Читать книгу Snow Signs - Jennifer Seet - Страница 11

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! The 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!

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.

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.