Page 15 of Silent Smile

Moving to the kitchenette, Sage filled a kettle and set it to boil. While waiting, he examined more photographs—these weren't the artistic shots on the walls, but surveillance images. Visitors to the park, caught unawares as they ventured off designated trails or discarded trash on the pristine dunes. Each photo was dated and annotated with meticulous detail.

The kettle whistled, and Sage prepared his tea. Chamomile—good for staying calm, focused. There was still much to do.

Sipping the hot liquid, Sage's thoughts drifted to Amanda Weller. Her death had been... necessary. Regrettable, perhaps, but necessary. She had been warned multiple times. Her disregard for the fragile ecosystem, her entitlement, her influence over her followers—it had all become too much. The dunes needed to be protected at any cost.

The symbol painted on her forehead—that had been an impulsive addition. A message, though its meaning seemed lost on the investigators so far. Good. Let them chase false leads and misinterpret clues. The truth was written in the sand for those who knew how to read it.

Sage glanced at the clock—early afternoon. He finished his tea, washed the cup, and put it away. Everything in its place, no trace left behind. That was the key.

Sage shouldered the backpack and laced up the hiking boots. He did a final check of supplies—water, snacks, first aid kit, flashlight. All present and accounted for. His hand reached for the cabin door, then paused. After a moment's hesitation, Sage added a small notebook and pencil to the pack. Just in case.

Outside, the heat hit like a physical force. But it was a familiar discomfort, almost welcome. The air was dry, scented with sage and juniper. In the distance, the dunes shimmered likea mirage, their color shifting from pale pink to deep coral as the sun's angle changed.

Sage had only just stepped out when the radio clipped to his backpack crackled to life.

"...reports of disturbances in Sector 7. Beer cans and remains of a campfire found in the restricted area. All available personnel, please investigate."

Sector 7. Deep in the dunes, far from the designated camping areas. A fragile ecosystem, home to several endangered species. Anger flared in Sage's chest, hot and familiar. Would they never learn?

Sector 7 wasn't far—maybe an hour's hike. Plenty of time to get there before dark. And if the trespassers were still there...

Well, then Sage would just have to teach them a lesson. A lesson they'd never forget.

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 creationstories 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."

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