Page 7 of Silent Smile

Today, however, that landscape has become a crime scene.

They pulled into the park's main lot, which was already crowded with official vehicles. As Sheila stepped out, the heat hit her like a physical force. She squinted against the glare, spotting a figure striding toward them.

"Sheriff Stone?" The man extended his hand. "Ranger Mike Hollister. Thanks for coming out so quickly."

Sheila shook his hand, noting his firm grip and the worry lines etched around his eyes. Hollister was tall and lean, with skin weathered by years in the sun. His ranger uniform was crisp despite the heat.

"This is Deputy Mercer," Sheila said, gesturing to Finn. "What can you tell us about the victim, Ranger Hollister?"

"Amanda Weller, 32 years old," Hollister said as they walked. "Her boyfriend reported her missing last night when she didn't return to their hotel. She'd gone off to take photos, said she'd be back by nightfall. When she didn't show up, he called us. We organized a search party first thing this morning."

"And that's when you found her?" Finn asked.

"Yes. Ranger Sarah Chen discovered the body during an early morning sweep. We brought the boyfriend out to make the ID." Hollister shook his head. "Poor guy's devastated."

"I can only imagine," Sheila said. "Can you give us an overview of the area where the body was found?"

Hollister's expression grew grave. He gestured toward a section of dunes that seemed to shimmer in the distance. "It's about a mile in, in an area we call the 'South Coral Dunes.' But here's the thing, Sheriff—that entire section is strictly off-limits to visitors."

"Off-limits?" Finn echoed, his brow furrowing. "Why's that?"

Hollister sighed, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "It's a protected area. The ecosystem there is incredibly fragile. We've been trying to preserve it for years."

As they walked, Hollister pointed out various features of the landscape. "See those small, scrubby plants? Those are Welsh's milkweed. They're endangered, only found in this specific dune system. And those tracks?" He indicated some tiny impressions in the sand. "Those are from the Great Basin Spadefoot toad. They're specially adapted to this environment, but their numbers have been declining."

Sheila nodded, taking it all in.

"There's also the Coral Pink Sand Dunes tiger beetle," Hollister continued, clearly warming to the subject. "It's unique to this park—doesn't exist anywhere else in the world. Even a few careless footsteps could destroy their habitat. And that's not to mention the various species of lizards, kangaroo rats, and birds that call this place home."

"So how did Amanda Weller end up out there?" Finn asked.

Hollister shrugged. "That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? We have signs posted, regular patrols. It's not easy to accidentally wander into that area."

"But people still try?" Sheila pressed.

Hollister nodded grimly. "More often than we'd like. Especially the social media crowd, always looking for that perfect, untouched shot. We've had to issue fines, even make arrests. But this..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Nobody wanted this."

They approached a cordoned-off area where several people in CSI gear were just getting set up. Hollister held up the crime scene tape so they could duck beneath it. As Sheila did so, she couldn't help but feel a sense of trespassing.

"Brace yourselves," Hollister warned. "It's... unsettling."

Sheila understood the warning as soon as she glimpsed Amanda Weller's head protruding from the sand, her eyes wide and unseeing, the side of her skull sticky with blood. The rest of her body was completely buried, the sand packed tightly around her neck.

The sight of a murdered woman hit too close to home, reminding her of another crime scene she knew only from photographs—her own living room ten years ago, where her mother Henrietta had bled out on the carpet. At least Amanda's family would have answers sooner than a decade.

"What is that?" Finn asked, gesturing at the symbol on Amanda's—a crude design painted in dark red.

Hollister shook his head. "No idea. We were hoping you might have some insight."

Setting aside thoughts of the past, Sheila leaned in for a closer look, careful not to disturb anything. The symbol appeared to be a simplified sun with wavy lines emanating from it. "It looks... tribal, maybe? Native American?"

"That was our thought too," Hollister agreed. "But it's not like any local tribal symbol I've ever seen."

"What about the paint?" Sheila asked, turning to one of the nearby CSI technicians.

The tech shrugged. "Hard to say without testing, but it doesn't look like commercial paint. The consistency is off. Could be natural pigments, maybe even blood."

Sheila felt her stomach turn at the thought. She snapped a picture of the victim and then straightened up, trying to project an air of authority she didn't entirely feel. "Alright, I want samples taken and sent to the lab ASAP. Priority analysis."

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