Page 47 of Silent Smile

Her mind raced, replaying the conversation with Sheriff Stone over and over. How could she have been so stupid? Why hadn't she mentioned the tattoo from the start? Now they thought she was involved somehow, connected to those horrible murders.

Nora's stomach churned at the thought. She wasn't a murderer. She was a scientist, an educator. She had dedicated her life to understanding and preserving the delicate ecosystem of the Coral Pink Sand Dunes. The very idea that she could be capable of such violence was absurd.

But now, because of one youthful indiscretion—a tattoo she'd gotten on a whim during her rebellious college years—her entire reputation was at risk. The irony wasn't lost on her. That tattoo, a symbol of her heritage and her connection to the land, had now become a mark of suspicion.

Yes, it resembled the mark left on the foreheads of the victims, but it wasn't exactly the same. Hers represented hope and harvest, light and life. The other one? She didn't know what it might originally have represented, but as far as she was concerned, it now represented only one thing.

Death.

As she walked, her thoughts drifted back to the day she'd gotten the tattoo on her ankle. It had been her sophomore year at Arizona State University. She'd just declared her major in geology, much to her parents' dismay. They had wanted her to become a lawyer or a doctor—something respectable, somethingthat would take her far from the reservation and the struggles they'd faced.

But Nora had been drawn to the earth, to the stories written in rock and sand. The tattoo had been an act of defiance, a way of saying, "This is who I am. This is where I come from." Now, nearly two decades later, that small act of rebellion had come back to haunt her.

Even if she was cleared of the murders, the damage was done. Rumors would spread. Colleagues would whisper behind her back. Students might request different advisors. The research grant she'd been working toward for months—would the committee still consider her application once they heard about this?

And what about her position at the park? Nora had worked hard to bridge the gap between the scientific community and the local tribes to ensure that the management of the dunes respected both ecological and cultural concerns. Would all that work be undone now?

Lost in her spiraling thoughts, Nora barely noticed where she was going until she found herself in the far corner of the parking lot. Her SUV sat alone in this remote section, partially hidden by an overgrown hedge that separated the lot from a small wooded area behind the building.

The isolation of her parking spot suddenly struck her as ominous. Why had she parked so far away? It had seemed like a good idea this morning—a little extra walk, a moment of peace before diving into the busy day ahead. Now, with the shadows lengthening and her nerves on edge, it felt like a mistake.

As she approached her vehicle, fumbling with her keys, a sudden noise made her jump. She whirled around, her heart pounding. A raccoon stared back at her with beady eyes, its paws scrabbling at the lid of a nearby trash can. Nora let out a shaky laugh, feeling foolish for her paranoia.

"Get a grip, Nora," she muttered to herself. "You're not a suspect. You're not in danger. Everything's fine."

But even as she said the words, she didn't believe them. The look in Sheriff Stone's eyes when she'd noticed the tattoo—that hadn't been the look of someone casually ruling out a possibility. That had been the look of a predator catching the scent.

Nora climbed into her SUV, sinking into the familiar leather seat. As she adjusted her mirrors, she tried to calm her racing heart. Deep breaths, she told herself. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

Slowly, the panic began to subside.

She looked at herself in the rearview mirror. Her dark eyes were wide, rimmed with the beginning of dark circles. She hadn't slept well last night. The whole community was on edge, waiting for news, for answers.

Nora glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 4:37 PM. She had planned to return to the university, finish grading some papers before heading home. But now, the thought of facing her colleagues, of trying to maintain a professional facade while her world was crumbling around her, seemed unbearable.

No, she decided. She would go straight home. A hot bath, a glass of wine, and maybe she could forget about this nightmare for a few hours. Tomorrow, she would call her lawyer. She needed to get ahead of this, to protect herself.

As she started the engine, her phone buzzed. A text from her department head: "Nora, heard rumors about the investigation. Need to talk ASAP."

Nora's heart sank. It was starting already. Sheriff Stone must've already reached out to her colleagues—in the few minutes since Dr. Redfeather had spoken with her, no less.

How long before the whispers turned into open accusations? How long before her carefully built life began to crumble?

She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, unable to deal with it now. She'd call him in the morning, try to explain. Though what could she say? "No, I'm not a murderer, I just happen to have a tattoo that matches the killer's signature"? It sounded weak even in her own mind.

She pulled out of the parking space, her tires crunching on the gravel. As she turned onto the main road, she tried to focus on the familiar landscape. The distant dunes glowed golden in the sunlight, a sight that usually filled her with peace.

Now, it only reminded her of the bodies found buried in that beautiful, treacherous sand.

Movement in her rearview mirror caught her eye. At first, she thought it was just a trick of the light. She adjusted the mirror, trying to get a better view.

Then she saw it clearly: a figure sitting up in her back seat.

Nora's scream caught in her throat as the figure lunged forward. In the mirror, she caught a glimpse of wild eyes and a flash of metal—a knife clenched between bared teeth.

Her foot slammed on the brake, the SUV screeching to a halt. But all that did was throw the stranger forward. He came hurtling through the vehicle, grabbing hold of her seat to halt his progress.

Then, panting beside her, he pressed the tip of the knife to the hollow of the throat. "I suggest you keep driving," he said.

---