Page 8 of Silent Night

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?"

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