Page 26 of Silent Grave (Sheila Stone #12)

Michelle shifted from foot to foot in the cold mountain air, checking the address on her clipboard against the small cabin's worn numbers. Most of the homes on her list had been in town, but Sarah Riggs had insisted they canvas the outskirts too.

"These mountain folks understand the dangers better than anyone," she'd said.

The cabin looked well-maintained despite its isolation. Smoke curled from the chimney, and fresh bootprints had left mud on the wooden steps.

Still, something about the place made her uneasy. Maybe it was the heavy steel bars on the windows, or how forbidding the unpainted door looked.

"Just get the signature," she muttered to herself. She had a lot of signatures to get by noon, and it was already ten o'clock, so there was no time to waste.

She knocked, the sound oddly muffled by the heavy door. Nothing happened for a long moment, then footsteps approached from inside.

The man who opened the door made Michelle's breath catch in her throat.

Despite his carefully pressed flannel shirt and seemingly kind eyes, there was something wrong about him—something that set off immediate alarm bells.

His skin had an unnatural pallor, like cave fish that never see the sun, and though he appeared to be in his forties, deep shadows haunted his face.

"Good morning," Michelle said, doing her best to recover from her surprise. She cleared her throat and launched into her practiced speech. "I'm with Save Our Mountains. We're gathering signatures for a petition to immediately seal the abandoned mines in light of recent events."

"Recent events?" His voice was soft, educated. "You mean the deaths?"

"Yes. Two confirmed deaths, and now a woman missing." Michelle shifted her clipboard. "We believe these tragedies could have been prevented if the mining company had properly secured—"

"Please, come in," he said, stepping back from the door. "I'd love to hear more about your efforts. I've been following the situation closely."

Michelle hesitated. Her group had strict rules about not entering homes—too many horror stories about signature gatherers being assaulted. "I really can't. But if you'd like to sign—"

"I insist." His smile remained warm, but something shifted in his eyes. "It's freezing out here, and I have coffee brewing. We can discuss the mines properly."

Every instinct screamed at her to leave. "Thank you, but I have many more houses to visit. If you'd just like to sign—"

She turned to go, and his hand shot out, grabbing her arm with shocking strength. The clipboard clattered to the ground as he yanked her inside. She tried to scream, but his other hand clamped over her mouth as he kicked the heavy door shut.

The last thing she saw before darkness engulfed her was her clipboard lying on the ground, the petition's bold heading visible in the early morning light: SEAL THE DEATH TRAPS NOW.