Snow Signs Read online

  He watched the hesitation and headshake from behind his desk and was tempted to ask her to reconsider. George knew the challenges that lay ahead for her. But he knew Claire well enough to know she was up to the demands of the new job. Self-doubts would soon give way to self-confidence.

  “Good luck to you, Claire,” he called out as she quietly shut the door.

  Of course, Chief wasted no time in approving her application and announced the promotion to detective the very next week. No one was surprised, but there was still grumbling from some of the patrol troopers about a ‘woman detective’. Even during the mid-1990’s there was a sexist attitude prevalent in the state police rank and file, especially in southern Indiana.

  Claire knew what was going on and she worked diligently to dispel any doubts about her ability; she worked harder and longer hours than anyone to gain the respect of her fellow detectives and the trust of the road officers in her new capacity as well.

  It didn’t take long for them to realize that she was very competent and adept at combing crime and accident scenes for clues and evidence to help derive answers that others couldn’t or wouldn’t see.

  Soon, she found herself being called on to help with some sticky crimes, ones that had more questions than answers.

  As Claire found herself reliving this part of her past, she thought about one crime in particular that had always haunted her…the disappearance of a young deaf woman, as yet unsolved.

  Chapter Two

  Her name was Libby Newman and she was never found even though police suspected murder. They investigated her ex-husband for a while but couldn’t get enough evidence either physical or circumstantial to arrest him, let alone come to the conclusion that it was an actual crime. No body, no evidence of a struggle at the house, no leads.

  And, the only thing Claire had was a lingering suspicion that Libby was murdered. There were footprints leading from the house, two sets. One set obviously belonged to a woman. The other set was larger and likely belonged to a man, but were never matched to a suspect’s shoes. They led to a dead end…literally. A power station close to Libby’s house was where the trail stopped. There was a cement walkway in front of the station and the prints ended there.

  Of course, Claire took impressions of the shoe prints, but they didn’t have any discriminating marks on them that would give her a lead.

  The smaller ones were identified as Libby’s through a search of her closet and a relative’s accounting of what was missing. The clothes she had on and her tennis shoes were the only items gone from the house.

  The other set was compared to the ex-husband’s shoes and no match was found even though they were the same size. The shoes themselves were identified as size ten, typical average male size, common brand favored by many males, adults and youths, nothing distinguishing except that they were obviously new shoes, no unique tread on the soles. The person she went with knew enough not to use old shoes that might have a wear pattern on them.

  Stores in the surrounding area were checked to see if anyone recognized the husband as buying shoes recently, but no one did. And, since he traveled a lot, he could have purchased them in any number of places.

  But the shoes were not the only reason that Claire suspected Libby was murdered.

  Someone went to a lot of trouble just to kidnap her. And…if she disappeared on her own, why hasn’t she shown up in the last four years? Why wouldn’t she contact her family, if only to tell them she was okay?

  Since then, no one had spotted Libby or found a body matching her description. Claire had a feeling that the ex-husband knew more than he was telling.

  But Mr. Newman talked with the other officer working the case and he gave him a solid alibi.

  * * * * *

  Trent Newman was a trucker and his company had records to back up his assertion that he was on the road, fifty miles from Libby’s house, when she disappeared.

  There were no domestic disturbance or abuse allegations from the marriage, no history of violence in what was known of his past. A few ex-girlfriends were interviewed but no one had dated him long enough to know him that well, even though some hinted that he seemed ‘possessive’ during the short time they were together. He always wanted to monopolize their time and sulked when they were not available.

  The only thing Claire had to go on was a hunch. She just knew that Trent Newman had something to do with his ex-wife’s disappearance, and she also suspected that he had killed her, but she didn’t have the evidence to prove it.

  * * * * *

  “Well, enough of this!” Claire said, attempting to break her train of thought.

  She jumped up from the couch, walked into the kitchen, and went over her plans for the day, while absentmindedly washing out her coffee cup and placing it in the dishwasher. She intended to spend time at the computer, writing.

  Claire had always enjoyed writing, and since she started working for the state police, she had kept a journal and records of all of her cases. When she took early retirement, her secret desire was to write novels based on her experiences as a state policewoman.

  As she walked into the front bedroom that doubled as her office, she thought about the fact that writing was a form of therapy for her, but it also kept her mind active and attuned to police work. For the first time since she made the decision to retire, she experienced a twinge of regret.

  “Maybe I should have stayed on,” Claire spoke aloud as she sat down at the computer.

  No, she thought. I was ready. I was beginning to feel the burnout so many policemen and women experience after years and years of taking care of victims, using restraint in the face of perpetrators, seeing the violence and never understanding why humans do such inhumane things to each other. I just need to write, because I can write about the ugly part of police work without having to feel it.

  Snickering, she said, “Who am I trying to kid!”

  She pressed the button to start the computer, and, while it brought up where she had left off, Claire looked outside to see if any more birds were at the feeder. She had intentionally placed her computer in this room so she could enjoy the nature outside, but instead, her eyes moved across the yard to the spot where she had seen the blowing snow. Leaning forward to focus in on the area, what she saw made her flinch.

  There is something there! Something red!

  Claire pressed up against the computer to get as close to the window as she could.

  It looks like blood!

  She continued to peer out the window at the bright red dotting the snow and grunted in disgust at herself, realizing she wasn’t going to get any writing done until she found out what it was.

  Finally she stood up and stomped into the living room, pausing only long enough to grab her winter boots on the floor beside the front door.

  She hastily shoved her feet into the boots and went out on the porch to get a better look.

  It’s blood, she realized, moving down the full length of the porch, clutching the railing and leaning over to see the red drops in the snow more clearly.

  Must be an animal, she decided. I bet a deer was injured and walked through the yard, dripping blood onto the snow. That has to be it!

  Claire had seen bucks, does, and their fawns in her yard just about every morning since moving here. Her neighbors across the street had a salt block and her yard was a natural pathway for the deer to get to their food source.

  I’ll have to ask Kate and Myra if they noticed any injured deer or blood drops in their yard.

  Kate Lines and Myra Collier were two elderly ladies who lived across the street and they loved to bird watch and feed the animals.

  Maybe they noticed the blood too.

  Claire continued to stare at the droplets…no form, no shape or symbol, just specks of blood, red against the white, hypnotizing in their mystery.

  Chapter Three

  Disturbed by the blood in her front yard, but stymied as to why it was there, Claire forced herself to return to her compute
r and begin writing.

  She had already decided to use the story of Libby Newman as the basis for her first novel, but as she started to put down the details, she found herself returning to the blood in the snow. It almost felt as if the drops were connected to Libby in some way.

  That’s silly, she thought. My mind’s on her and that’s why I’m feeling this way.

  She plodded on with the writing, but had to stop several times as she found herself going over the details of the case, and the reasons why she found it so fascinating in the first place.

  * * * * *

  Four years ago when Libby Newman disappeared, she and her husband, Trent, had been divorced for a year. There was nothing in the divorce decree that indicated any past violence or threats to her. The property was split fairly evenly and Libby kept the house. Nothing showed up in that year to indicate that Trent was upset about any of the terms of the divorce. He was often on the road, continuing to work for the same trucking company. It seemed as if he took more assignments farther away than in the past, but that was understandable.

  Maybe he just wanted to be by himself for a while and think things through. Or, maybe he didn’t want to be close enough to be reminded of the life he had had while married to Libby.

  At any rate, Claire reasoned, there were no police reports logged by the ex-wife after the divorce, not even a hint that he might be trying to contact her.

  When interviewed, her family members didn’t have much to say about the divorce. At first they had been concerned about Libby’s emotional state, but they soon realized that she was adapting and seemed to enjoy living on her own.

  If pressed, they might have been too embarrassed to admit that they didn’t have very good signing skills, and therefore, they really didn’t know how she felt about her now ex-husband and the divorce.

  As for who might have wanted to harm her, no one knew Libby well enough to even venture a guess. She was a private person; she didn’t share her fears or dreams with others.

  Maybe she decided to go off and find a better life…but that’s only speculation on my part.

  Being an isolated person with few friends and no neighbors close by, eyebrows were raised when she married Trent in the first place, but no one was willing to admit that they had not taken the time to get to know this beautiful young woman better.

  * * * * *

  They met at the local high school where they both had signed up for an adult education computer class. He noticed the interpreter the first night of class and was immediately fascinated by the interaction and communication between the two of them. He had a deaf childhood friend in his neighborhood when he was growing up and had learned minimal sign language for when they played together, but he had not used it in a long time.

  Trent frowned when he remembered how his friend’s mother decided she didn’t want her son playing with him anymore. She thought I wasn’t a good ‘influence’ on him. Trent shook his head. He never would tell me why his Mom didn’t like me.

  Increasingly interested, he turned his attention back to Libby and her interpreter. In the next few weeks, he watched unobtrusively before deciding to go up and introduce himself one night after class.

  Libby had been watching him too and was impressed with his basic signing skills and touched by his willingness to communicate directly with her instead of depending on the interpreter, when he finally did introduce himself.

  Not bad looking, a little older than me, but that’s okay, she thought.

  Trent was of medium build, about five feet, eleven inches tall, and he had kept his weight under control, unlike a lot of truckers. His dark brown hair helped bring out the light flecks of gold in his brown eyes, offering a pleasing contrast, and he had a nice smile, even though others might have remarked on the cruel twist it sometimes provided.

  But Libby only saw the good side of Trent, and soon the two of them were going out for coffee after class, and it wasn’t long before they were dating. He did not sign well enough to get into any deep conversations with her, but she found herself attracted to him and eventually she fell in love.

  In retrospect friends and family might have questioned whether this relationship could last, but Libby was lonesome and stubborn. She wanted to marry Trent and settle down. She didn’t know him that well, but in her mind that was fine.

  They eloped to Las Vegas, and after they came back, Libby and Trent decided to buy the little house in the country she had been renting, and they both returned to their normal lives.

  Libby went back to work at Glenco, a plastics manufacturing company located close by in the small town of Frederick. She held onto her dream of transferring from the factory to the office, but hadn’t accomplished that feat even when she disappeared.

  Trent went back to driving a truck, the only job he had ever known.

  Life seemed normal for the newly-married couple, but no one really knew what went on inside that house.

  No one had any idea there was trouble in the marriage until it was too late. The divorce attorneys used the standard argument, “irreconcilable differences”, and neither party discussed it much beyond that.

  After the divorce was final, Libby became more of a loner and family members mistakenly thought she just needed time to come to grips with everything. If they had asked her, they might have been surprised, because Libby had known almost from the beginning that the marriage was in trouble.

  She had heard that sometimes hearing men married deaf women so they could be possessive, be the ‘boss’ of the family. She didn’t really see that in Trent at first because he tried so hard; he was in love with her and thrilled that she felt the same about him.

  But, as time went by, Libby saw the other side of Trent Newman. She saw in him the desire to control every aspect of her life, including what she wore, whom she had as friends, where she went, and how long she stayed out.

  Finally it got so bad that Libby just stopped seeing other people and came straight home from work, especially when Trent was there.

  Friends and family members were worried but finally just accepted it. They thought she wanted to be with her husband.

  Little did they know that she was too proud to admit her marriage was a mistake. She tried to hide her disappointment from others, but she couldn’t hide it for long. Finally, she asked for the divorce.

  He reluctantly agreed, but only after months of arguing, attempted persuading, verbal abuse, veiled threats, and false accusations.

  When she went through with it, Trent accepted the fact, or at least that is what other people thought. He even had Libby fooled into believing that he had come to terms with the divorce.

  That’s why no one could have suspected him of having anything to do with her disappearance. He had moved on.

  But had he? Claire wondered about that and always questioned if the divorce had anything to do with what happened to Libby. Revenge? Was it motivation to harm her? Did it affect him more than others realized?

  She had seen it before, many times. A couple divorced; one of them held a grudge; someone got hurt and someone was responsible for it. Claire shook her head and tried to concentrate on her writing but couldn’t get one thought out of her mind, the thought that Trent Newman knew exactly what had happened to his ex-wife.

  Chapter Four

  Morning sunlight streamed in the bedroom window causing Claire to open her eyes slowly and look around, still not believing that she could sleep as long as she wanted, let alone until daylight.

  Most of the time when she was working, Claire was up before dawn, preparing for the day, if she was lucky. If she wasn’t lucky, she would receive a phone call in the middle of the night requesting her presence at an accident site, crime scene, or if she was truly unlucky, at a homicide.

  Today it took her a while to make sense of the surroundings and to come to the realization that she was indeed retired and no longer a slave to the morning routine she had become so accustomed to while working.

  Ring! Ring! Th
e telephone blared out a sound so loud as to disrupt any idea she might have had about going back to sleep.

  She rolled over, picked up the receiver and answered rather drowsily, “Hello.”

  “Claire, it’s George. Glad I caught you before you left the house to do whatever you retired people do.”

  “Very funny, George. If you couldn’t tell by my voice, I’m just waking up…and it feels wonderful, I might add.” She held the phone out away from her ear, anticipating his boisterous reprimand.

  “Be careful, woman. I might just send someone over there to throw you out of bed. Or, maybe I’ll just come and do it myself,” he added.

  Claire had to laugh, “Yeah, I bet you would. So, why are you calling so early? I haven’t even had that first cup of coffee.”

  “Don’t rub it in, Missy or I will come over!”

  Chuckling, he continued, “No, I was calling to talk to you about Chief’s retirement party…wanted to know if you were coming, and if so, would you say a few things. You know, like how many times he saved your ass, kept you out of trouble, that kind of thing…but keep it clean, his wife will be there.”

  “Oh, like Mary doesn’t already know what a cantankerous old fart he is!”

  “Guess he didn’t have you fooled either, huh,” George laughed.

  “Not much,” she replied, adding, “Sure, I’ll be there and plan to say a few things. Seven o’clock tomorrow night, right?”

  “Yeah, and don’t be late.” George smiled because he knew this would get a rile out of her.

  “What do you mean ‘late’? I was never late…unlike some of my good ol’ boy co-workers on the force, I might add.”

  She said a quick ‘goodbye’ and hung up before he could come back with another retort.

  Claire sat on the side of the bed and organized her plans for the day. First order of business is to make some coffee!