Page 13 of Silent Smile

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 wanderingoff 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."

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