Page 6 of Silent Home

If not for the ligature marks on her neck, she might have been merely resting between scenes.

"Shit," Sheila breathed.

"Yeah."Finn's voice was tight."Killer arranged everything.The dress, the chair, the lighting—even her hair and makeup appear to have been done post-mortem."

Dr.Jin Zihao, the county coroner, looked up from where he knelt beside the body.His silver-streaked black hair caught the light as he gestured them over."Preliminary time of death between eight and ten PM last night," he said."Strangulation with some kind of thin cord or wire.No defensive wounds visible."

"Maybe she knew her killer?"Sheila asked.

"Or never saw them coming," Finn suggested.

A man in an expensive sweater and wire-rimmed glasses hurried down the aisle toward them, his face pinched with worry."Sheriff Stone?I'm Carl Rider, festival organizer.This is...I mean, we've never had anything like this happen before."

Sheila studied him.Mid-fifties, meticulously groomed, with the harried look of someone juggling too many responsibilities."Tell me about Jessica Gregory," she said.

"Wonderful girl.Very professional, very dedicated.She worked concessions, but really..."He sighed."She was an actress.Had been auditioning for local productions, trying to break into independent films.Several directors here had noticed her."

"Any particular directors?"Finn asked.

"Bradley Greenwald took an interest.He's premiering his new documentary tonight—or was supposed to."Rider wrung his hands."Sheriff, I know this looks bad, but we can't shut down.Not yet."

"Carl, someone was murdered."

"I understand that, but this festival..."He glanced around nervously before lowering his voice."The hotels are full.The restaurants are packed.These four days keep some of our merchants in business through the winter.If we shut down now..."He spread his hands helplessly."Half of Main Street was counting on this income."

"And I'm counting on keeping people alive," Sheila said."Economic impact or not, I won't risk another victim.We need to clear the theaters, get everyone out before word spreads and we have panic on our hands."

"What about containing it?Extra security, restricted access to certain areas—"

"Someone got past whatever security we already had," Sheila said."No.I won't gamble with people's lives.Not even to save the festival.I want it shut down."

Rider slumped, but he didn't argue further.Just then, Sheila caught movement in her peripheral vision as Finn moved closer to the stage."The pose," he said quietly."It means something.This wasn't random."

Sheila joined him, noticing what he meant.Everything about the scene felt deliberate and choreographed.The angle of Jessica's head, the way her hands lay in her lap, even the fall of her hair across one shoulder—it all spoke of careful arrangement.

"Like a scene from a play," she murmured.

"Or a movie," Finn added.

Above them, the projection booth's window stood dark and empty, a black eye watching over the theater.Sheila thought of Tommy's laptop, still hidden in her truck.One mystery at a time, she told herself.

"Mr.Rider," she said, "I need a list of everyone with access to this theater, including maintenance staff, projectionists, anyone who might have a key."

"Of course."Rider dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief."Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more private?The lobby café is closed for the investigation, but my temporary office is just down the hall."

Sheila glanced at Jin, who nodded."We'll be at least another hour here," he said.

Sheila turned to Rider."Lead the way."

The festival office turned out to be a converted storage room, though Rider had done his best to make it presentable.Festival posters from previous years lined the walls—ten years of independent films celebrated in the heart of Utah.A desk fashioned from two sawhorses and an old door dominated the space, covered in scheduling grids, vendor contracts, and what looked like hundreds of business cards.

"Coffee?"Rider offered, gesturing to a fancy espresso machine that seemed out of place among the improvised furniture."It's Italian.One of our sponsors insisted we have decent coffee, at least in the office."

"Please," Finn said, while Sheila shook her head.

As Rider fussed with the machine, its grinding and hissing filling the small space, Sheila studied him more closely.His sweater was cashmere, his shoes Italian leather, but there was something performative about the display of wealth.Like he was playing a role, he thought a festival director should play.

"This must be difficult for you," she said."Running a festival this size, and now this."

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