Page 11 of Silent Night

Sheila exchanged a glance with Finn, both sharing the same worried expression. But they knew better than to try to dissuade Natalie from her course.

Sheila bit her lip as she watched Natalie's determined expression, the muscles in her sister's arms straining against the effort of navigating the rough terrain. With a nod to Finn, they each positioned themselves on either side of Natalie's wheelchair, ready to offer support when necessary. The descent was slow and treacherous, with Sheila and Finn occasionally holding onto the frame of the chair to prevent it from tipping over.

"Thanks," Natalie muttered through gritted teeth, her pride wounded but not broken.

"Of course," Sheila said, understanding the unspoken battle her sister faced with her limitations.

As they reached the water's edge, the trio took a moment to observe their surroundings. The air was tinged with the pungent scent of minerals and salt, mingling with the earthy aroma of the surrounding vegetation. In the distance, several birds flew low over the water, their wings casting fleeting shadows on the still surface.

"It's so calm here," Natalie murmured, her eyes scanning the shoreline. "There's no current to have moved the body closer to shore. That means Jennifer must have been in motion when she entered the water."

A shiver ran down Sheila's spine at the thought of the killer rowing out into the middle of the lake on a boat, then callously discarding Jennifer's lifeless body into the water. "Do you think he threw her in just before that couple found her?" she asked, unable to shake the chilling image from her mind. "Is that why the body was still moving?"

Finn, his brow furrowed in concentration, considered her question. "It's difficult to say how fresh the body was when it was found. The salt in the water can preserve it, making it harder to determine the exact time of death." His gaze flicked back to the colored flags marking the grim discovery site.

"Which way did the hikers come from?" Sheila asked, curious to explore the area further.

Finn pointed to their left. "Started three or four miles that way."

"Alright." Sheila hesitated for a moment before deciding. "I'm going to walk along the shore the opposite way. See if I can find anything that could be related to the case."

"Good idea." Finn handed her a pair of evidence gloves. "Just in case you find something. You're not technically supposed to handle any evidence…" He shrugged, then looked at Natalie.

"But we trust you," Natalie said. "Besides, I'm the sheriff, and what's the point of being in charge if you can't break the rules now and then?" She winked at Sheila.

"Thanks," Sheila said, grateful for their confidence in her abilities.

She set off along the shoreline, her footsteps crunching in the mixture of sand and salt. The air was heavy with the scent of brine and decay, a stark reminder of the tragedy that had unfolded in this beautiful place.

As she walked, her mind drifted to the killer. If he had dropped the body here just a few hours ago, how far away could he be? Did he live nearby, or had he traveled a significant distance to dispose of Jennifer's lifeless form here? And why choose this location—a seemingly foolish place to leave a body, where it would easily float and be preserved by the salt?

"Who are you?" she murmured, staring out at the vast expanse of water. "And why did you do this?"

Her mind raced through countless possibilities, attempting to construct a profile of the murderer based on the limited information she had. Was he a methodical, calculating predator? Or an impulsive, rage-filled monster who had acted on a sudden, uncontrollable urge?

The sun climbed higher in the sky as she continued her solitary trek. Her eyes scanned the shoreline, searching for any clues that might have gone unnoticed. As she did so, her gaze was drawn to an oddity among the natural debris scattered along the shoreline. A large, rusty nail protruded from a chunk of partially rotten wood, its head glinting in the sunlight as if recently struck by a hammer. The incongruity piqued her interest.

Pulling on the gloves Finn had given her, Sheila crouched beside the wooden fragment. She wrapped her fingers around the nail, noting how the rust flaked away where it had been scraped clean. Her muscles tensed as she began to work the nail back and forth, testing its resistance.

"I wonder what this is doing here," she muttered under her breath, her focus narrowing to the task at hand. The wood groaned and splintered as she applied more force, determination fueling her efforts. Beads of sweat formed on her brow as she strained against the stubborn metal.

With a final surge of strength, the nail surrendered, pulling free with a muted crack. Sheila stared at it, weighing the implications of her find. Could this be connected to the crime, or was it just another piece of discarded refuse?

Clutching the nail, she made her way back to Natalie and Finn, who were engaged in an animated discussion near the water's edge. As she approached, their conversation ceased, and they turned their attention to her.

"Look what I found," Sheila said, holding up the freed nail for inspection. Their expressions shifted from curiosity to intrigue as they examined the peculiar object.

"A nail?" Finn asked, puzzled.

"Look at the head of it. It was hammered very recently. Who would come out here and drive a nail like this into an old, rotten log?"

"Can I see the pictures?" Natalie asked.

Sheila frowned, uncertain what her sister meant. "Pictures?"

"You took pictures before you removed the nail, didn't you?"

Sheila felt the heat rising to her cheeks. "I guess I forgot. I remembered the gloves, though." Rookie mistake, she thought, inwardly kicking herself.

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