Page 8 of Silent Home (Sheila Stone #13)

But something about the angle of his head, the too-casual way he kept his face turned just slightly away—it triggered every instinct she'd developed over years of law enforcement.

She moved to another booth, this one selling independent film posters.

The man drifted parallel to her path, maintaining the same distance.

His suit was perfectly tailored, his silver hair expertly cut.

He could have been just another film industry executive, except for the deliberate way he moved through the crowd—never getting closer, never falling behind.

Perhaps watching her even as he pretended to be focused on his phone.

A group of film students passed between them, arguing about aspect ratios and lens choices. When they cleared, the man was gone.

Sheila's hand instinctively moved toward her weapon, though she forced herself to keep it casual. She scanned the crowd, looking for the silver hair and the charcoal suit. Nothing.

"Sheriff?"

She startled, turning to find Finn beside her.

"You okay?" he asked, frowning. "You seem tense."

"Just thinking about the case." She forced her hand away from her weapon, tried to relax her shoulders. "I thought you were going to speak with the film commission?"

"I figured after what you said about Tommy, it's probably best we stick together." He studied her face. "You sure you're alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine." She managed a smile, though her eyes still scanned the crowd. "Just ready to talk to Greenwald, get some answers."

Finn didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. It was one of the things she appreciated about him—knowing when to let her process things in her own time.

"Come on," she said, starting toward the theater. "Let's see what else we can learn about 'The Winter Palace' before the Q&A."

Inside the theater's main lobby, a promotional display for "The Winter Palace" still hung on one wall—a stark black and white poster showing a young woman in period costume, her face turned away from the camera as she stood before an ornate window.

Snow fell in the background, creating an ethereal effect.

"Beautiful composition," said a voice behind them. "Bradley insisted on shooting on location in an actual palace. Cost a fortune, almost bankrupted the production."

They turned to find a young man with thick-rimmed glasses and a festival staff badge that read "Marcus Harlow—Technical Coordinator." He was adjusting something on one of the digital display boards that showed screening times.

"You worked on the film?" Sheila asked.

"Sound department." Marcus's fingers moved nimbly across the display's controls. "Spent three months freezing my ass off in some drafty palace in Romania. But Bradley said the authenticity was worth it." He glanced at them. "You're here about Jessica, aren't you? I heard what happened."

Finn pulled out his notebook. "What can you tell us about the production? Specifically the casting process?"

Marcus's hands stilled on the controls. "That was... complicated. Bradley had his heart set on Jessica at first. Said she had the perfect mix of vulnerability and strength for the role. She played Irina Romanov—one of the grand duchesses who died in the revolution."

"What changed?" Sheila asked.

"Money changed. The investors wanted a bigger name. Someone with festival recognition." He shrugged. "That's how we ended up with Claire Montgomery. She'd just won Best Actress at Sundance, so..."

"How did Jessica take it?"

"Hard. But Bradley promised to make it up to her. Said he had another project in mind, something that would be perfect for her." Marcus lowered his voice. "They started having these private meetings. At first, everyone thought he was mentoring her, but..."

"But what?"

"Look, I don't want to spread rumors. But one night, late in post-production, I was working on the sound mix. Jessica came to the editing bay—she wasn't supposed to be there, but she had keys somehow. She and Bradley got into this huge argument."

Sheila recalled what Charlotte had said about overhearing an argument between Jessica and someone else. Had Jessica been arguing with Greenwald?

"What was the argument about?" Finn asked.

"I had my headphones on, couldn't hear everything.

But she kept saying he'd promised her something, that she had proof.

" Marcus glanced around the lobby, though it was mostly empty.

"The next day, Bradley told everyone she was banned from the production office. Said she'd become obsessive, unstable."

Sheila exchanged a look with Finn. "When was this?"

"About two weeks ago. Right before Bradley started doing press for his new documentary." Marcus straightened up, his task with the display apparently finished. "Listen, I should get back to work.

They need me to check the sound system in Theater Three before the Q&A."

He was already turning away when Sheila said, "One more question—"

But Marcus held up an apologetic hand as his radio crackled. "Sorry, really can't be late for this." He hurried off toward the theaters, disappearing into the growing crowd of festival attendees.

Finn checked his watch. "Q&A's in less than an hour. We might as well make use of the time while we wait."

The lobby was filling up now, festival-goers drifting in from the afternoon screenings. Among them, Sheila caught glimpses of event security—men and women in black polo shirts with earpieces, doing their best to look inconspicuous. She thought of the man who'd been watching her.

Was he watching her this very moment? Tracking her, following her movements?

"Sheila?" Finn asked. "Any thoughts?"

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed. A text from Deputy Neville: Doctor Jin needs to see you. Says it's urgent.

Sheila showed the message to Finn. Whatever Jin had found on Jessica's body, it couldn't wait. And maybe it would give them the edge they needed before confronting Bradley Greenwald.