Snow Signs - Jennifer Seet

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      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.

       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

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