Silent Neighbor (Sheila Stone #9)

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

The heavy glass door of the gym swung shut behind Sheila and Finn, the cool rush of air-conditioned air giving way to the oppressive heat of the Utah afternoon.

Sheila squinted against the bright sunlight, her eyes taking a moment to adjust after the dim interior of the gym. The parking lot shimmered in the heat, the asphalt radiating waves that distorted the air above it.

"Well, that's one more name we can cross off the list," Finn murmured.

As they walked to their car, Sheila tried to remain optimistic. But she couldn't ignore the growing sense of unease she felt. With every person they interviewed and cleared, she began to worry more and more that she'd made a mistake in assuming the killer was a member of the group.

Was it possible she'd been wrong?

"Who's next on the list?" she asked as they reached the car, the metal of the door handles almost too hot to touch.

Finn shook his head, his expression grim. "That's it. We've talked to all the men in the group."

Sheila leaned against the car, ignoring the heat that seeped through her shirt. She pulled out the crumpled list they'd been working from, her eyes scanning the names they'd meticulously crossed off. Each name represented a dead end, another potential suspect cleared, another step away from solving the case.

She thought back to Robert Crane's words: The new members… There's no telling what they're capable of. But they'd already cleared all the new members. They'd been thorough, too—running background checks, verifying alibis.

Closing her eyes, she pictured the crime scenes: the victims strung up against the cliff faces, dangling from ropes attached to—

She opened her eyes and stood up suddenly. "The pitons," she said aloud.

Finn raised an eyebrow, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "What are you talking about?"

"We've been focusing on current members of the group," Sheila said. "But those pitons were old, vintage. What if the killer is a past member? What if they already left the group?"

Finn nodded thoughtfully as he caught on to her train of thought. "That's possible."

Sheila pushed off from the car and began pacing in the small space between vehicles. The heat radiated up from the asphalt, but she barely noticed, her mind racing with possibilities. "Think about it. Someone who knows the group, understands their mindset, but isn't an active member anymore. It could explain why we haven't been able to pin them down."

Finn was already tapping away at his phone. "I'll contact Lucas, see if he can get us a list of past members."

As Finn made the call, Sheila leaned back against the car, her mind whirling. This could be the break they needed. But even as hope flickered to life, a nagging doubt crept in.

How many past members could there be? And how could they possibly investigate them all in the time they had left?

Finn ended the call, his expression a mix of hope and frustration. "Lucas says he can get us the list, but it's not going to be quick or easy. Apparently, dozens of people have joined and left the group over the past few years. Some only stayed for a few weeks before moving on."

Sheila felt her heart sink. They didn't have time for this. Their twenty-four-hour deadline loomed over them like a guillotine, ready to drop at any moment. They needed something more immediate, something they could act on now.

They climbed into the car. The leather seats were hot from the sunlight, and Finn turned on the AC.

"Maybe we need to look at this differently," Sheila mused as Finn pulled out of the parking lot. The gym receded in the rearview mirror, another dead end left behind. "Instead of searching for the killer, what if we try to find their next victim?"

Finn glanced at her, curiosity replacing the frustration in his eyes. "What are you thinking?"

"The forum," Sheila said, already pulling out her phone. "If our killer is using it to choose their victims, maybe we can spot who they might target next."

As Finn navigated the sun-baked streets of Coldwater, Sheila immersed herself in the digital world of Extreme Limits. The forum was a flurry of activity, with members discussing the recent murders, sharing theories, and expressing fear and concern.

Post after post scrolled by as Sheila searched for something, anything, that might give them a lead. Many members were talking about avoiding the cliffs for a while, their usual bravado replaced by a very human fear. Others were defiant, insisting that they wouldn't let a killer dictate their passion.

"Anything?" Finn asked, his eyes flicking between the road and Sheila.

She shook her head, frustration mounting. "Nothing concrete yet. Wait... hold on."

A newer post, only a few hours old, caught her eye. Sheila's heart raced as she read:

In honor of Jake and Brad, I'm tackling the east face of Razor's Edge today. No ropes, no safety gear. Just me and the mountain. I'll conquer this mountain or die trying.

"Finn," she said, her voice tight with urgency. "We need to get to Razor's Edge. Now."