CHAPTER SEVEN
The Coldwater Café buzzed with the lazy afternoon chatter of locals and tourists alike. Sheila sat at a corner booth, nursing a cooling cup of coffee, her eyes constantly darting to the door. When Finn finally walked in, she felt a mix of relief and apprehension.
"Hey," Finn said, sliding into the seat across from her. His tone was neutral, professional.
"Hey," Sheila replied, pushing a menu toward him. "Thought you might be hungry."
Finn nodded his thanks, but didn't open the menu. Instead, he pulled out his notebook. "So, what did you find out at the visitor center?"
Sheila sighed, recognizing Finn's all-business approach. She leaned forward, her fingers drumming lightly on the table. "Well, I spoke with Ranger Hollister first. He was... defensive when I brought up the possibility of a park employee being involved."
Finn's eyebrow raised slightly. "Defensive how?"
"You know how it is," Sheila said, waving a hand. "The whole 'my people would never do that' routine. But he did agree to provide a list of all staff, including seasonal workers."
"That's something, at least," Finn said, jotting a note in his notebook. "What about Dr. Redfeather? You mentioned her earlier on the phone."
"She was fascinating, actually. A geologist of Southern Paiute heritage. She gave me some insight into the cultural significance of the dunes."
"Such as?" Finn asked, his pen poised over the paper.
"The Southern Paiute call the dunes 'Unto-Kwa-Gai-Nu-Kunt'—it means 'Red Moving Land.' Apparently, their creation stories say the first Paiute people were formed from the red sand here."
Finn looked up, a flicker of interest in his eyes. "That's quite poetic. Anything else?"
Sheila nodded, warming to the subject. "She talked about how the dunes have been used for ceremonies and gathering medicinal plants for thousands of years. But she was most passionate when discussing the environmental damage."
"How so?"
"You should have seen her face, Finn," Sheila said, leaning back. "She was furious about tourists going off-trail, disturbing wildlife, even taking sand as souvenirs."
Finn's pen paused over the paper.
Sheila shook her head. "I know what you're thinking, but no. She was upset, sure, but more in a 'frustrated scientist' way than a 'potential murderer' way."
"Fair enough," Finn said. "Did you show her the symbol?"
"I did," Sheila nodded. "She couldn't identify it specifically, but she thought it looked like a crude attempt at a Native American symbol."
Finn leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "Well, I think I can do a bit better than that."
"Why? What did Dr. Fuller tell you?"
"She thinks the symbol might be connected to an ancient group of natives called the Nashoni."
"Nashoni?" Sheila echoed. "I've never heard of them."
"That's because almost nothing is known about them," Finn said. "According to Dr. Fuller, they were a small, nomadic tribe that lived in this area long before the Southern Paiute arrived. They were said to be masters of desert survival, able to move through the dunes without leaving a trace."
Sheila leaned forward, intrigued. "What else did she say about them?"
"Not much is known for certain. Most of what we have comes from a journal written by a Spanish explorer named Diego Alvarez in the late 1700s. He claimed the Nashoni had a deep spiritual connection to the desert. They believed the dunes were living entities, constantly shifting and changing like the wind itself."
"Fascinating," Sheila mused. "But how does it connect to our case?"
"Alvarez wrote about their spiritual practices. He described rituals performed at night, under the full moon. And he drew several symbols he saw them use, including one that's similar to what we found on Amanda Weller."
"What kind of rituals?" Sheila pressed.
"According to Alvarez, the Nashoni had a practice of 'returning' those who disrespected the desert to the sand. It's not clear if this was a punishment or some kind of spiritual cleansing, but..."
"But it sounds eerily similar to how we found Amanda," Sheila said.
Finn nodded grimly. "Exactly. Dr. Fuller was quick to point out that this could all be coincidence, or even fabrication on Alvarez's part. But it's a lead we can't ignore."
"What happened to the Nashoni?" Sheila asked.
"No one knows for sure. They seem to have vanished sometime in the early 1800s. Disease, conflict with other tribes, or maybe they just moved on. The dunes keep their secrets well."
Sheila nodded, processing this information. She wanted to ask Finn more, to bridge the awkward gap between them, but before she could, her phone buzzed. It was Star.
"Sorry, I need to take this," she said, stepping away from the table.
"Star? Is everything okay?" Sheila asked. It wasn't like Star to call rather than text.
"Not really," Star said, clearly frustrated. "This house is driving me crazy. The Wi-Fi keeps cutting out, and I think I heard something in the walls. Are you sure this place isn't haunted?"
Sheila suppressed a sigh. "Is Mrs. J still there?"
"Yeah, she's making dinner. Says we're having her 'famous meatloaf' or whatever." Star's attempt at sounding unimpressed wasn't quite convincing. "But that's not the point. When are you actually going to be home?"
The accusation hit harder than Sheila expected. Even with Mrs. Jacobs helping out, she knew Star needed more. She was providing for her, yes, had made sure she wasn't alone... but was that all Star was looking for, all she needed?
She had the uneasy feeling she was failing them both—the man she loved and the girl who needed stability more than anything. Having Mrs. Jacobs there helped, but it wasn't the same as being present herself. But admitting that felt dangerous, like acknowledging it might make everything crumble.
She glanced back at Finn, who was watching her, looking concerned. "I'm working on an important case, Star," she said. "You know that. But I promise, as soon as this is over, we'll sort everything out with the house. And thank Mrs. Jacobs for me, okay?"
There was a long pause before Star muttered, "Whatever. She says hi, by the way. And to be careful." Another pause. "Just... come home soon, alright?"
As Sheila ended the call and returned to the table, she could feel Finn's eyes on her. "Everything okay?" he asked, his tone softer than before.
Sheila shook her head. "Star's struggling with the new house. Mrs. Jacobs is there, but..." She trailed off, not needing to finish the thought.
"Well, she'll be sick of us soon enough. One weekend with the three of us stuck together, and we'll all be getting cabin fever."
Sheila cocked her head at him, unable to tell whether or not he was joking. "Are you having second thoughts about the house?" she asked.
He raised his eyebrows, looking surprised. "Second thoughts? No, no. It's just… well, it's a lot, you know? A lot at once."
"Right."
A cold knot formed in Sheila's stomach. She'd been so focused on proving herself as sheriff that she hadn't noticed the growing distance at home—how Finn had stopped wrapping his arms around her while she made coffee in the mornings, how their evening debriefs had turned from intimate conversations on the couch to professional updates across the kitchen counter.
Was he having second thoughts about all of it—moving in together, helping raise Star, working under her? The thought made her chest tight. She'd finally found the family she wanted, and it felt like it was slipping through her fingers.
Sheila tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. Then her phone buzzed again.
"Hollister just sent over the list of park employees," she told Finn, swallowing her personal feelings. "We should go through them, see if anyone stands out."
Finn nodded and signaled a nearby waitress. "Let's get some coffee. I think we're gonna need it."
For the next hour, they pored over the names, searching for any red flags. The familiar routine of working together eased some of the tension, but Sheila could still feel an undercurrent of unease.
As they worked, Sheila found herself stealing glances at Finn, remembering happier times. Late nights spent discussing cases over takeout, quiet mornings sharing coffee before work. When had things become so complicated?
"Nothing stands out," Finn said finally, rubbing his eyes. "They all seem like typical park employees—a mix of long-term staff and seasonal workers. No criminal records, no obvious motive for murder."
Sheila nodded, scrolling through her tablet. "Wait a second. Look at this email thread Hollister forwarded. It's from about six months ago, between him and the park superintendent."
Finn leaned in, squinting at the screen. "What am I looking at?"
"It's about a tour guide named Eric Blackwood. Apparently, there was an incident with a group of tourists. Hollister was recommending disciplinary action."
Finn's brow furrowed. "What kind of incident?"
Sheila skimmed the email. "It says Blackwood got into a heated argument with a visitor who was trying to take sand samples. He physically stopped them and confiscated their equipment."
"That seems excessive," Finn said. "Let's dig deeper into this Blackwood guy."
Sheila pulled up Eric Blackwood's employee file on her tablet. "Okay, let's start with the basics. Eric Blackwood, 32 years old, hired as a tour guide five years ago."
Finn nodded, tapping away at his phone. "I'm checking his social media accounts. Let's see what kind of digital footprint he's left."
As Sheila scrolled through Blackwood's employment history, her brow furrowed. "Finn, look at this. In his first year alone, Blackwood received two formal warnings for 'overzealous enforcement of park rules with visitors.'"
"What does that mean exactly?" Finn asked, glancing up from his screen.
"According to this incident report," Sheila said, tapping on a link, "he physically blocked a group of teenagers from entering a restricted area. Apparently, he grabbed one kid's backpack and refused to let go until a senior ranger intervened."
Finn whistled low. "That's crossing a line. What about more recently?"
Sheila continued scrolling. "It seems like the formal complaints dropped off after the first couple years, but... hold on." She leaned in closer to the screen. "There's a note here from Ranger Hollister. It says, 'Eric's passion for conservation is commendable, but his methods of visitor education remain concerning. Recommend continued monitoring.'"
"Interesting choice of words," Finn mused. "Hey, take a look at this social media post from Blackwood, dated about six months ago."
Sheila moved to peer over Finn's shoulder. The post read: "Another day, another group of entitled tourists treating our fragile ecosystem like their personal playground. When will people learn that their 'perfect shot' isn't worth the destruction of irreplaceable natural wonders? Sometimes I think these dunes would be better off if humans just disappeared entirely."
"That's... intense," Sheila said.
Finn nodded grimly. "And it gets worse. Look at the comments."
Sheila's eyes widened as she read through the thread. Blackwood had engaged in heated arguments with several people, his responses becoming increasingly aggressive and hostile.
"He really seems to have it out for social media influencers and travel bloggers," Finn observed, scrolling through more posts.
"Like Amanda Weller," Sheila murmured.
Just then, Sheila's tablet pinged with a new email notification. "It's from HR," she said, opening the message. "I asked them for any additional information on Blackwood. Looks like... oh, this is interesting. Three months ago, he applied for a position with the park's conservation team."
"Let me guess," Finn said, "he didn't get it?"
Sheila shook her head. "Passed over in favor of a candidate with a master's degree in Environmental Science. According to this, Blackwood didn't take the news well. He filed a formal complaint, claiming the hiring process was unfair and that his years of hands-on experience should have outweighed 'mere academic credentials.'"
Finn leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "So we've got a guy with a history of confrontations with tourists, a deep-seated anger about environmental damage, and a recent professional disappointment that might have pushed him over the edge."
"And the skills and knowledge to navigate the dunes without leaving a trace," Sheila added.
They looked at each other, the same thought clearly running through both their minds.
"We need to talk to Eric Blackwood," Sheila said.
Finn was already standing. "Let's just hope these dunes are precious enough for him to stick around long enough for us to catch him."