Investigative reporter Jade Pezzaro has the hottest lead in south Texas. Her longtime friend discovers a dead body while jogging along the sandy shores in North Padre Island, Texas. She is determined to get this news assignment until she discover...
Some call it oppressive, but she finds it invigorating.
Sissy inhales the salty air as she jogs along the Texas coast at the Packery Channel Oak Motte Sanctuary near Corpus Christi.
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Well into her run, Sissy no longer feels the needle-like stabs along her lower left calf, and she suppresses the nauseous feeling in her stomach. Her second wind has kicked in.
She takes a long breath in through her nose and releases slowly through her mouth.
Sissy's jogging shoes leave marks in the wet sand. On her right, she hears the constant, calm beat of the waves slapping onto the shore. She looks and admires the ocean view.
Blue air in. Red air out. She focuses on her breathing.
She follows the path to the left, leaving the open, sandy shore about fifteen yards behind her. She heads along the path towards the swampy, secluded area. A few minutes later, the path makes a full U-turn, so the ocean is on her left, the swampy area to her right.
Snake. Coyote awareness. The locals had warned her, so she watches the path closely now.
Sissy often sees dead animal carcasses, rope, wooden oars, shoes, either onshore or in the tall grass along this path. The Channel, a complex system of storm-washover channels along North Padre Island, connected to the Gulf of Mexico, dredges up debris from all over the world.
One day, she considers, she may actually find treasure out here.
She takes a long, deep breath, welcoming any distractions from the shooting pain that has started again in her left ankle and travels along the back of her left calf.
Sissy has been jogging for 45 minutes now. The sun is fully out; the rose-pink light of dawn appeared at 5:50 a.m.
The salty air takes on a rancid odor. Ahead, she sees a swarm of flies. Black crows are hovering above. A shiny stream of sunlight glistens from the grassy area where the flies have gathered.
Last night's coyote kill. As she nears the area, her breath shortens.
Her stomach heaves. She tries to spit out the bitter, rancid taste that forms in her mouth. She cannot escape the stench in the air.
A thick golden ring, strangled around a grey purplish finger, peeks out from within the long, tall grass.
