Page 3 of Silent Trail

Rita shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea."

Without a word, the two friends began retracing the footsteps. The trail of red led them back to the dark hallway, which now seemed even more menacing than before. As Claire illuminated the space with her phone's flashlight, shadows danced ominously along the walls. A row of lockers lined one side of the corridor, their metal surfaces gleaming in the artificial light.

As they drew nearer, Rita noticed a thick, viscous liquid dripping from the bottom of one of the lockers—the same color as the stains on the carpet. Now, there could be no question about what it was.

Blood.

Rita's heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears as she stepped closer to the locker, drawn by a morbid curiosity.

"This can't be happening," Claire said, though her voice trembled with fear and her face had paled considerably.

With trembling hands, Rita grasped the cold handle of the locker. Then she paused as a new idea occurred to her. She relaxed her shoulders, breathing more easily. Claire was right—this couldn't be happening.

Which meant there was only one explanation.

"Hardy-har-har," she said, rolling her eyes at Claire. "You really had me going there for a minute, you know. What was the plan? I open the door, all terrified, and a Halloween skeleton falls on me or something? Was that the idea?"

Claire just stared at her, wide-eyed. Oh, she knew how to act when she wanted to. Her acting was so impressive, in fact, that Rita felt a flicker of doubt. But that was ridiculous. There was no way this could be real.

Suddenly, she had to know the truth for certain. Holding her breath, putting on a tight smile to show she was not about to be the butt of the joke, she hauled the locker open.

It's just a prank, just a prank, she told herself. It's just a—

And then the body fell on her.

CHAPTER ONE

Sheila tapped her fingers on the steering wheel of the van, the rhythmic beat punctuating the silence of the early morning. She stared at the door of her sister's house as if willing it to open with the sheer force of her gaze.

"Come on, Natalie," she muttered under her breath, glancing at the time displayed on her dashboard. Seven in the morning.

The house itself was modest and well-maintained, its pale yellow siding complementing the surrounding flower beds filled with late-blooming perennials. The neighborhood was picturesque, the kind of place where kids played outside until dusk, and neighbors exchanged pleasantries over white picket fences. But Sheila couldn't help staring at the recently-installed ramp leading up to the front door, a stark reminder of how much had changed in such a short period of time.

Her heart thudded in her chest, a feeling of unease settling over her like a heavy fog. She had been driving Natalie to work for the past month, but the sight of her sister navigating life with limited mobility still left her disconcerted.

A bead of sweat trickled down Sheila's temple as she tried to shake off the guilt that gnawed at her insides. If only she had done things differently during their investigation together – hadn't gotten herself caught by a psychotic killer and forced Natalie to confront him at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, with no backup in sight – maybe then, Natalie wouldn't be in this situation. But the question that haunted her the most was whether Natalie harbored any resentment toward her for it.

Does she blame me? She hasn't said anything to that effect, but still, I can't help feeling like she's treating me differently now. She can be so...aloof.

The creak of the front door yanked her out of her thoughts. There was Natalie, dressed in her sheriff's uniform, expertly maneuvering her wheelchair down the ramp. Her jaw clenched as she struggled to close the door behind her, her fingers grasping for the handle while she balanced on one wheel.

"Hey, let me help you with that," Sheila said, stepping out of the van and hurrying to assist her sister.

Natalie flashed a tight smile, her eyes not quite meeting Sheila's. "No, I'm fine, really. I've got it." With a final tug, she managed to shut the door and roll away from the house, her movements more labored than before.

"Okay, if you're sure..." Sheila trailed off, uncertainty lingering in her voice. She couldn't tell if the tension she sensed in Natalie was genuine or just a figment of her own guilty conscience.

Sheila averted her eyes as Natalie approached, pretending to be engrossed in the vibrant colors of the late summer foliage lining the quiet street. In reality, she couldn't stand to see her sister struggling with the wheelchair, each push of the wheels a reminder of the bullet that had grazed her spinal column.

A bullet that, if Natalie hadn't pushed Sheila out of the way, might have struck Sheila instead.

As Natalie reached the van, Sheila opened the side door, revealing a chair lift installed on the floor of the van. Sheila pressed a button, causing the lift to slowly emerge from the van before sinking to the ground, and then watched as Natalie parked her chair on the lift. A moment later, Natalie was rising in the air, her jaw clenched as she couldn't bear how complicated getting into a vehicle had become for her.

Returning to the driver's seat, Sheila started the engine and pulled out of the driveway, the tires crunching over gravel as the van eased onto the quiet street. The neighborhood was still waking up, a sleepy tableau of modest houses nestled beneath the towering Wasatch Range that framed the eastern horizon. As they drove, the sun crept ever higher, casting long shadows across the landscape and bathing everything in a warm, honeyed light.

Despite the beauty, Sheila found herself drumming her fingers nervously on the steering wheel. The silence between her and Natalie felt thick, suffocating—a vast canyon where easy conversation had once flowed effortlessly. Desperate to fill the void, she cast about for any topic that might bridge the gap.

"So," she said, trying to start a conversation, "have you spoken with Dad lately?" She stole a glance at Natalie in the rearview mirror.

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