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"Finally!" she said, excitement surging through her veins. She rushed back to the computer and carefully entered the password. The screen flashed, and then she was granted access to Autumn's digital world.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she whispered, relieved that she'd managed to get into the computer before Autumn discovered her. She knew she had to work quickly, though, to find any information related to the murders. With every passing second, the danger of being caught loomed closer.
Her eyes scanned the computer screen, darting from folder to folder, searching for any clue that might connect Autumn to the murders. Her heart raced with a mix of fear and excitement; she knew she was crossing a line, but if it meant uncovering the truth behind Juliette and Natasha's deaths, then it was a risk worth taking.
"Come on," she whispered, her fingers tapping impatiently on the keyboard as she opened one document after another. "There has to be something here."
As she navigated through the computer, it became apparent that Autumn primarily used the device for managing appointments, keeping records of her clients, and conducting research on various esoteric subjects. Sheila found herself intrigued by the depth of knowledge Autumn had accumulated over the years, but she couldn't afford to get sidetracked.
"Focus, Sheila," she muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing as she stumbled upon a series of files labeled "Client Information."
Her finger hovered over the mouse, hesitating. Was it right for her to invade Autumn's clients' privacy like this? After all, they had come to her seeking guidance, not expecting their secrets to be exposed. But then again, so had Juliette and Natasha—and now they were dead.
"Sorry," Sheila murmured, clicking on the files. "But I need to know." She justified her actions by telling herself that if there was even a small chance that something in these files could help catch the killer, it was her duty to look.
And there they were—files on both Juliette Reed and Natasha Petrova. Sheila's heart skipped a beat as she opened them, scanning the documents for any piece of information that might link Autumn to the murders.
"Please let there be something," she prayed silently, her hands shaking with anticipation.
Her pulse quickened as she scrolled through the files, her eyes locked on the screen. As she read Autumn's notes on Juliette and Natasha, she discovered something unexpected: both victims had mentioned visiting a number of different palm readers in the area before their deaths—far more than Sheila had realized. A knot of unease formed in her stomach. Why would they visit so many? Were they searching for something or someone?
"Is there a connection?" she wondered aloud, scanning the notes for any mention of the other palm readers' names. But to her frustration, she found nothing. No names, no addresses, no way to follow this lead further. For now.
Sheila's gaze flicked to Autumn's calendar displayed on the computer screen. If Autumn was guilty, she wouldn't have an alibi for Juliette's murder two nights ago. The calendar was filled with appointments and events, each entry written in Autumn's neat handwriting. She clicked on the date in question and leaned in closer, trying to decipher the tiny scrawl at nine pm.
"Come on," she whispered, studying the shorthand note. Her mind raced, eager to crack the code. Was it a meeting with another client? An errand? Or something darker, like a rendezvous with an accomplice? Her heart hammered in her chest, the weight of the investigation bearing down on her.
"Think, Sheila, think!" she urged herself, racking her brain for anything that might help her understand the cryptic message. Time was running out; she couldn't stay hidden in Autumn's office forever.
In a desperate attempt to decipher the shorthand note, Sheila pulled out her phone and typed the characters into a search engine. Her pulse quickened as she scrolled through the search results, eyes darting from one entry to another until she found something that caught her attention.
"Conference..." she whispered under her breath, clicking on a link that led to an event page. There, she found a summary of a gathering for palm readers held in Tennessee two nights ago—the same night Juliette Reed was murdered. The article mentioned that Autumn Wood had been a guest speaker at the conference, bringing with her a handful of fellow palm readers from the Utah area.
Sheila's heart sank as she read the names of the other attendees, realizing that Autumn's alibi seemed rock-solid. If she was in Tennessee giving a speech, it would have been impossible for her to kill Juliette. A mix of relief and disappointment washed over her, knowing that she had just eliminated a potential suspect but was still no closer to finding the real killer.
"Okay, so it wasn't Autumn," she mumbled, shaking her head. "But these other palm readers...maybe one of them knows something?" She jotted down the names on a scrap of paper, determined to look into each person when she had more time.
The sound of the door creaking open behind her sent a jolt of adrenaline through Sheila's veins, and she quickly minimized the browser window, guilt flooding her cheeks. Autumn stood in the doorway, her arms crossed and an impatient scowl etched on her face.
"Care to explain what you're doing in my office, Miss Stone?" Autumn demanded, her voice laced with anger.
"Uh, well, I—" Sheila stammered, struggling to come up with a convincing explanation for invading Autumn's privacy. "I was just...looking for the bathroom, and I got lost."
Autumn narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying the excuse. "I want you to leave this place at once."
"Fine, I'm on my way," Sheila muttered, her face hot with humiliation. As she edged past Autumn's rigid frame, she couldn't help but notice the glint in the other woman's eyes.
"Remember, Miss Stone," Autumn said coldly, "sometimes the truth we're seeking is hidden beneath the surface. And sometimes, it's best left undisturbed." The warning sent a shiver down Sheila's spine, and she hastened her steps, eager to put distance between herself and Autumn's unsettling presence.
"Was that a threat?" Sheila wondered as she hurried through the reception area of Moirai Mysteries, the door slamming shut behind her. "Or just another cryptic message from a fortune teller?"
Her heart pounding, Sheila fumbled for her car keys, her mind racing with anxious thoughts. She gripped the crumpled note containing the names of other local palm readers, her hands shaking slightly. With each step toward her car, she felt an increasing sense of urgency—the killer was still out there, and it was up to her to stop them before they struck again.
Autumn had an alibi, Sheila thought, climbing into the driver's seat. But what if one of these other palm readers doesn't? What if one of them wasn't actually at the conference that night?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sheila sat in her car, parked just outside the sheriff's station, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Her heart raced as she recalled what Autumn Wood had said to her during the palm reading.
