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"You need any extra assistance on this?" Dawson asked. "If you'd like another set of hands, I can see if I can find—"
“No, that’s alright,” Sheila said quickly. “We’ve got it.”
Dawson gave her a long, evaluating look. “Okay,” he finally said, taking a step back. “Just let me know if you change your mind.”
“Thank you, sir.” She smiled tightly and watched as he walked out.
“What was that about?” Finn asked.
“That was Hank’s way of letting me know he’s keeping an eye on me.” She shook her head, annoyed.
“He’s just looking out for you. Wants to make sure you don’t have too much on your plate.”
“I know, but I can look out for myself. As it is, everyone in the department already looks at me like I’m some fragile little bird."
Finn nodded sympathetically. "I get your frustration. Just remember, we're all here for you. Everyone just wants to see you do well."
Sheila bit back a retort. She knew Finn meant well, but she didn't need his sympathy or understanding right now. What she needed was to solve this case and prove that she could handle her job and her life, no matter how much it might seem like everything was falling apart.
“I think we should talk to someone who knew Amanda,” she said abruptly as she leaned toward the screen again. “Maybe talk to her parents—looks like they live nearby.”
Finn nodded, but he looked distracted, as if he was still hung up on the previous topic.
Sheila located the parents’ address, closed the laptop, and rose and headed for the door. “You coming?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, frowning as he followed her. At the door, he stopped.
“You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?” he asked. “If it was too much, I mean.”
“Of course,” Sheila said immediately, opening the door. “We’re partners, right?”
“Right.” Finn nodded and stepped outside. Sheila followed, wondering if Finn had read the lie in her eyes.
***
Guilt slithered inside Sheila as they drove in silence toward the Hayes' residence. She didn’t like lying, most of all to Finn…but the truth was she had no real sense of what ‘too much’ would look like. She was tough, a fighter rather than a quitter. She didn’t bend to the winds of adversity.
Trees that don’t bend eventually break, she thought grimly. That was, after all, what had happened to Natalie.
Did Sheila have to worry she might go down a similar path?
She was distracted from these thoughts by the sight of a sprawling ranch nestled on the outskirts of Salt Lake City, surrounded by a vast expanse of fields that stretched out to the horizon. The home itself was quaint, a testament to simpler times, with a barn-red exterior and white trim around the windows. Stacks of hay bales dotted the fields, and a handful of horses grazed peacefully in the distance.
Finn parked their car in the gravel driveway, and they both stepped out. They were greeted by the sight of a frail-looking woman tending her garden, her back hunched and her hands covered with soil.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Sheila said as she approached the woman. "Are you Mrs. Hayes?"
The woman straightened up and turned, brushing a strand of silver hair away from her face. Her deep-set eyes held the unmistakable glimmer of sorrow, and her lips were drawn into a thin line. "Yes, I am."
"We're with the Coldwater County Sheriff's Department," Finn said, showing her his badge. "We'd like to ask you some questions about your daughter, Amanda, if that's alright."
The name seemed to hit the older woman hard. She swayed faintly, her weathered hands tightening around her trowel.
"Oh, dear," she murmured, swallowed hard as she stared at the ground. “The investigators were here just a few weeks ago. Do we really need to go through this again?”
Sheila felt a twinge of sympathy at the woman’s words. She could only imagine how painful it must be to relive such a traumatic experience. But she also knew they had a job to do, and every piece of information could potentially lead them to Amanda's killer.
And Bethany’s.
