Page 5 of Silent Grave (Sheila Stone #12)

Sheila pulled into the station parking lot, mulling over the interviews.

"Well," she said, "their stories match perfectly. Maybe too perfectly."

"And Tyler's truck was already at the mine when they changed plans." Sheila drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "Which means..."

"He went into that mine." Gabriel's voice was grim. "Question is why? His mother said he was claustrophobic."

"Maybe he heard something? Thought someone needed help?" She sighed. "The entrance was searched last night, but we need to go deeper. Get a proper team out there."

Her phone rang. Finn.

"Hey," she answered, trying to keep the exhaustion from her voice.

"Hey yourself. Star's at school, Tommy's secure, and I'm going crazy sitting at home. Let me come in."

"Finn..."

"I can at least do desk work. The doctor cleared me for that much."

She could picture him pacing their living room, frustrated at being sidelined. "You took a bullet less than a week ago. You need to heal."

"I hear you're working with your father."

There it was. The real reason for his call.

"I didn't have much choice," she said. "With you recovering and our most trusted deputies watching Tommy..."

"You trust him now?" Finn's voice was careful. "After everything?"

She glanced at her father, who was pretending not to listen. "He's trying to make things right."

"By helping you find a missing college kid? Or by keeping an eye on you while Tommy's in custody?"

"Finn..."

"I just worry," he said softly. "He lied to you for years, Sheila. About your mother's murder. About the corruption in the department. What makes you think you can trust him now?"

She watched her father step out of the car, giving her privacy. "Because I don't have a choice. And because..." She took a deep breath. "Because he's finally telling me the truth. About everything."

"You sure about that?"

"No," she admitted. "But right now, I need backup I can trust. And whatever else he's done, he's still a damn good cop."

Finn was quiet for a moment. "Just be careful, okay? And keep me updated—on the missing kid, on Tommy, on all of it."

"I will. Now go rest. Doctor's orders."

After hanging up, she joined her father outside the car. He didn't ask about the call, but his expression was knowing.

"He's worried about you," Gabriel said.

"He's worried about you ," she corrected. "About whether I can trust you."

Her father nodded slowly. "Smart man. I would be, too."

She studied him, waiting for him to explain why she didn't have to worry. He remained silent. Perhaps that was best, though. If he'd been quick to dismiss her doubts, she would have been even more suspicious.

Or was that the very reason why he wasn't defending himself?

Tired of these thoughts, she checked her watch. "We should head to the mine. Get a proper search organized."

"Sheila." Her father's voice stopped her. "Finn's right to be concerned. But I meant what I said in New Mexico—no more secrets. No more lies."

She studied his face again, looking for any trace of deception. She found only determination and regret.

"I believe you," she said. "But I need you to know that this doesn't make everything right between us, okay?

Just because I don't think you have reason to keep lying to me, that doesn't mean you've earned my trust back.

It doesn't mean we're close again." It pained her to say the words, but she had to let them out.

She needed her father to know where things stood.

He winced. "I get it. Truly, I do. All I ask is that you give me the opportunity to win back your trust."

Sheila nodded slowly. "What do you think I'm doing right now?"

***

The mouth of the Copper Queen Mine gaped like an open wound in the mountainside. Yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the cold wind, and the gravel parking area was crowded with vehicles: police cruisers, search and rescue trucks, even a few civilian four-wheelers belonging to volunteers.

"Doc Sullivan's here," Sheila said, spotting the mining historian's battered Jeep. "Good. We'll need his expertise."

Her father nodded. "Smart call getting him involved."

She'd made the calls an hour ago—to Search and Rescue, to Doc Sullivan, to the caving club that sometimes assisted with mine operations. If Tyler was down there, they'd need everyone's help finding him.

Doc Sullivan was already organizing equipment, his weathered face serious as he spoke with the Search and Rescue team leader. He looked up as Sheila approached.

"Sheriff," he said, "I've got preliminary maps here, but I should warn you—they're incomplete. The Copper Queen was abandoned before proper surveys were finished."

He spread the maps across the hood of his Jeep. The tunnel system looked like veins branching through the mountain's heart.

"The main shaft extends about half a mile," he explained, tracing the route with a calloused finger. "But there are dozens of secondary tunnels, some of them partially collapsed. The miners were following copper veins, you see. Anywhere they found ore, they'd dig."

"How deep?" Gabriel asked.

"The main shaft stays relatively level, but some of the secondary tunnels drop several hundred feet." Sullivan's expression was grim. "There are vertical shafts too—ventilation holes, mostly. Easy to miss in the dark."

Sheila studied the gathered volunteers. The Search and Rescue team was professional, well-equipped. The cavers knew their business. But the abandoned mine presented unique challenges even for experts.

"What's the stability like?" she asked.

Sullivan shook his head. "That's the problem. These supports are over sixty years old. The mine closed in 1961 after a partial collapse killed three men. The company claimed the copper had played out, but rumor was they just didn't want to pay for proper safety measures."

The wind gusted stronger, carrying the smell of old timber and stale earth from the mine's entrance. Sheila watched the search teams checking their equipment—helmets with mounted lights, rope, first aid kits, air quality monitors.

"They worked this mine for almost forty years," Sullivan continued. "Started in the twenties, when copper prices were high. The town practically grew up around it. Half the old-timers here had fathers or grandfathers who worked these tunnels."

He pointed to various notations on the map. "There were three main copper veins they followed. The richest one led them deep into the mountain, but that's where they had the most stability problems. The geology out here... well, let's just say Mother Nature doesn't like having holes poked in her."

Gabriel moved closer to study the map. "You said these are incomplete?"

"The company took most of the detailed surveys when they pulled out. These are reconstructed from memory, old photos, whatever documentation we could piece together." Sullivan tapped a section where the lines simply stopped. "Anything past these points is educated guesswork."

Sheila felt the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders. They needed to find Tyler, but she couldn't risk sending people into unmapped tunnels without knowing the dangers.

"We'll work in teams," she said. "No one goes anywhere alone. Every team needs at least one experienced caver or rescue worker. Radio checks every fifteen minutes."

Sullivan nodded approvingly. "I've marked the most dangerous areas we know about. Flooded sections, unstable tunnels, drop-offs." He handed her a more detailed version of the map. "But remember—there could be hazards we don't know about. Sixty years of neglect does things to a mine."

The Search and Rescue leader, Dave Kendrick, joined them. "We've got air quality monitors," he said. "Pockets of bad air can collect in these old mines. And the deeper we go, the worse ventilation gets."

Sheila watched as the teams gathered their gear. The morning sun was climbing higher, but its warmth didn't reach the mine's entrance. The opening seemed to swallow light itself.

"The main shaft first," she said. "Then we branch out methodically. I don't want anyone getting lost down there while we're searching for Tyler."

Her father appeared at her shoulder with two helmets, lights already mounted. "Just like the old training exercises," he said, handing her one.

She took it, remembering the cave rescue courses he'd insisted she take when she first joined the department. "Except this isn't a training exercise," she said.

They waited while Sullivan gave the teams a final briefing on mine safety. The historian's voice echoed off the rock face as he explained the signs of imminent collapse, the importance of checking support beams, the dangers of old mining equipment.

"The miners had a saying," Sullivan told them. "'The mountain never sleeps.' They meant the rock is always moving, always settling. Listen to it. If something doesn't feel right, get out."

The teams began moving toward the entrance. Sheila hung back, watching them organize themselves. Her father stayed with her, adjusting his helmet.

"Your mother would have hated this," he said quietly.

Sheila glanced at him. "The mine?"

"She was claustrophobic too. Like Tyler." A faint smile crossed his face. "First time I took her on a date, I thought it would be romantic to go spelunking. There was this tourist cave outside town..."

"What happened?"

"She made it about twenty feet in, turned around, and walked straight back out. Left me standing there like an idiot with two helmets and a picnic lunch."

Despite everything, Sheila found herself smiling. "I'm surprised she gave you a second shot."

He grunted. "So was I." Then he paused, and his eyes grew distant. "But she was like that—giving people second chances. Always liked to believe there was more to people than met the eye."

Sheila wanted to ask more—about their early days, about what her mother was like before children, before responsibilities, before everything. It had only been ten years, but sometimes it felt like her mother had been gone forever.

Before she could formulate the question, however, her radio crackled. "Sheriff?" It was Kendrick. "You need to get out here. We found something."

The urgency in his voice made her stomach clench.

"Where?"

"Not in the mine. About half a mile east, near the old ventilation shaft. You better come quick."

She keyed her radio. "On our way." To the gathered teams, she called out: "Hold positions. Wait for my signal."

As she and her father hurried to their vehicle, she tried not to think about what they might find. But she knew. They all knew.

The search was over before it had really begun.