Page 9 of Silent Night

"Another case just came in," Natalie said, her tone shifting to businesslike. "My car's in the shop – there was an issue with the hand controls – so I'm temporarily grounded."

"Are you saying you need a ride?" Sheila asked, her mind still reeling from the discovery of the vehicle that had apparently been used by her mother's killer.

"Yes…" Natalie paused. "And it's also an opportunity for you to get a bit more experience under your belt. Besides, I could use the help. What do you think? Are you up for it?"

Sheila chewed her lip for a moment. As eager as she was to learn more about the vehicle she'd come to the junkyard to find, it could take some time to discover who had sold the vehicle to the junkyard. Working on another case would be a good way to pass the time.

"What's this case about?" she asked.

Natalie hesitated. "Well, put it this way. Ever seen a body encased in salt?"

CHAPTER FOUR

Sheila pulled up to Natalie's house, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel of the van. She couldn't stop replaying in her head Natalie's words about this latest case and the discovery of the body of a young woman floating in the Great Salt Lake. Who would have left a body there, and why?

And how long might the body have been preserved?

The Stone residence looked like any other on the block: a one-story brick house with a small garden out front. Roses climbed up trellises by the porch, a touch of life against the brick facade. As Sheila watched, the garage door lumbered open, revealing Natalie in her sheriff's uniform. Natalie paused for a moment, hitting the button to close the door before rolling out of the garage in her wheelchair, her gaze fixed on the ground.

Sheila couldn't help but notice how Natalie seemed stiffer than usual, like she was in more pain. A pang of guilt washed over her as she remembered the day her sister had been shot—a day that should have ended in victory, but instead left Natalie confined to a wheelchair. She still blamed herself for getting Natalie into that situation.

Natalie rolled herself toward the van, and Sheila waved at her sister but remained where she was, knowing all too well that Natalie preferred handling things on her own. As Natalie maneuvered her wheelchair toward the side passenger door to use the chair lift, Sheila couldn't help but notice the strange positivity in her sister's demeanor. She wondered if Natalie was putting up a front, masking her pain to appear strong.

As she contemplated this, a sudden buzz from her phone diverted her attention. Glancing down, she saw a text message from Star, the last person she expected to hear from. The message read, Hey, I forgot to give you your charger back.

Sheila typed out a quick reply: No worries—keep it. It's my old one, anyway.

It felt good to be able to offer even such a small gesture of friendship. She waited, hoping Star might respond. Seconds passed. She began to think she wouldn't hear back from Star, but then she was surprised.

Also, your dad wanted me to ask if I could borrow your old boxing gloves. Is that cool?

A nostalgic smile spread across Sheila's face as memories of her kickboxing days flooded her mind. With a touch of warmth in her heart, she quickly texted back: Of course! They're all yours.

As the chair lift whirred and hummed, hoisting Natalie's wheelchair into the vehicle, Natalie glanced over at Sheila, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Texting a secret boyfriend, Sheila?" she asked.

"Ha, I wish," Sheila replied, rolling her eyes. "No boyfriend here—not that it's any of your business." She flashed a playful grin at her sister to assure her it was all in good fun.

The van's tires crunched over the gravel driveway as Sheila pulled away from the house, heading toward the crime scene. The morning sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the pavement. Rows of quaint suburban homes soon gave way to stretches of open land framed by jagged mountains on one side and empty fields on the other.

The silence in the van was heavy but not uncomfortable. Natalie stared out the window, her fingers drumming absent-mindedly on her armrest. Thinking about the case, probably.

"Hey, Nat," Sheila finally said, breaking the silence. "If you needed a ride, why didn't you call someone you work with? Like Finn, for example."

Natalie let out a short laugh. "Finn? You think I'd trust his driving more than yours? He drives like he's still in a fighter jet."

Sheila cracked a smile at this. "Seriously, though," she said.

Natalie's tone turned serious, and she looked directly at Sheila. "Sheila, this isn't about having a chauffeur. I wanted your help. I've seen firsthand your dedication to kickboxing, and having made the switch myself, I can tell you that a lot of what you learn in the ring translates to this career: making hard work a habit, disciplining your body, studying your opponent, getting up off the mat every time you're knocked down. And you excel at all those things."

Sheila felt a surge of gratitude for her sister's faith in her abilities. Natalie had won an Olympic gold medal for kickboxing, so her praise meant a great deal. At the same time, however, Sheila felt a lingering uncertainty.

She gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white. "I appreciate that, Nat, but I'm still just…I don't know. It's a lot to think about, this job."

"Are you getting cold feet?"

Sheila recalled a recent conversation between them in which she'd insisted she did indeed want to become a cop. Now, however, she was unsure.

"It's just a big decision," she said. "And sometimes I'm not sure if I'm up for it."

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