Page 19 of Silent Grave (Sheila Stone #12)

Sarah Riggs stood at the center of it all, her steel-gray hair catching the light as she spoke with a cluster of reporters.

Two men in MSHA jackets conferred nearby, their clipboards illuminated by headlamps as they examined documentation.

The larger of the two—middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair and the build of someone who spent more time behind a desk than in the field—kept shooting irritated glances at the crowd.

Sheila spotted her father's familiar figure near the mine entrance, deep in conversation with Dave Kendrick from Search and Rescue. Gabriel's hands moved in sharp, frustrated gestures as he spoke. Even from a distance, she could read the tension in his posture.

"Your father spent twenty minutes arguing with the MSHA guys," Finn said as they made their way through the crowd. "Didn't get anywhere."

A sign bobbed past: CORPORATE GREED = MURDER. Another read, SEAL THE DEATH TRAPS. Sheila caught fragments of conversation as they walked: "...about time someone did something..." and "...can't believe they let people just walk in..." and "...whole mountain's probably unstable..."

She understood their fear, their anger. Two young men were dead. But she also knew that sealing these mines now might give their killer exactly what he wanted—a perfect hiding place, inaccessible to law enforcement.

Still, she couldn't deny Riggs had a point. Wasn't protecting potential victims more important than catching one killer? The thought of another person wandering into these tunnels, becoming prey to this twisted hunter…

But then she remembered Sullivan saying there could be 'hundreds' of unofficial entrances to the mines. She could seal every known entrance, post guards and barriers, but it wouldn't keep people out. Not if they were determined to get in.

"We can't seal what we can't find," she said quietly.

"Sheriff Stone!" Sarah Riggs's voice cut through the noise. "Care to comment on MSHA's intervention? Or would you rather keep pretending these mines are safe?"

Cameras swung toward Sheila. Reporter microphones materialized like mushrooms after rain. She felt Finn tense beside her, ready to run interference, but she gave him an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Better to handle this directly.

"Ms. Riggs," she said, keeping her voice steady. "I understand your concerns about public safety. But you're interfering with an active murder investigation."

"No," Riggs countered, "I'm preventing more deaths. These mines should have been properly sealed decades ago. Instead, they've become hunting grounds for a killer—a killer your department can't seem to catch."

The words stung, but Sheila kept her expression neutral. "We're making progress. But even if we could shut down the mines, it wouldn't stop everyone from—"

"Progress?" Riggs's laugh was bitter. "Two men are dead. How many more bodies need to pile up before someone takes action?"

More cameras. More microphones. The crowd pressed closer, drawn by the confrontation. Sheila felt the weight of their attention, their judgment. They wanted someone to blame—the mining company, the sheriff's department, anyone who might have prevented these deaths.

But they didn't understand. Couldn't understand. The real danger wasn't the mines themselves, but the darkness that lived in them. A darkness that wore night-vision goggles and a silver cross, that drew religious symbols in the dirt beside its victims.

A darkness that might very well benefit from all this attention. Might even crave it.

Suddenly, a commotion near the edge of the crowd drew Sheila's attention. A woman pushed her way through, her face tight with panic. She was in her fifties, dressed in hiking clothes, her silver hair escaping a utilitarian braid.

"Sheriff!" she called out, her voice trembling. "Please—I need help!"

Sheila moved toward her, Finn following close behind. The reporters swung their cameras to track them.

"I'm Sheriff Stone," she said. "What's wrong?"

"My name is Carol Martinez. My sister, Diana—she went into the mines this morning." The woman's hands twisted together as she spoke. "She's a geologist, studies ore deposits. She's been mapping the old copper veins for an environmental impact study."

Sarah Riggs pushed forward. "Another person missing? And you still think these mines should stay open?"

"Ms. Riggs," Sheila said sharply, "please give us some space." To Carol, she asked, "When exactly did your sister enter the mine?"

"Around eight this morning. She was supposed to meet me for lunch at one, but she never showed." Carol pulled out her phone, showing a text conversation. "She sent me this at nine-thirty—said she'd found something interesting, wanted to check one more tunnel. That was the last I heard from her."

Sheila studied the texts. The last one read: Found unusual formation in north branch. Going to get samples. Signal's weak down here but will call when I'm out.

"Diana's done this survey work dozens of times," Carol continued.

"She knows these mines, knows all the safety protocols.

She always carries emergency gear, extra batteries, everything she might need.

" Her voice cracked. "When she missed lunch, I thought maybe she'd just lost track of time.

She does that sometimes when she's working.

But now it's been hours, and with everything that's happened. .."

The larger MSHA inspector approached, frowning. "Ma'am, did your sister have authorization to enter these mines? This is private property."

"She has permits from the mining company," Carol said. "She's been conducting surveys for months as part of an EPA assessment."

Sheila exchanged looks with Finn. A professional geologist, experienced in the mines, properly equipped—this wasn't some random explorer who'd gotten lost. Something was wrong.

"Where exactly was she planning to survey?" Sheila asked.

"The north branch of the Copper Queen system." Carol pulled up a map on her phone. "She was documenting the extent of the old copper veins, trying to determine if acid mine drainage might be affecting groundwater."

The north branch. The same section where their killer had last been seen.

"That area's completely unstable," the MSHA inspector said, his name badge identifying him as Dan Hawthorne. "Those tunnels haven't been properly assessed in decades. No one goes in until we complete a full structural evaluation."

"There's a missing person," Sheila said, already moving toward the mine entrance. "That supersedes your authority."

"Sheriff—" Hawthorne stepped in front of her. "Under federal mining law, MSHA has absolute jurisdiction over mine safety. If I determine there's imminent danger—which I have—I can prohibit all entry, including law enforcement."

"She could be hurt down there," Carol said, her voice rising. "She could be—" She stopped, unable to finish the thought.

Sheila brushed past Hawthorne, clicking on her flashlight. "Then arrest me."

"Sheila, wait—" Finn caught up to her at the entrance.

"You can come with me or you can stay," she said, "but either way I'm going in."

Finn hesitated only a moment before pulling out his own light. They entered together, ignoring Hawthorne's continued protests.

The tunnel air hit them like a physical presence—cool, damp, heavy with mineral scents. Their lights caught ancient support beams, many visibly rotting. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, each drop echoing ominously.

They'd gone perhaps fifty yards when they heard it—a deep groan from somewhere above. Fine debris sifted down like rain.

"Sheila..." Finn's voice was tight with concern.

She played her light along the ceiling, seeing now how the weight above had warped other beams. A low groan emerged from the timber as mineral-laden water dripped through cracks in the rock. The sound of their footsteps seemed to vibrate through the unstable structure.

"Just a little further," she said, though her heart was hammering. "The next junction might—"

A sharp crack cut her off—the sound of wood finally giving way after years of strain. The sagging beam split with a sound like a gunshot. Finn grabbed her arm and yanked her backward as the first rocks began to fall.

The collapse spread outward from that central point, each falling beam triggering another failure.

They ran as the chain reaction pursued them, bursting out of the entrance and continuing until they were clear of the collapse zone.

When they finally stopped, both were covered in rock dust and breathing hard.

"Shit," Finn gasped.

Sheila stared at the mine entrance, where dust still billowed out like smoke. The reality of what had almost happened hit her hard. If Finn hadn't pulled her back…

"Like I said," Hawthorne said as he approached, his voice gentler now, "one wrong vibration could trigger a collapse. The whole system is that unstable."

Sheila watched another support beam crash down inside the entrance. He was right—they couldn't risk going in blind. But the thought of Diana trapped down there, possibly hurt, possibly with their killer…

"How long until your equipment arrives?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the mine.

"Morning at the earliest."

Hours away. Hours their killer could use to his advantage—if he hadn't already.

Finn touched her arm, speaking quietly. "We can set up a perimeter. Watch the exits. If either of them surfaces..."

She knew he was right. It was their only option. But the thought of waiting, of doing nothing while Diana Martinez might be in danger...

"I need maps," she said finally. "Every known exit point within two miles of the north branch."

Doc Sullivan stepped forward—she hadn't even noticed him arrive. "I have detailed surveys of that section. And I know which unofficial exits are still passable."

"Get them," she said. Then, to Finn: "Call in everyone we can trust. I want teams of two at every possible exit point. Night vision equipment, radio contact, the works."

"What about the protesters?" Finn asked quietly.

Sheila glanced at the crowd, who were still milling around with their signs and cameras. "They can stay. Might even help—more eyes watching the area."

"And Carol?"

Carol stood rigid, staring at the mine entrance as if she could will her sister to emerge.

"She stays with me," Sheila decided. "I want to know everything about Diana's usual routes, her equipment, her protocols. Anything that might help us figure out where she is."

As people moved to carry out her orders, Sheila felt the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders. She was doing the only thing she could do—but it didn't feel like enough. Not nearly enough.

The killer was down there somewhere, in his element, in his darkness. And they were up here, handicapped by regulations and jurisdictions and safety protocols.

She just hoped Diana Martinez would still be alive when morning came.

Assuming she was still alive now.