a small gesture of friendship. She waited, hoping Star might respond. Seconds passed. She began to think she wouldn't hear back from Star, but then she was surprised.
Also, your dad wanted me to ask if I could borrow your old boxing gloves. Is that cool?
A nostalgic smile spread across Sheila's face as memories of her kickboxing days flooded her mind. With a touch of warmth in her heart, she quickly texted back: Of course! They're all yours.
As the chair lift whirred and hummed, hoisting Natalie's wheelchair into the vehicle, Natalie glanced over at Sheila, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Texting a secret boyfriend, Sheila?" she asked.
"Ha, I wish," Sheila replied, rolling her eyes. "No boyfriend here—not that it's any of your business." She flashed a playful grin at her sister to assure her it was all in good fun.
The van's tires crunched over the gravel driveway as Sheila pulled away from the house, heading toward the crime scene. The morning sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the pavement. Rows of quaint suburban homes soon gave way to stretches of open land framed by jagged mountains on one side and empty fields on the other.
The silence in the van was heavy but not uncomfortable. Natalie stared out the window, her fingers drumming absent-mindedly on her armrest. Thinking about the case, probably.
"Hey, Nat," Sheila finally said, breaking the silence. "If you needed a ride, why didn't you call someone you work with? Like Finn, for example."
Natalie let out a short laugh. "Finn? You think I'd trust his driving more than yours? He drives like he's still in a fighter jet."
Sheila cracked a smile at this. "Seriously, though," she said.
Natalie's tone turned serious, and she looked directly at Sheila. "Sheila, this isn't about having a chauffeur. I wanted your help. I've seen firsthand your dedication to kickboxing, and having made the switch myself, I can tell you that a lot of what you learn in the ring translates to this career: making hard work a habit, disciplining your body, studying your opponent, getting up off the mat every time you're knocked down. And you excel at all those things."
Sheila felt a surge of gratitude for her sister's faith in her abilities. Natalie had won an Olympic gold medal for kickboxing, so her praise meant a great deal. At the same time, however, Sheila felt a lingering uncertainty.
She gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white. "I appreciate that, Nat, but I'm still just…I don't know. It's a lot to think about, this job."
"Are you getting cold feet?"
Sheila recalled a recent conversation between them in which she'd insisted she did indeed want to become a cop. Now, however, she was unsure.
"It's just a big decision," she said. "And sometimes I'm not sure if I'm up for it."
"Look," Natalie said, "I understand you have reservations. I mean, it's not just about leaving your old life behind, right? It's also about stepping into a completely new world—one filled with danger and heartache."
Sheila nodded, feeling a lump forming in her throat. "Exactly. And I'm not sure if I'm cut out for that kind of responsibility. What if I make a mistake and someone gets hurt because of me?" Like you did? she added mentally.
Natalie reached over and squeezed her sister's hand reassuringly. "Sheila, nobody's perfect. We all make mistakes. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try. You're strong, resourceful, and smart. You have the instincts and the skills to be a great cop."
Sheila, unsure what to make of all these compliments, said nothing. Did Natalie have no resentment for her injury? Did she really believe Sheila had done nothing wrong?
"Besides," Natalie added, her eyes twinkling with conviction, "you'd be doing something meaningful. Something that helps people, keeps them safe. It's a chance for you to make a real difference in the world."
Sheila chewed her lip, mulling over her sister's words. She knew Natalie was right; joining the force would give her a sense of purpose she hadn't felt since her Olympic dreams were dashed. But could she really handle the weight of that responsibility?
"Nat, I just...I don't want to let anyone down. Especially not you," she admitted quietly, the vulnerability in her voice making her heart feel heavy.
"Sheila," Natalie said firmly, her eyes locking onto her sister's with unwavering conviction, "I have never been more certain about anything than I am about this: You belong on the force, and you have what it takes to succeed. Trust me—no, trust yourself. We've got each other's backs, and together, we can face whatever challenges come our way."
As Sheila absorbed her sister's passionate words, something inside her began to shift. The storm of doubt slowly receded, replaced by a growing confidence in her own abilities. Perhaps it was time to embrace this new path and see where it led. With a deep breath and a determined nod, she made her decision, feeling as though she had crossed an invisible threshold into a new chapter of her life.
"Okay," she finally said, her voice steady and resolute. "You're right. I'll do it."
Natalie's face lit up, her eyes sparkling with pride and happiness. "I knew you'd come around, Sheila! You won't regret it, I promise. I'll make sure your training is fast-tracked—I'll text you the location of the training facility and put you in touch with one of the instructors there."
"Thanks, Nat," Sheila said, her heart swelling with gratitude for her sister's unwavering belief in her abilities.
The sisters shared a smile as they drove on, the tension from their earlier conversation dissipating like morning mist under the sun's warm rays. As they rounded a bend in the road, however, Sheila's smile faded when she saw the police barricade up ahead. They had reached the crime scene. The flashing red and blue lights cast an eerie glow on the surroundings, adding to the somber atmosphere that hung heavy in the air.
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