Silent Neighbor (Sheila Stone #9)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The porch light flickered to life as Sheila and Finn approached the Holbrook residence. The night air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of blooming jasmine from a nearby trellis. Crickets chirped softly in the meticulously trimmed hedges.

Staring at the house, Sheila couldn't help but think of Finn's earlier comment about raising a family. She then thought of her father's reminder to her that, even if Finn were to get down on one knee and propose to her, she could always say no.

Still… was it ever really that easy? In the pressure of the moment—under the bright lights, so to speak—it was easy for thoughts to become murky. She didn't want to get put into a situation where she might have to choose between a future she wasn't ready for and possibly ruining a relationship she was just getting comfortable with.

Dismissing these thoughts with a shake of her head, Sheila raised her hand to knock, her knuckles hovering just inches from the heavy oak door. Before she could make contact, however, the door swung open with a soft creak of well-oiled hinges.

Karen Holbrook stood in the doorway, her face a mask of barely concealed irritation. "You again?" she said, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "I can't believe this. We're in the middle of after-dinner drinks. Can't this wait until a more reasonable hour?"

The clink of glasses and murmur of conversation drifted from somewhere inside the house, underlining Karen's point. Sheila opened her mouth to respond, but Karen was already moving to close the door, her manicured hand gripping the edge tightly.

Just as it was about to shut in their faces, another hand appeared, gently but firmly pushing it back open. The hand was weathered and calloused, telling a story of a life spent outdoors despite the obvious wealth of its owner.

Marcus Holbrook stepped into view, a conciliatory smile on his face. His salt-and-pepper hair was slightly mussed, as if he'd run his hand through it in frustration moments before. "It's alright, Karen," he said. "I'll just step outside and speak with the deputies for a moment. Why don't you go back to our guests?"

Karen's eyes darted between her husband and the deputies, her displeasure evident in the tight set of her jaw and the narrowing of her eyes. With a huff, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the house, leaving Marcus alone in the doorway.

He stepped out onto the porch, quietly closing the door behind him. The subtle scent of expensive cologne wafted in the air around him. "How can I help you, deputies?" he asked, his tone friendly but guarded, like a man used to navigating delicate social situations.

Sheila pulled out her phone and brought up the photo of the pitons from the crime scene. "Mr. Holbrook, we were hoping you could take a look at these," she said, holding the screen out for him to see.

Marcus leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he studied the image. "Interesting," he murmured, his breath fogging the screen slightly. "These are definitely old. They've seen a lot of use, that's for sure."

He straightened up, a thoughtful expression on his face, his hand unconsciously stroking his chin. "And whoever used them did so expertly. You can see the wear patterns—they knew exactly how to place them for maximum efficiency and safety. And it's clear they've been well-maintained."

"Does anything else stand out to you?" Finn asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. The ropes, too, are expertly tied. This is the work of someone who really knows what they're doing."

Sheila nodded, not particularly surprised by this. "Do you have any idea who might own pitons like these?"

Marcus shrugged, his hands slipping into the pockets of his casual slacks. The fabric pulled slightly, hinting at the athletic build hidden beneath the veneer of casual wealth. "It's hard to say. There are a number of people who've kept climbing gear in their families for generations. It's a point of pride for some, a connection to their climbing heritage. And then there are others who just like to collect old gear, more for the historical value than for any practical use."

"Do you know anyone locally who collects this kind of gear?" Finn asked. His voice was calm, but Sheila could hear the undercurrent of excitement. They were onto something—she could feel it.

Marcus was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting out over the darkened street as he thought. The silence stretched, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl. "You know," he said finally, his voice thoughtful, "there's an old-timer in the area who might be able to tell you more. Guy by the name of Tom Forrester. He's been climbing these parts for longer than I've been alive, and he's got quite a collection of vintage gear."

Sheila felt a spark of excitement at this potential lead, her heart rate picking up slightly. "That's great, Mr. Holbrook. Could you give us his address?"

Marcus nodded, reciting an address on the outskirts of town. But then he held up a hand, a note of caution in his voice. "I should warn you, though. Tom turns in early—he'll be in bed by now. And he's not exactly the most welcoming fellow, especially to strangers. If you go knocking on his door at this hour, well... let's just say you won't get as warm a reception as you got from me."

***

The streets of Coldwater were quiet as they drove back toward the center of town. Streetlights cast pools of amber light at regular intervals, illuminating empty sidewalks and darkened storefronts. The occasional late-night dog walker or shift worker hurrying home were the only signs of life in the sleeping town.

Finn broke the silence first, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet car. "So, what do you think? Should we head back to the station, look into a different lead?"

Sheila was quiet for a moment. The case, the mysterious pitons, the old-timer they needed to talk to—it all swirled together in a confusing mass. Then she remembered Star's text from earlier, about wanting to have a conversation. A pang of guilt shot through her—with everything going on, she'd almost forgotten.

"Actually," she said, "I think I should head home. See what Star wants to talk about. We can reconnect in the morning, talk to this Forrester guy then."

Finn nodded, though Sheila thought she detected a hint of disappointment in his expression. The streetlights passing overhead cast alternating patterns of light and shadow across his face, making it hard to read his expression. "Yeah, that makes sense. Want me to come with you?"

Sheila shook her head, perhaps a bit too quickly. "No, that's okay. I think this might be something Star wants to discuss one-on-one. I'll drop you at the station."

They rode in companionable silence for a while, the rhythmic swish of the wipers the only sound as a light drizzle began to fall. The raindrops caught the glow of the streetlights, creating a shimmering curtain that blurred the edges of the world outside. The effect was almost dreamlike, adding to the surreal quality of the night.

As they pulled up to the station, its brick facade looming dark and imposing in the night, Finn turned to Sheila. "Thanks for the ride," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. Then, before she could react, he leaned in and kissed her.

The kiss was gentle but insistent, and Sheila found herself momentarily caught off guard by Finn's boldness. When they parted, she could see a mixture of affection and uncertainty in his eyes, the emotions warring for dominance.

"Goodnight, Sheila," he said, climbing out of the car. "I'll see you in the morning." The door closed with a soft thud, leaving Sheila alone with her thoughts.

As Sheila drove home, her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She knew she was going to have to have a conversation with Finn at some point about their future and the speed at which they were taking their relationship. But it wasn't a conversation she was looking forward to. The complexity of balancing her professional life with her personal relationships weighed heavily on her.

The streets gave way to more residential areas as Sheila neared home. Houses with neatly trimmed lawns and white picket fences lined the quiet streets, each one a picture of suburban tranquility. A cat darted across the road, its eyes glowing eerily in her headlights before it disappeared into the shadows, a reminder of the hidden life that continued even in the quietest moments of the night.

As she pulled into her driveway, the familiar sight of her modest home a welcome anchor in the sea of uncertainty she'd been navigating, Sheila took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind. The scent of rain-soaked earth filled her nostrils, grounding her in the present moment.

Whatever Star wanted to talk about, it deserved her full attention. She couldn't let her professional concerns or her complicated feelings about Finn distract her.

The house was quiet as she entered, the soft click of the door closing behind her echoing in the stillness. But a warm light spilled from the living room, beckoning her forward. Star was curled up on the couch, a book open in her lap, though her eyes weren't focused on the pages. She looked up as Sheila walked in, her young face a mix of nervousness and determination.

"Hey," Sheila said, dropping her keys on the side table with a metallic clatter that seemed too loud in the quiet house. "Sorry, I'm so late. You wanted to talk about something?"

Star nodded, setting her book aside. The soft thud of it closing seemed to underscore the seriousness of the moment. "Yeah, I... I've been thinking a lot about… things."

"Things?"

Star frowned, clearly unsure how to get to the heart of the matter. "Like… where I'm going to live, you know?"

Sheila felt a knot form in her stomach. She'd known this conversation was coming, but she still wasn't sure she was ready for it. "Okay," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral, though she could hear the slight tremor in it. "What are you thinking?"

Star took a deep breath, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, a nervous habit Sheila had noticed before. "Well, the thing is... I've been talking to my Aunt Sarah. You know, my mom's sister? She lives in Colorado."

Sheila nodded. Yes, she thought Star had mentioned her before. "What about her?"

"She's offered to let me come live with her," Star said in a rush, the words tumbling out as if she'd been holding them back for too long. "She has a spare room, and there's a good school nearby, and..."

Star trailed off, her eyes searching Sheila's face for a reaction. Sheila felt her heart skip a beat, a mixture of emotions washing over her: relief that Star had found a potential permanent home, sadness at the thought of her leaving, guilt that she hadn't been able to provide the stability Star needed.

"That's… terrific," she said, doing her best to focus on the positives. "You must be excited."

For several moments, Star said nothing. There was no excitement in her face—only sadness.

"The thing is," Star said, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes shining with unshed tears, "I don't want to go."