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"What kind of situation?" Sheila asked, already on her feet.
"Possible homicide," Finn replied grimly. "Woman was found beaten to death in the confessional."
CHAPTER TWO
Sheila and Finn raced through Coldwater County, their patrol car slicing through the crisp Utah evening. The sun hung low on the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink that reflected off the Great Salt Lake in the distance.
As they sped past familiar landmarks, Sheila couldn't help but feel a disconnect between the beauty of her hometown and the grim reality of their destination.
Coldwater County had always been a place of contrasts. To the north, snow-capped mountains rose majestically, while to the south, the iconic red-rock desert stretched as far as the eye could see. It was a land that attracted both rugged outdoorsmen and tech entrepreneurs, a place where traditional values collided with modern aspirations.
They passed the Coldwater Community College, its modern glass buildings a stark contrast to the old-fashioned main street that formed the heart of their small town. Students milled about, blissfully unaware of the tragedy unfolding just a few miles away.
"I can't believe this is happening here," Sheila murmured, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. "A murder in St. Michael's? It doesn't seem real."
Finn nodded grimly. "I know what you mean. This town's had its share of troubles, but nothing like this."
As they drove, Sheila's mind wandered to the victim. Who was she? What had brought her to the church on this fateful evening? And most chillingly, who had wanted her dead?
They turned onto Church Street, which was lined with quaint houses and well-manicured lawns. Children's bicycles lay abandoned in driveways, testament to the sense of safety that had, until now, defined life in Coldwater County. At the end ofthe street stood St. Michael's, its weathered stone facade and tall spire a familiar sight to all who called this place home.
As they pulled up to the church, Sheila noticed a small crowd gathering at the police tape that had already been set up. Concerned faces peered at them as they exited the car, whispers rippling through the onlookers. News traveled fast in a small town like theirs.
"Deputy Stone! Deputy Mercer!" a voice called out. It was Mrs. Hendricks, an elderly woman who was a permanent fixture at the popular Steinhart Bar and Grill, her face etched with worry. "Is it true? Has someone really been murdered?"
Sheila approached her, keeping her voice low and calm. "We're still investigating, Mrs. Hendricks. Please, everyone needs to stay back and let us do our job."
As she turned back to Finn, Sheila caught sight of Father Stephen standing near the church entrance, his usually jovial face ashen with shock. He was a prominent member of the community, and though Sheila didn't know him particularly well, she had run into him at a few town meetings.
She and Finn made their way over to the priest, ducking under the police tape.
"Father," Finn said solemnly. "Can you tell us what happened?"
The priest shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "I...I was in my office, preparing for evening mass. I heard a noise from the sanctuary, but I thought nothing of it at first. People often come in to pray." He paused, swallowing hard. "But then I heard a scream. By the time I got there...it was too late."
Sheila placed a comforting hand on the priest's shoulder. "You did everything you could, Father. Can you show us where you found her?"
Father Stephen nodded, leading them into the church. The heavy wooden doors creaked as they entered, the sound echoingominously through the silent sanctuary. The familiar scent of incense hung in the air, now tainted with something metallic and unsettling.
As they approached the confessional, Sheila's trained eye took in every detail. Nothing seemed out of place in the main area of the church. The pews stood in neat rows, hymnals and Bibles tucked tidily in their places. Candles flickered softly at the altar, casting long shadows across the stone floor.
The confessional, too, looked normal, the latticed window holding nothing but darkness within. The only sign that anything might be wrong was the faint line of blood visible just beneath the door.
"The body's still inside," said a voice behind them. Sheila turned to see Dr. Jin Zihao, the county coroner, approaching. His usually immaculate appearance was disheveled, a testament to the urgency of the situation.
"What can you tell us, Doc?" Finn asked.
Dr. Zihao's sharp eyes met theirs. "Female victim, late thirties to early forties. The cause of death appears to be blunt force trauma to the head and upper body. I'll know more after the autopsy, but from the initial examination, I'd say she was beaten to death."
Sheila felt a chill run down her spine. "Beaten to death in a confessional," she murmured. "What kind of monster would do something like this?"
They stepped closer to the confessional, and Sheila steeled herself for what she was about to see. The victim's body lay crumpled in the small space, her features barely recognizable beneath the bruising and blood.
For just a moment, Sheila felt herself transported back to her sister's cabin. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, willing the moment to pass, willing herself to remain rooted here in this church.
And then the feeling was gone.
Taking a relieved breath, she scanned the confessional. She spotted something partially hidden beneath the victim's body—a heavy brass candlestick. Its ornate surface was smeared with blood and what looked like strands of hair.
