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 of the 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 echoing ominously 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.

"Finn," she called softly. "I think we've found our murder weapon."

Finn leaned in for a closer look. "Looks that way. We'll have forensics bag it for evidence."

As they stepped back to allow the crime scene technicians to do their work, Sheila turned her attention back to the priest. "Father Stephen," she said, "have you seen this woman before?"

The priest swallowed hard, looking away from the confessional. "I can't be certain, not with...with the state she's in," he said, his voice shaking. "But I believe it's Laura Hastings. She's a parishioner here, comes to confession regularly. Well, she used to—I haven't seen her in a number of months."

Sheila jotted down the name in her notebook. "Thank you, Father. That's very helpful."

"Are there any cameras in or around the church, by any chance?" Finn asked, looking around.

Father Stephen smiled sadly. "I'm afraid we're not quite that modern. I don't believe there are any cameras on neighboring properties, either."

"Did Laura have any enemies that you know of?" Sheila asked. "Anyone who might want to harm her?"

Father Stephen shook his head. "No, not that I know of. Laura was...troubled, certainly. She carried a great burden of guilt. But she was a kind soul. I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt her."

Sheila's brow furrowed. "Guilt? What do you mean by that, Father?"

The priest hesitated, his eyes darting between Sheila and Finn. "I...I'm not sure I should say. What's shared in confession is meant to be confidential."

"Father, I understand your position," Finn said, "but Laura is dead now. You might know something that could help us find her killer and bring them to justice."

Father Stephen sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his decision. After a long moment, he spoke. "Laura was having...marital problems. She mentioned thinking about leaving her husband."

Sheila jotted this down in her notebook. "Did she say why she was considering leaving him?"

The priest shook his head. "No, she never went into specifics. Just that she was unhappy and felt trapped. But she was torn about it—hence the guilt. She believed strongly in the sanctity of marriage."

Sheila nodded, processing this information. Then a thought struck her. "Father, was her confession scheduled?"

"Not as far as I know," Father Stephen said, looking puzzled. "Which is odd, since they're supposed to be scheduled."

"Were any other priests taking confession today?" Finn asked.

The priest shook his head again. "No, I'm the only priest here."

Sheila and Finn exchanged a look.

"Thank you, Father Stephen," Sheila said. "Let us know if you think of anything else."

The priest nodded and turned away. When he was out of earshot, Sheila said, "So why was Laura here? Did she meet with someone else?"

"You know what they say," Finn said. "When in doubt, question the spouse."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Is that really a saying?"

He shrugged. "No. But it should be. Maybe he found out she was thinking of leaving, flipped out."

"But if so, why attack her here, in a public place?"

"Guess we'd better ask him that."