Page 7 of Silent Home (Sheila Stone #13)

They found Carl Rider in the festival's makeshift press room, a converted storefront space filled with journalists typing on laptops and filmmakers giving interviews in hushed tones.

Monitors on the walls displayed screening schedules and promotional clips from featured films. The room smelled of coffee and anxiety.

Rider was deep in conversation with a woman wearing a lanyard that identified her as press, his hands moving in animated gestures as he tried to explain something. When he spotted Sheila and Finn, relief washed over his face.

"Linda," he said to the journalist, "I really can't provide any further comment than that. Now, please, would you mind giving us some space?"

"Of course," the woman said with a plastic smile. She turned to Sheila and Finn. "But first, would either of you care to comment on—"

"We're pursuing all avenues of investigation," Finn said. "How's that?"

"Not very original."

"Well, I'm afraid that's the best we've got right now."

The journalist opened her mouth to answer, but Rider cut her off. "Please, Linda. If you'd be so kind—"

"Alright, alright," she said, raising her hands. "Can't blame me for trying."

Once the journalist had departed, Rider's professional smile faded. "Apparently, word got quickly to the press that we might be shutting the festival down."

"Might be?" Sheila asked.

Rider waved his hand dismissively as if it were a minor point. "I'm handling it. Anyway, what brings you here? Please tell me you have good news."

"Actually, we need information about one of your previous films," Sheila said. "'The Winter Palace.' It was shot here last spring?"

Rider's posture changed subtly—a tightening around the eyes, a slight stiffening of his shoulders. "Yes, Bradley Greenwald's historical drama. Beautiful film, though it never found distribution." He glanced around the crowded room. "Perhaps we should step outside?"

The alley behind the storefront was quieter, though music from the street stage still carried over the buildings. A group of smokers huddled near a service entrance, sharing opinions about aspect ratios and digital color grading.

"What do you want to know about 'The Winter Palace'?" Rider asked, his voice lower.

"The casting process," Finn said. "Specifically regarding Jessica Gregory."

Rider pulled out his handkerchief, dabbing his forehead despite the cool air. "That was... complicated. Jessica was wonderful in the auditions. Raw talent, real vulnerability. Bradley was quite taken with her."

"Taken enough to imply she'd get the lead role?" Sheila asked.

Rider's hand stilled. "Who told you that?"

"Did he tell her that?"

"It's not that simple." Rider stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket. "In this business, things are said during the creative process. Enthusiasm is expressed. Sometimes performers hear what they want to hear."

"What exactly did Jessica hear?"

Rider sighed, suddenly looking older in the harsh daylight. "Bradley has a reputation for being... encouraging with young actresses. He likes to mentor them and says he's nurturing new talent. But sometimes..." He shook his head. "Sometimes lines get crossed."

A door opened behind them, and a production assistant stuck her head out. "Mr. Rider? The Associated Press is asking about tonight's premiere. They want to know if Mr. Greenwald will still be attending the Q&A."

"Tell them it's proceeding as scheduled," Rider said sharply.

"What are you talking about?" Sheila asked as the door closed. "Proceeding as scheduled? The whole festival should be shut down by then."

"I know, I know," Rider said, drumming his fingers on his desk.

"But you have to understand—we've got twenty-seven filmmakers who spent their life savings to get here.

Actors who took out loans just to afford festival passes.

Brad Greenwald's people are expecting over two hundred industry guests for his premiere tonight.

" He leaned forward. "If we shut down now, in the middle of the day, we'll have panic in the streets. "

"That doesn't change the fact that people are dying," Sheila said.

"What I'm proposing," Rider continued, "is we quietly cancel tomorrow's events, then make the official announcement at tonight's closing ceremony.

Let people finish their scheduled screenings and give them time to make travel arrangements.

Most of our high-profile guests are flying out tonight anyway. "

"And in the meantime, someone else could die."

"Look, we've already doubled security at every venue.

I've got people monitoring all entrances, checking credentials.

Give me until tonight—let me handle this in a way that doesn't create mass hysteria.

" He spread his hands. "The killer has been targeting specific people, not random festival-goers.

A controlled shutdown is safer than having hundreds of panicked people rushing for the exits. "

"I can shut this festival down right now," Sheila said. "I can exercise my emergency powers and—"

"And we'll have chaos," Rider cut in. "Think about it—all these people suddenly displaced, crowding the streets, overwhelming local hotels. How much harder will that make your job of protecting everyone? They'll just spill out into the broader community, where they'll still be vulnerable."

Sheila studied his face, weighing his words. Much as she hated to admit it, he had a point. People weren't ready for this sudden change, and the chaos created by suddenly forcing everyone out might actually give the killer more opportunities, not fewer.

"Fine," she said. "You have until tonight. But I want those security arrangements in writing. And if anything else happens before then..."

"Understood," Rider said quickly. "I'll have the shutdown protocol on your desk within the hour."

Sheila let out a heavy sigh, wondering if she would regret agreeing to this. Still, she didn't feel like she had many options.

"Can we get back to Jessica?" Finn asked. "You were talking about Bradley crossing lines."

Rider nodded and held up a hand to indicate he remembered. "Look, I don't want to speak ill of anyone, but after Jessica didn't get the role, there were... rumors. About why she kept meeting with Bradley. About what might have been promised in those meetings."

"What kind of rumors?" Finn asked.

"Last week, she requested a private meeting with the festival board. Said she had concerns about ethical violations during the production of 'The Winter Palace.' The meeting was scheduled for tomorrow morning."

Sheila felt her pulse quicken. "Did Greenwald know about this meeting?"

"I didn't tell him." Rider wiped his forehead again. "But in a festival this size, word gets around. Especially when someone's reputation is at stake."

A burst of laughter from the smokers made them all jump. The group was heading back inside, still debating the merits of various filming techniques.

"Bradley's documentary premieres tonight," Rider said quietly. "It's already being called his masterpiece. The timing of all this..." He met Sheila's eyes. "I should have said something sooner. About the rumors, about Jessica's concerns. Maybe if I had..."

"Mr. Rider!" The production assistant was back. "Bradley Greenwald's people are on the phone. They're asking about security arrangements for the Q&A."

Rider closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, his professional mask was back in place. "Tell them everything is being handled. No need to worry about a thing."

The production assistant lingered, uncertain. "And the power issues?" she asked in a low voice.

Rider smiled tightly. "That's been addressed. No need to worry."

"Power issues?" Finn asked as the production assistant retreated.

Rider shrugged. "Power's been finicky all week, especially in the Art House. Not sure why."

"We'd like to be at this Q&A," Sheila said.

"Of course, of course. Whatever you need."

As Rider hurried back inside, Finn touched Sheila's arm. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"That Bradley Greenwald had a lot to lose if Jessica talked? Yeah." She checked her watch. "The Q&A's in ninety minutes. Think that's enough time to dig up everything we can on 'The Winter Palace' production?"

"Only one way to find out." Finn was already pulling out his phone. "I'll call the film commission and see what permits were filed. You want to talk to the rest of the cast?"

Sheila nodded, her mind racing. Someone had posed Jessica's body like a scene from a film—not just any film, but one that represented both her greatest disappointment and potentially her last chance to expose whatever had really happened during its production.

That couldn't be a coincidence.

The question was: had Bradley Greenwald arranged this twisted tribute himself? Maybe as a way of silencing Jessica and sending a message to anyone else who might try to cross him?

Either way, Sheila intended to find out.

They split up to cover more ground—Finn heading toward the film commission's temporary office while Sheila made her way back to the theater to track down more of the cast. The festival crowd had thinned slightly as people filtered into afternoon screenings, though the street musicians played on, their jazz riffs mixing with the chatter of film enthusiasts debating camera techniques.

That's when she felt it—the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

Sheila paused at a vendor's booth, pretending to study a collection of vintage movie cameras while scanning the crowd in her peripheral vision.

There—near the coffee cart. A man in a charcoal suit that was a touch too expensive for the casual festival atmosphere.

He stood with the straight-backed posture of someone with military or law enforcement training, his attention seemingly focused on his phone, though his dark sunglasses made it impossible to tell where he was really looking.