Page 16 of Silent Home (Sheila Stone #13)

Sheila held her anger in check, watching Carl Rider as he absorbed the news about Thomas Rivera's death. He seemed to have aged a decade in the past few minutes.

Rider sat heavily in his makeshift office chair, the espresso machine behind him forgotten. His normally immaculate appearance had begun to fray—his cashmere sweater wrinkled, his wire-rimmed glasses slightly askew.

"Two murders," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "In less than twenty-four hours." He pulled out his handkerchief but just held it as if he'd forgotten what to do with it.

"One we could've prevented by shutting down the festival," Sheila said with barely-contained coldness. "Something you assured us you were handling."

"I was! I am. I…" He made a vague gesture. "I just didn't think it was quite so… so urgent ."

"You didn't think having a murderer walking around was an urgent matter?"

Finn cleared his throat loudly and gave Sheila a warning look, as if to remind her that scolding Rider wouldn't help their investigation. "Did you know Thomas Rivera?" he asked Rider.

Rider nodded slowly. "Not well, but... yes. He worked the festival every year since starting at the hotel. Quiet man, very professional. Always volunteered for the night shift during festival week because he knew that's when we needed the most help."

He paused, something occurring to him. "He used to act, you know. Local theater, before my time here, but some of the long-time festival staff remembered him."

"What else can you tell us about him?" Finn asked, leaning against the filing cabinet.

"He... he helped us set up the conference rooms for press events.

Knew exactly how we liked things arranged.

" Rider finally used his handkerchief, dabbing at his forehead.

"Just yesterday, he was helping Bradley Greenwald's team with their production office.

Making sure they had everything they needed for the premiere.

.." His voice trailed off as he realized the significance of what he'd just said.

"Did you ever see him interact with Jessica Gregory?" Sheila asked. She was still angry, but she buried the feeling. She needed to be present, needed to be able to move forward.

"I don't..." Rider started, then stopped.

"Wait. Yes. About a week ago. Jessica was leaving the premiere of some experimental short film.

She seemed upset about something, and Thomas.

.. he got her a glass of water, talked to her for a few minutes.

It seemed like they knew each other, maybe from theater circles. "

Sheila exchanged a look with Finn. Another connection, another piece of the puzzle, but what did it mean?

Rider replaced his glasses, his hands trembling slightly. "It makes me sick, you know? To think that killer's probably here right now. Watching us, walking among us. Maybe even..." He swallowed hard. "Maybe even someone I know. Someone I've worked with."

"That's what we need to focus on," Sheila said. "Someone who knows both the theater and hotel layouts. Someone familiar with film production equipment, specifically gaffer's wire. Someone who would have known about the hotel's security camera blind spots."

"And someone who stages murders like scenes from a play," Finn added quietly.

Rider's face went a shade paler. "The way Jessica was posed.

.. and now Thomas..." He stood abruptly, moving to the window that overlooked Main Street.

Below, festival-goers still milled about, unaware of the second murder.

"All these people. Hundreds of them. Directors, actors, crew members—they all know their way around sets and equipment.

They all understand staging and theatricality.

" He pressed his forehead against the glass.

"How many of them have I invited here? How many programs have I approved, how many passes have I authorized? "

"This isn't your fault," Finn said. Sheila wasn't entirely sure that was true, but it wouldn't do any good to disagree.

"Isn't it?" He turned back to them, and there were tears in his eyes. "I created this. Built it from nothing. Made it successful enough to attract exactly the kind of person who could..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

A knock at the door made them all jump. A festival volunteer stuck her head in. "Mr. Rider? The Q&A for the midnight horror block is starting in fifteen minutes. They're asking for you to introduce—"

"Cancel it," Rider said, his voice stronger now. "Cancel everything. Get security to begin clearing the theaters. Quietly, no panic, but firmly." He looked at Sheila. "I should have listened to you much sooner. I guess I thought…" He trailed off.

You thought maybe this would all just go away on its own, she thought. You wanted to keep the business going and protect your economic interests. And it may have cost an innocent man his life.

She didn't say this, however. The guilt was written plainly on Rider's face—there was no need to rub it in.

"We'll coordinate with local law enforcement to manage the crowd once word gets out," Sheila said, deciding to take a more active role in the shutdown now. "And we'll need a complete list of everyone with festival credentials—staff, volunteers, filmmakers, press."

"I'll have my team start compiling it now." Rider moved to his desk, already reaching for his phone, but his hands were shaking too badly to unlock it.

"Take a moment," Finn said kindly. "We can help with the notifications."

Rider nodded gratefully, sinking back into his chair.

"I keep thinking about Thomas. About Jessica.

About all the little ways our paths crossed during festivals.

All the small kindnesses, the brief conversations.

.." He looked up at Sheila, his eyes haunted.

"How many more? How many more before you catch them? "

Sheila wished she had an answer for him. But as the muffled sounds of the festival filtered through the office walls—people laughing, discussing films, living their normal lives—she could only think about how the killer was out there somewhere, maybe already choosing their next victim.

And how they had to stop them before anyone else died.

"We're going to do everything possible to catch whoever's responsible," Sheila assured him.

Then something clicked in her mind. "Mr. Rider, you mentioned Thomas used to act.

Jessica was posed like a scene from 'The Winter Palace'—a film she'd wanted to be in.

Was Thomas ever up for any significant roles he didn't get? "

Rider frowned, considering. "I don't know specifically, but Marcus Harlow might. He does sound design for both film and theater productions. He and Thomas were friends, I think."

"Where can we find Marcus?" Finn asked.

"He should be in Theater Three, checking the sound system for..." Rider caught himself. "Well, I suppose that doesn't matter now."

"Thank you," Sheila said, heading for the door. "Let us know if you think of anything else."

In the hallway, she and Finn moved quickly through the thinning festival crowd. The news of the second murder hadn't spread yet, but people seemed to sense something was wrong. The earlier excitement had been replaced by uncertain murmurs and worried glances.

They found Marcus Harlow in Theater Three's sound booth, his thick-rimmed glasses reflecting the glow of his equipment displays. When Sheila explained why they needed to talk, his face fell.

"Thomas? No, that can't..." He sank into his chair, running a hand through his dark hair. "I just saw him yesterday."

"We understand you were friends," Finn said gently.

Marcus nodded. "Since community theater days.

I actually got him to audition for a psychological thriller last year—'Ghost Light.

' He was perfect for the lead role, this convicted murderer trying to find redemption through theater.

" He managed a weak smile. "Thomas didn't even want to audition. I practically had to drag him there."

"That's actually what I was hoping to speak with you about," Sheila said. "Did he take it hard when he didn't get the part?"

"That's the thing—he didn't care." Marcus shrugged. "He'd already stepped away from acting after his divorce. Said he preferred the stability of hotel work. The audition was a way of humoring me, I guess. I hoped it would spark some excitement in him, but apparently I was wrong."

Sheila made a mental note of this.

"Can you tell us about any specific scenes from 'Ghost Light'?" she asked. "Particularly involving the main character?"

"You'll have to be more specific than that."

"Sitting against a wall, hands folded in his lap, tilting his head to the side as if listening to something?"

Marcus frowned, puzzled. "Yes, there's a scene just like that. It's this powerful moment where the murderer character is waiting to hear if he's earned parole." Marcus paused, his eyes widening. "Why are you asking about that scene?"

Sheila hesitated, then decided he deserved to know. "Because that's how we found Thomas. Posed exactly as you described."

Marcus's face drained of color. "Oh God." He gripped the edge of his control board. "Just like Jessica in the blue dress."

"Yes," Sheila said quietly. Both victims posed to recreate scenes from roles they auditioned for but didn't get, she added mentally. That's our killer's signature.

"But why?" Marcus asked, looking from Sheila to Finn, then back again. "Did someone think the actors who got those roles didn't do a good job? But if you thought Jessica and Thomas would have been better, why kill them? It doesn't make any sense."

"Not to us, it doesn't," Sheila said. But in someone else's twisted logic, it did.

"Do you happen to know where we can get copies of 'Ghost Light' and 'The Winter Palace'?" Finn asked. "We need to see these scenes for ourselves."

"'Ghost Light' is easy—it's still running at the Art House Cinema on Carson Street.

But 'The Winter Palace' never got distribution.

" Marcus thought for a moment. "Check with the festival archives in the basement.

They keep copies of everything that screens here, even if it never gets released. Carl should have the key."

"Thank you," Sheila said, standing. "And Marcus? Be careful. Lock up when you leave."

As they headed for the exit, Marcus called after them. "Sheriff Stone? Thomas was a good guy. He deserved better than... than being turned into some killer's prop."

Sheila nodded, remembering Charlotte saying almost the same thing about Jessica. Two lives reduced to scenes in someone else's twisted production.

They needed to figure out what connected these films—and fast. Before the killer decided to cast their next role.