Snow Signs Page 3

  She found herself humming “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” as she walked to the kitchen, and it truly matched her frame of mind. Claire was happy for the first time in a long time. She looked forward to seeing everyone tomorrow night, sharing old stories, catching up on all the news, and just enjoying the company.

  That’s one thing she missed about working--the camaraderie of group interaction on a daily basis. She needed to get out more and find other social outlets, but for now she was content to be by herself, writing and appreciating the nature around her.

  As she poured the water in the coffee pot, she thought, speaking of nature, wonder if the birds have enough seed?

  Claire turned on the coffee and went to the living room window. But when she looked outside, her eyes didn’t immediately go to the bird feeder. Instead, she looked at the place in the snow where she saw the blood yesterday.

  What she saw there caused a sharp intake of breath, followed by her grabbing onto the wall for support.

  More blood was evident, and something else was there too…it...it looks like footprints!

  She struggled to regain her composure as her analytical mind made some quick observations.

  The blood looked fresh and there was more of it. If it was an animal, chances are one of her neighbors would find it soon…and it would be seriously wounded or dead, because the amount of blood was significant.

  The footprints (or shoeprints to be exact) were a mystery.

  Did someone find an injured deer in my yard and shoot it?

  If so, I would have heard it, she determined.

  I’m so attuned to gunshots that I would have heard one even in a deep sleep. And, if someone shot a deer, why would that person take a chance on doing it here?

  Claire lived in an area of homes close to two lakes called a Conservancy. It was governed by a locally elected group of neighbors and had its own set of rules and regulations. She knew they included no hunting or shooting within the boundaries.

  Plus, I don’t see any dragging marks in the snow to indicate that someone took the deer with him.

  Strange…Well, I’ll put on my boots, go out and have a look myself, she decided. I have to go to the mailbox and get the paper anyway.

  Wait a minute! Claire paused and remembered something.

  “I didn’t see any blood yesterday morning when I got the paper.”

  But, it was there just a little while later when I was reading the paper, she reminded herself. How did I miss an injured deer in such a short time frame?

  “And, of course the prints weren’t there yesterday.”

  Perplexed, she walked over to pour herself some coffee. Maybe the caffeine will help clear my head and… “I can think better,” she said the last part aloud.

  “Oh, what the heck! Might as well fix myself a big breakfast to go with the coffee.”

  Claire’s lips turned up into a slight smile and she shook her head at the recent increasing propensity she had developed for talking to herself. I’d better be careful or before you know it, people will begin to think I have dementia!

  She pulled out the frying pan and tried to concentrate on other matters. She thought about other details of the Libby Newman case that she wanted to include in her writing.

  * * * * *

  Never did find any evidence to link her ex-husband to the disappearance, she remembered.

  At first, the police wondered if it was a kidnapping, but no ransom note or phone call ever came to the family.

  Once they checked the trucking company and realized that Trent Newman was miles away when his wife went missing, they started to look at other friends and family members.

  No one stood out. Everyone loved Libby, and everyone was at a loss as to what happened to her. Of course there was always the possibility that she had left of her own accord.

  But why didn’t she take anything with her? And, she lived alone; she was vulnerable; it happened at night; she lived in an isolated area. Did she want it to look like someone kidnapped her so she could disappear off the face of the earth? If someone helped her, why hasn’t he come forward after all this time?

  All these facts led investigators to wonder if anyone would ever be charged with a crime—if in fact any wrongdoing had been committed. Some assumed she had just run off, upset by the broken promises from the marriage… and the job.

  It was known that Libby was very disappointed when she never received a promotion at work. She challenged management to give her a chance. She had been taking courses in adult education and had an associate’s degree in business management from State Business College.

  But even with the diploma, Libby found it difficult to get her employer to recognize her capabilities. She always wondered if it was because of her deafness and the fact that people didn’t know how to communicate with her.

  It might have made her sad enough to just up and leave, disappear, and find a better place, one that would accept her and give her more opportunities.

  Maybe she just wanted to put her past behind… for the hope of a better future, Claire speculated. And, maybe with her marriage dissolved, she felt it was time.

  Claire placed the sizzling bacon and fried egg on a plate. If so, why would she leave in the middle of the night, taking nothing with her? She didn’t have anything to hide.

  Placing the frying pan back on the stove, Claire grabbed the coffee pot and poured herself another cup.

  Her house certainly didn’t look like someone planned to move. Everything was in its place. She only had the clothes on her back.

  Claire sat down at the table and cut her egg into pieces.

  Her purse was even on the kitchen table. That was the strangest part…no sign of struggle, but also no indication of a designed outing. It was like she just vanished.

  “I wish I could talk to her so I could know what happened that night.” Claire spoke into the air around her as she blew on her hot coffee.

  “Strong possibility she’s not living anymore and likely I’ll never know what happened.”

  Claire got up to put some bread in the toaster and thought about what else puzzled her.

  * * * * *

  Witnesses had seen Trent Newman’s truck at a Circle Y truck stop about 50 miles from Libby’s house that night. It had been parked there for a few hours before anyone noticed that Trent was nowhere to be seen. When questioned, he said that he had climbed up into his sleeping compartment. He was returning from a long trip, had become sleepy, and decided not to drive the last miles to his house without taking a nap. He was afraid that he might have an accident, and that is why he pulled off there in the first place.

  No one had looked in the truck. If they had, maybe all they would have seen was the curtain drawn with the seam of a blanket hanging out from underneath. It sure would have looked like someone was sleeping, not an uncommon sight at a truck stop.

  Someone did report seeing a man boarding a motorcycle parked close to the truck earlier that evening, but that was not an unusual sight either.

  The man was medium build, had on jeans and a t-shirt, and he also had long hair, peeking out from underneath his helmet, altogether nothing much to go on, and nothing to bring suspicion on Trent.

  When questioned, others couldn’t remember seeing the motorcyclist, and the witness didn’t think to get the license number.

  Later on that night Trent did come into the diner to have a bite to eat. He said he had overslept and was in a hurry to get home. He’d been on the road for five days and was anxious to have some time off. He ate a big meal and left.

  No one noticed anything suspicious about his appearance. His clothes were rumpled but not dirty…or bloody. His shoes were clean and his short-cropped hair was not out of place.

  Everything about his appearance backed up his story that he took a nap and was on his way home from a long trip.

  Truck stops are mobile places; people come and go. Sometimes the pace of the activity makes it difficult to remember any details.

&nb
sp; Certainly no one would have noticed if the motorcycle came back…and happened to be parked in the same spot, next to the truck.

  The only people who would have seen it were working their shifts at the truck stop…and they didn’t have time to notice, let alone wonder if it was even the same motorcycle…or the same truck.

  Chapter Five

  “Well, time to get started,” Claire said aloud as she washed the dishes and put them in the drainer.

  She ran a washcloth over the countertop and table, making sure the kitchen was clean and back to normal before going outside to check on the blood and shoeprints.

  As she put her feet into her boots, she once again thought about the reappearing blood.

  It’s strange that it would just show up like that. Then overnight, more blood…doesn’t make sense…and, why the prints?

  All of these thoughts were going through her head when she opened the door and braced herself for the frigid air before walking out onto the front porch.

  She walked down the steps and through the yard with her head down, a buffer from the stinging cold.

  “Hey, Claire.”

  She looked up to see Myra pulled to a stop in front of the house. She had a newspaper in her hand.

  “I thought you might want this. I decided to drive up and get my paper--didn’t want to walk in the cold.”

  “Thanks, Myra. I was just going to get it.” She came out to the car and took the extended newspaper.

  She thanked her and started to turn around, but hesitated before asking, “Oh, by the way, did you see any injured deer in your yard yesterday or today?”

  “Injured? No, can’t say that I did. Why?”

  “Well, see this blood,” Claire turned and pointed to the drops in the snow. “It was here yesterday too. I was thinking that maybe a deer had been injured.”

  “Yeah, I see what you mean,” Myra said as she squinted in the bright morning sun.

  “But what are those footprints doing there? Did you notice them yesterday too?”

  “No, that’s the strangest part. Yesterday there was just a little blood, enough to make me think there might be an injured animal, maybe a deer. Today, I look out my window and see more blood and the prints! I have no idea where they came from.”

  “Well, just be careful. It looks like someone might have been in your yard and killed a deer. They’re not supposed to do that here in the Conservancy, but that’s what it looks like.”

  She paused and then asked, “Did you hear any shots?”

  Claire shook her head ‘no’ and continued to stare at the blood.

  With a puzzled look on her face, Myra asked, “Did you report it to the office yet?”

  “No, not yet. I was just coming out to take a closer look. Do you think I should call?”

  “I would if I were you. Have Jim Hoppes come and look at it. He’s the sheriff’s deputy who patrols the Conservancy. He can help.”

  “Yes, I know Jim. I’ve worked with him on a few cases and he’s a good guy. I might just do that.”

  Claire wavered, as if thinking through her options before adding, “Thanks Myra. You take care and have a good day.”

  Myra waved as she pulled the Jeep into her driveway across the street.

  Claire didn’t want to alarm her but as she looked closer at the blood and shoeprints, she realized that it was just too ‘pat’. There was only one set of prints, which was very strange since they didn’t lead anywhere.

  Why and how would someone leave only one set of shoeprints in a yard? And, if there were logical explanations, why would someone even try to hunt down an animal in a restricted neighborhood? There are always people around, looking out their window at anything suspicious. Even with the small stand of trees obscuring the view, surely someone would have seen or heard a hunter!

  No, this didn’t look like that to Claire. It looked almost staged; it looked like someone wanted her to see this…and if so, why?

  Claire stared at the prints. Tread looks like what you find on an athletic shoe, possibly size 10, no unusual tread. Wonder why the person didn’t wear boots?

  Suddenly, she stopped and straightened up. A puzzled look came across her face. Typical description of shoes, she decided, but one that I have thought about recently.

  Claire’s heart beat a little faster. Hold on! Same description as in the Libby Newman case! Same size shoeprints found at the site where she disappeared!

  Shivering in response to the cold air, but also because of the intriguing similarities, she decided, No, it’s just my imagination.

  So what! I’ve been thinking about that case, writing about it, and now I’m seeing it in the snow?

  She smiled ruefully and turned to go back into the house. Ridiculous! My brain hasn’t caught up with my body yet on this retirement thing. My mind is still in detective mode and if I’m not careful, I’ll lose it completely!

  But as Claire walked through the front door, she didn’t see what formed in the snow behind her. If she had, she probably would have startled and jumped even though she was a seasoned detective, used to things that were strange and unusual.

  Flakes of snow danced in the air, swirling faster and faster, growing into something formative, blurry, but resembling a person, without the substance of a human being, but mirroring a shadow or a ghost of someone long dead.

  At least it would look like that to someone who believed in that kind of thing, but Claire wasn’t a believer, not yet anyway.

  Chapter Six

  Seated at the computer, Claire tried to come up with some remarks to make at Marvin’s retirement party. Even though the party wasn’t until tomorrow night, she wanted to prepare her speech, and writing was the best way for her to do that. She found that putting it down helped her to remember the details. That’s why she had turned to writing as a hobby, and that’s why she depended on it to help her now.

  She thought back to all the times that Chief had been there for her. First and foremost he had taken a chance when he promoted her to detective, and she would always be grateful for that opportunity.

  Smiling, she remembered how he jokingly told her his wife, Mary, would never speak to him again if he did not help Claire make detective. She knew he was only saying that to break the ice. He had heard some of the same complaints she had heard about a ‘female in the ranks’.

  He took her to lunch with the other detectives from her post right after the promotion was announced. He did it so that they could get to know her better and realize what an asset she would be to the division.

  Chief certainly helped her fit in. The guys recognized her qualities and quickly made her a part of the team.

  In fact, they accepted her so well that George Stanley had to run interference so she would not be the brunt of too many practical jokes like the ones they played on each other. It was a mark of acceptance when you were the victim of a joke, and they sure relished in their attempts to play some on Claire.

  * * * * *

  She remembered one incident in particular. Everyone on the force knew she was Irish and that her ancestors came from a seaside town on the St. George’s Channel, Dungarven, which they helped to found. She was proud of her heritage and talked longingly of her desire to go and visit her family’s namesake one day. She had not had the opportunity yet, but as a substitute, she celebrated St. Patrick’s Day in earnest every year.

  Claire would dress up in her gaudiest green clothing, plastered with Irish buttons and jewelry, on that special day. The other detectives loved to rib her about being so fanatical, but they didn’t mind going out with her to celebrate after work at one of the Irish pubs. No, they enjoyed tipping a few no matter the occasion!

  On one such outing they were savoring some green beer when a leprechaun came up to her and started dancing around the table. All the guys had silly smiles on their faces, Claire would realize later, but at the time she just thought he was part of the scenery.

  Oh yeah, he was part of the ‘scenery’ alright, and he
made quite a ‘scene’ when he started to strip!

  She couldn’t believe her eyes when the so-called leprechaun paraded himself in front of her wearing only bikini underwear emblazoned with shamrocks.

  He presented her with a real four-leaf clover while her buddies at the table laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks.

  The guy was built like a Chippendale dancer and Claire had to admit that he looked pretty sexy in his Irish underwear.

  She graciously accepted the ‘souvenir’ and gave the hunky leprechaun a big kiss in front of the other detectives just to show them she knew how to ‘play the game’ too.

  Someone took a picture of her with the scantily clad leprechaun and hung it up on the bulletin board in the break room at work.

  She never forgot that practical joke, and neither did her co-workers.

  Chief was in on that one, she acknowledged. He was at the table and was laughing so hard he almost fell off his chair.

  She found out later that he was the one who arranged the whole thing.

  I’ll put it down to remind people that he could be protective, but he could have fun too, she thought, as she tapped away on the computer.

  And, she added, he gave me a bouquet of yellow roses the next day. He knew they were my favorite, and he wanted to make sure I wasn’t mad at him.

  Of course, I wasn’t mad! It was funny, funny enough to become part of the post’s folklore, a story everyone loved to tell year after year.

  He gave me roses for my retirement party too, she remembered, and they’re still beautiful, sitting in a vase on the dining room table.

  She hesitated, considering an idea that had just popped into her head.

  Hmmm, maybe I’ll present him with some roses after my talk…or, better yet, give them to Mary as a token of my sympathy for having to put up with him during retirement!

  Claire chuckled as she thought about how difficult it would be for Chief to settle down and not have the day-to-day operations of the state police to keep his mind occupied.