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THAT WEEKEND Sierra decided to go down to the beach. The weather was hot and humid, the sun was high up in the sky and, as she looked up, there wasn't a cloud in sight. Moisture gathered along her hairline, the back of her knees and her inner thighs as she pedaled down the main street towards her favourite spot. If she didn't already have so many matters circling her head she would have brought enough money to rent a surfboard—she usually did. This time though, she just wanted a quiet place where she could refresh and unwind so she could ruminate on the case without anyone cutting in on her musings.
She hadn't had much time to dig into it since Madison showed her the news article, work and study had kept her busy, but she'd hoped to make some progress during this weekend. Starting today. Her journal and pen were calling her from inside her tote bag, ready to be put to good use. Resisting the temptation to pull them out was like depriving an addict of his drug.
She battled it's siren song long enough to settle on her favourite spot, peel off her dress and dive into the cool waters. After a good five minute swim, she made her way back to the beach towel she'd already spread out on the sand. A few people had also chosen to spend the day at the seaside, lured by the mild weather, but still it wasn't as crowded as she knew other beaches would be. Her restless eyes watched the children and the families playing in the surf while she reapplied sunscreen on her body—burning herself to a crisp wasn't her idea of fun.
When she finally managed to cover her back with a layer of sunscreen, she settled down on her stomach, journal in one hand, pen in the other. Her eyes scanned over the notes on the page.
Things I know:
The shark was brought in the 2nd of June from Fernandina beach.
She didn't eat a thing since she was brought in.
Three days later, June 5th, it threw up a human's arm.
The arm was real.
She had underlined that sentence several times.
It was a man's arm.
Agent Jesse Morris is in charge of the investigation.
