Silent Smile (Sheila Stone #10)

CHAPTER FIVE

Sheila pulled into the parking lot of the Coral Pink Sand Dunes visitor center, her mind still churning over her recent interaction with Finn. She paused to check her phone.

Nothing—no updates. She tried to tell herself that he was probably busy talking with Dr. Fuller, but inwardly she sensed that his lack of communication was yet another piece of evidence that something was wrong between them.

Something she didn't know how to fix.

As she stepped out of her vehicle, the stark beauty of the landscape momentarily pushed her personal concerns aside. The visitor center, a modern single-story building, emerged like a moon outpost from the ancient dunes that surrounded it. Its rust-colored exterior was clearly designed to blend with the natural environment, a thoughtful touch that Sheila appreciated.

A few families milled about near the entrance, studying informational placards about the park's unique ecosystem. A tour group huddled around a guide, listening intently as she gestured toward the towering dunes in the distance.

Sheila took a moment to observe, noting the mix of excitement and awe on the visitors' faces. It was a poignant reminder of why people like Amanda Weller were drawn to such places, seeking adventure and beauty.

Stepping inside, Sheila was greeted by a blast of cool air, a welcome respite from the heat outside. The interior of the visitor center was a carefully curated blend of educational displays and practical amenities. To her left, a large topographical map of the park dominated the wall, with blinking lights indicating various points of interest. Sheila approached it, studying the layout of the dunes and the surrounding area. She noted the location where Amanda's body had been found, trying to visualize potential access routes a killer might have used.

To her right, a small gift shop offered the usual array of postcards, t-shirts, and local crafts. Sheila's attention was drawn to a display of books about local flora and fauna. One title caught her eye: "The Delicate Balance: Preserving the Coral Pink Sand Dunes Ecosystem." She made a mental note to pick up a copy before she left.

At the center of the room stood a circular information desk, staffed by two rangers. Sheila recognized one of them as Mike Hollister. As she approached, she noticed the tightness around Hollister's eyes, the slight stiffness in his posture. The murder was weighing on him, she realized. It wasn't just a crime; it was a violation of the place he had sworn to protect.

"Sheriff Stone," Hollister greeted her, surprise evident in his voice. "Didn't expect to see you back so soon. Is there a development in the case?"

Sheila shook her head, keeping her voice low. "No new developments, Ranger Hollister. I was hoping we could talk privately for a moment."

Hollister nodded, gesturing toward a door marked "Staff Only." As they walked, Sheila noticed a series of photographs lining the hallway, showcasing the park through various seasons. The images of snow-dusted dunes were particularly striking, a reminder of the park's ever-changing nature.

Once inside the small office, Hollister turned to Sheila expectantly. The room was cluttered but organized, with maps and schedules covering one wall and a whiteboard filled with staff assignments on another. Sheila took note of the names listed, wondering if one of them might be their killer.

She took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "Ranger Hollister, in our investigation, we've uncovered some... concerning information about the victim's habits. Specifically, her tendency to ignore restrictions and enter protected areas."

Hollister's brow furrowed. "Yes, unfortunately, that's a problem we face with some visitors. But what does that have to do with her murder?"

"I need to ask a difficult question," Sheila said, meeting Hollister's gaze. "Is it possible that one of your rangers, frustrated with repeat offenders, might have... taken matters into their own hands?"

Hollister's face darkened, a mix of shock and indignation flashing across his features. "Are you suggesting one of my people killed that woman?"

"I'm not accusing anyone," Sheila said quickly, holding up a placating hand. "I'm simply exploring all possibilities. You have to admit, someone with intimate knowledge of the park would be capable of—"

"No," Hollister cut her off firmly, his voice tight with suppressed anger. "I know my team, Sheriff. They're dedicated professionals who care deeply about this park and its visitors. None of them would ever harm someone, no matter how frustrating the situation."

Sheila nodded, having expected this reaction. She'd seen it before—the instinctive defense of one's colleagues, the refusal to believe that someone close could be capable of such an act. But she also knew that sometimes, the unthinkable happened.

"I understand, Ranger Hollister," she said softly. "And I hope you're right. But for the sake of thoroughness, I need to ask for a list of all park staff, including seasonal workers and volunteers."

Hollister hesitated, clearly torn between his loyalty to his team and his duty to assist law enforcement. Sheila could almost see the internal struggle playing out behind his eyes.

"I promise to be discreet," Sheila added. "This is just to rule out possibilities. I have no desire to disrupt your team or cast suspicion on innocent people."

After a long moment, Hollister sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Alright, Sheriff. I'll get you that list. But I want it on record that I have full confidence in every member of my staff."

"Noted," Sheila said with a nod. "I appreciate your cooperation, Ranger Hollister. And for what it's worth, I hope your confidence is well-placed."

As they exited the office, Sheila's attention was drawn to a woman examining one of the educational displays. She was tall and slender, with long black hair pulled back in a neat braid. Something about her intense focus caught Sheila's interest. The woman seemed to be studying a diagram of the dune formation process with rapt attention, her fingers tracing the lines of the illustration.

As if sensing Sheila's gaze, the woman looked up. Their eyes met, and after a moment of hesitation, the woman approached. Her movements were graceful and deliberate, reminding Sheila of a deer cautiously approaching a clearing.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice carrying a hint of an accent Sheila couldn't quite place. "You're the sheriff investigating the murder, aren't you? I'm Dr. Nora Redfeather, geologist with the park's research team."

Sheila shook the offered hand, noting the firm grip and the calluses that spoke of fieldwork. "Sheriff Sheila Stone. Nice to meet you, Dr. Redfeather. I didn't realize the park had its own research team."

Dr. Redfeather nodded, a spark of passion lighting her dark eyes. "Oh yes, there's so much to study here. The dune system is fascinating from a geological perspective. But more than that, it's an incredibly delicate ecosystem."

Sheila couldn't help but notice the mix of emotions playing across Dr. Redfeather's face—excitement when discussing the dunes, followed by a shadow of sadness when the conversation turned to the recent events.

"It's just terrible what happened to that poor woman," Dr. Redfeather said, shaking her head. "I can't imagine who would do such a thing. And to leave the body in this sacred place..." She trailed off, her expression darkening.

"Sacred place?" Sheila asked.

Dr. Redfeather nodded, her gaze drifting to the large windows that offered a view of the dunes. "Yes. These lands have been important to indigenous peoples for thousands of years, particularly to the Southern Paiute. The dunes aren't just a geological formation or a tourist attraction. They're a living, breathing part of the land, with deep cultural and spiritual significance."

"You seem very connected to this place," Sheila observed.

Dr. Redfeather turned back to Sheila, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I am. Both as a scientist and as a woman of Southern Paiute heritage. My ancestors have lived in this region for countless generations. These dunes, we call them 'Unto-Kwa-Gai-Nu-Kunt' in our language, which means 'Red Moving Land.' They tell a story that spans millennia. Each grain of sand has a history, shaped by wind and time."

She paused, her eyes taking on a distant look. "For the Southern Paiute, this isn't just a beautiful landscape. It's a sacred place of creation. Our stories say that the Creator formed the first Paiute people from the red sand of these dunes. We've used this area for ceremonies, gathering medicinal plants, and as a meeting place for different bands for thousands of years."

Her voice took on a frustrated edge. "That's why it's so heartbreaking to see the damage caused by careless visitors. You wouldn't believe the destruction we witness—people wandering off trails, disturbing wildlife, even taking sand as souvenirs. They don't realize they're not just taking sand; they're taking a piece of our history, our culture. Some of the damage to culturally significant sites can never be undone."

Dr. Redfeather sighed, running a hand along her braid. "We're trying to educate visitors about the importance of respecting this land, not just for its ecological value, but for its cultural significance too. It's a delicate balance, sharing our heritage while also protecting it."

Sheila nodded, absorbing this new information. "I can see why you're so passionate about protecting this place. It's not just about preserving nature, it's about preserving your people's history and culture."

"Exactly," Dr. Redfeather agreed. "Every time I walk these dunes, I feel the presence of my ancestors."

Dr. Redfeather's words stirred something in Sheila. Was her mother present with her, too? Perhaps helping her in her pursuit of the truth?

Dr. Redfeather continued, "It's my responsibility—our responsibility—to ensure that future generations can feel that connection, too."

Sheila thought of Amanda Weller and her disregard for park rules. Was it possible that Dr. Redfeather, or someone like her, was behind the murder? A means of protecting the land? She decided to keep this possibility in mind. There was no need, however, to create waves just now.

Instead, she pivoted.

"Doctor, I wonder if I could ask you about something specific," she said. "We found a symbol painted on the victim. It looked like it might be of Native American origin."

Dr. Redfeather's eyebrows rose, surprise and curiosity replacing the frustration in her eyes. "A symbol? Can you describe it?"

Sheila pulled out her phone, bringing up a photo of the symbol. Dr. Redfeather leaned in, her brow furrowed in concentration. Sheila watched her reaction carefully, looking for any sign of recognition or shock.

"Hmm," Dr. Redfeather mused, studying the image. "It's hard to say for certain. It looks... well, it looks like a very crude, hastily drawn version of an old symbol. Possibly related to sun worship, but it's so smudged and poorly executed, I can't be sure."

"But you think it's meant to be a Native American symbol?" Sheila asked. "Southern Paiute, maybe?"

"It's not from my people, no."

Sheila's heart sank.

"But there used to be other, smaller tribes in this area," Dr. Redfeather continued. "It could be an imitation of a symbol belonging to one of those tribes."

She looked up at Sheila, her expression troubled. "Sheriff, I hope you don't think this murder has anything to do with Native American practices. Our people have a deep respect for life and for this land. The idea of using our symbols in an act of violence is... it's abhorrent."

Sheila was quick to reassure her. "We're not jumping to any conclusions, Dr. Redfeather. We're simply trying to understand all aspects of this case."

"Of course, of course," Dr. Redfeather murmured, looking troubled. "Have you considered the possibility that the symbol may have been drawn as a distraction, a way to throw you off the scent, as it were?"

"The possibility did cross my mind."

Dr. Redfeather nodded again. Then she took a deep breath, and her face grew sunny again. "Well, I'm afraid I must get to work. But best of luck with your investigation."

"One more thing," Sheila said as Dr. Redfeather turned to go. "These 'smaller tribes' you mentioned. Do they have names, by any chance?"

"They did once. But I am afraid they have been lost to time—along with everything else in this place. Sand has no memory, Sheriff Stone."