“Claire, so nice to see you again! Oh, hi, Jim, good to see you too, but you’re not as pretty to look at as she is.”
Jim looked up to see George Stanley standing by the table.
He laughed, “I agree with you on both counts, George.”
He stood and shook hands with Claire’s former supervisor, inviting him to join them at the table.
Wondering what it was she wanted to discuss with him, he silently pledged to make time later in the evening for the two of them to talk.
For her part, Claire joined the conversation, even appearing relieved to have the interruption.
Might be best if I wait to talk to Jim. I’m not sure if having so much free time has caused my imagination to go haywire!
She paused, but if I see anything else in the snow, I’m calling him!
The rest of the night went by quickly. Claire’s speech drew many laughs, sparking memories and conversations around the room.
On her way back to the table, she was stopped by former co-workers for handshakes and hugs. And, by the time she approached their table, she noticed that Jim was gone.
The waiter was cleaning and she asked him if he had seen the man who had been sitting with her.
He shook his head ‘no’ and continued clearing away the plates and silverware.
Why would he leave and not tell me?
Feeling hurt and disappointed, Claire gathered her things and prepared to leave the banquet hall.
But I did decide to wait before I involve someone else, she remembered. I’m not even sure what I’d tell him at this point!
She shrugged her shoulders and walked out to the car.
Back inside the waiter continued to clean the table. He didn’t notice that one of the napkins had writing on it. He wadded up all the paper goods and threw them in the trash bag.
Chapter Ten
The next morning Claire was having breakfast when the phone rang.
“Did you get my message?”
“No, I wondered where you went! What happened? What message?”
Jim sighed, “I’m sorry, Claire. I got a phone call from dispatch and they needed me at the Conservancy. We had a pretty bad accident right out in front of the clubhouse and they called for me. I left a message on a napkin because I didn’t have any paper to write on.”
“I guess the waiter must have thrown it away,” he continued.
Claire smiled, “Not a problem. I thought maybe you didn’t like my company.”
“Now, you know that’s not true! I am so glad you asked me to sit with you. I’d been meaning to stop by and see you.”
“In fact,” he added, “I was wondering if I could come over today and we could have that talk?”
A long silence ensued. Now what do I do! Should I tell him?
Finally, “Hold on, Jim. I need to see who’s at the door.”
Hope he buys that, she thought as she went to the front door. Her intention was to look and see if anything else had shown up in the yard.
Jim heard a small scream through the phone line and then eerie quiet.
“Claire!” Silence. Then, he heard footsteps coming closer.
“Claire, is that you?”
“I think you’d better come over now,” she said as she hung up the phone.
* * * * *
Claire stood next to Jim as he bent over to investigate what she had seen earlier that morning.
“Why would someone leave a knife in your yard?”
The question floated in the air. Claire shrugged her shoulders indecisively.
“Now, you’re sure it wasn’t here yesterday, right?”
She nodded her head in agreement.
“And,” he added, “the blood was the first thing to show up, then the prints, and more blood yesterday?”
“Yes, I saw the blood for the first time day before yesterday and then the shoeprints, and more blood.”
Jim stood there quietly assessing the situation, trying to come up with a logical explanation.
Claire cleared her throat, “And then there was the rose…”
“What rose?” He looked at her suspiciously.
She motioned for him to follow her down to the driveway. Opening the car door, she grabbed the flower out of the backseat. It was a beautiful long-stemmed red rose. “I found it in the yard yesterday before I left for the party. And, I brought it with me to show you but you left…”
Jim interrupted her, “You found it in the yard too? Same place?”
“Yes, same place, fresh as it is now, no frost, no wilting.”
“Hmm, that is strange.”
He held the flower, fingering the petals, mesmerized by its survival in the snow with the accompanying cold weather.
Then he looked at Claire and said, “I thought it might be a hunter until you mentioned the rose. Now, I don’t know what to think.” He continued to stare at it, lost in thought, striving to come up with an answer to the mystery.
“You have any ideas on what it might mean?”
“Actually I might have something, but it’s pretty farfetched.”
She hesitated and then asked, “Would you have time for a cup of coffee? It might take a while to explain.”
“Just let me grab that knife, radio in so they know where I’m at, and I’ll join you inside in a few minutes.”
He ran up the hill, still clutching the single red rose, and Claire went into the house.
* * * * *
Jim sipped his coffee carefully, allowing the hot liquid enough time to coat his throat and leave a warm feeling in his chest. He also made use of the time to gather his thoughts and try to comprehend what Claire had just told him.
He remembered the case—young deaf woman, disappeared one night, never seen or heard from again. He knew the police had questioned her ex-husband but he had a solid alibi.
And now Claire tells me that the items in the snow might be related to that case!
“Do you think someone is trying to scare you into not writing about it?”
Claire cleared her throat and paused before answering, “Could be, or I wonder if someone is trying to help me solve the case.”
Jim stared at her, letting this sink in. “The only people who could do that are the victim…and the perpetrator…if someone did cause harm to her. You don’t know if she is dead or alive, do you?”
She looked down at her coffee cup, “I have my suspicions.”
“Well, come on, you need to open up if I’m going to help. What are you thinking?”
Sighing, “It sounds crazy but ….”
“Listen, Claire, you and I have been in law enforcement long enough to know that strange things do happen...”
She put up her hand, interrupting him, “You’re right. Let me pour us both another cup and I’ll tell you what’s on my mind.”
Jim watched her as she filled his cup to the brim, but she didn’t return his gaze. Claire seemed miles away, but as she sat back down, she quickly and efficiently began to share what she thought had happened to Libby Newman.
Chapter Eleven
In bed that night, Claire couldn’t sleep. Shadows danced on the walls, remnants of an almost full moon streaming through the window. She let her imagination play off the shapes as she thought back to what she and Jim had discussed that morning.
Could she be dead? Seems like a long time for someone to just disappear without a trace.
Claire stared at one particularly menacing outline on the opposite wall.
Interesting…Jim thinks her husband had something to do with her disappearance… and he’s the one scaring me by putting the signs in the snow!
But why would he do that? Did he kill her? Is he taunting me? Is this a game to him?
She tossed her head back and forth on the pillow. I just don’t believe he would be that stupid!
After all, if he did kill her, he’s gotten away with murder for four years now and wouldn’t want to bring attention back to the case.
But if it’
s not him, who else?
Gradually, sleep overcame Claire, and she was no longer aware of the shadows. Composed by moonlight, they scattered around the room…unlike the one that settled into her dream. It stood firm and soon took on a reality of its own. Mist became substance; features sharpened and became visible, and a yielding, feminine form evolved. A soft mewing sound escaped her lips as the dream-state apparition became recognizable to Claire. Libby Newman was ready to tell her story.
* * * * *
A tangle of bed sheets served as evidence of a night spent turning and tossing. Claire rubbed her eyes and tried to disengage from the material wrapped around her legs and arms. Kicking and flailing, she finally managed to free her body. But before crawling out of bed, she stared at the ceiling and walls, remembering her dream.
Dazed, she recalled, unless I’m crazy, Libby appeared to me in my dream last night!
But, can that be?
She folded back the last bit of sheet and blanket and swung around to sit up, saying aloud, “It must have been my imagination.”
Claire climbed out of bed and made her way to the bathroom, as more flashbacks from the dream came flooding in.
She rubbed her eyes and tried to erase the fogginess in her head as she walked down the hallway. Not paying attention to where she was going, Claire stumbled and stubbed her big toe on the door frame. Wincing in pain, she grabbed the sink and stood there for a minute, trying to regain strength—and sanity.
This is ridiculous! Now I’m having… nightmares! Worse yet, I’m letting them get to me.
“I need a cup of coffee,” she mumbled, staring in the mirror, frowning at the tousled hair and sleepy eyes she saw reflected in the glass.
The telephone rang as she tried to shake the last vestiges of pain emanating from her toe and the first telltale poundings of a headache. She placed her fingers up to her temples in a futile attempt to rub away the dull ache before she had to succumb to the relief of a couple of aspirin with her coffee.
Recovering as much as she could, she quickly walked to the kitchen, hurrying to pick up the phone after the third ring.
“Hello.”
“Hope I didn’t wake you.”
Claire smiled and clutched the phone tighter at the familiar sound of Jim’s voice, the aches and pains fading into oblivion.
“No, I was just getting ready to fix some coffee.” And, quickly, without hesitation, she asked, “Want to come over and have some breakfast with me?”
“Seems like this is becoming a regular routine,” Jim responded teasingly.
“Not yet, but who knows what the future might hold.”
She grimaced after she said it, while a blush started to spread across her face.
“Hey, I like the sound of that!” Pausing, he continued, “And, I have some ideas I want to share with you. Would you mind?”
“Of course not, I have something I need to tell you too,” she replied.
“I’m on my way.”
Staring at the receiver, she heard the click of the phone on the other end. She couldn’t move or even breathe for several seconds. Claire realized that she couldn’t back down now. She had to tell him about her dream. Carefully, she placed the phone in its cradle and waited for Jim to arrive.
* * * * *
“I know it was her,” Claire sighed, “and you can think what you want, but it was Libby Newman and she was trying to tell me something.” She clenched her jaw and waited for him to object.
Silence stretched seconds into minutes. Jim swirled his fork around in circles, carefully picking up the last bite of his egg. He observed it as if he were deciding to eat the bite or leave it. Finally he put the fork down on the plate, with the egg still on it, and stared at Claire for what seemed like a long time.
“Okay, tell me exactly what she did. Try to remember every detail of the dream,” he encouraged her.
“She…she stood there just looking at me. Her expression was so sad. It was like she wanted to tell me something but didn’t know how.”
Deep in thought, Claire stopped for a minute and then a rush of words came pouring out. “She showed me some pictures…a place, close to the water…there were trees all around. You have to walk through the woods to get there. I felt as if this was where she is.”
Pausing, Claire felt a tear start to form in the corner of her eye. “I’m not sure if she’s dead, but she wants someone to know what happened and where she’s located.”
She picked up her coffee cup, draining the last few drops, and grimaced at the bitter taste before continuing with her story.
“Libby kept doing the same gesture, over and over again…but I couldn’t understand it!” Claire clutched her coffee cup so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
Jim reached over and placed his hand on top of hers. “Tell me what it looked like. Can you show me?”
Gently removing her hands from his grasp, she placed her cup on the table, looked at her hands, and slowly began to form the sign she remembered Libby using. Awkwardly at first, shaping her hands much like a baby speaking his first word, fashioning and making it his own, Claire began to form the gesture she remembered in her dream. She uncurled her left hand and laid it flat, fingers together, palm up. With her right hand, she formed a fist and placed it squarely in the middle of her left hand. Then she lifted them up together, the outstretched hand supporting the fist.
“Like this, I think,” she said.
Jim studiously watched her. He thought he knew what the sign meant but he wanted to be sure.
“This?” He formed the fist and placed it on top of his open hand.
“Yes, that’s exactly what it looked like!”
“Do you know what it means?” she asked excitedly.
“I think so.”
He plunged ahead, “If I remember my sign language correctly, she was saying ‘help’. I took a beginning class in American Sign Language a few years ago when we had some Deaf residents move into the Conservancy and I think that’s what it means.”
He added, “I have my book at home. If you want, I can bring it over for you to look at.”
“So, you believe me, Jim?”
“Of course I believe you, Claire. You’re too level-headed to be making this up.”
He paused and shook his head, “Though it is hard to imagine…why a person would want to communicate through a dream. Why didn’t she contact you by phone or letter?” His voice trailed off before he could finish.
“If she’s still alive,” Claire added, as if reading his thoughts.
He leaned over, rested his elbows on the table, and placed his hands on the sides of his face, rubbing them up and down across his cheeks.
Finally he sighed, raised his eyes to meet hers, and said, “Well, where do we start?”
Claire smiled and patted his cheek affectionately. “Thanks for believing in me. It means a lot just to have your offer of help, but I probably need to gather more information before I do anything else.”
“Alright, I’ll bring you my sign language book this afternoon. You might need it in case she tries to send you any more messages…and I’m sure she will,” he quickly added.
Then, Jim shared his ideas with her, “I’ll take the knife down to Nashtown and see if we can find any fingerprints on it. I’d like to get a sample of the blood too. Need to find out if it is human or animal.”
“You keep the rose in a safe place; see if it begins to lose some of its freshness…or if it continues to look the same as it does now…and check your yard for any more clues.”
“Also, write down any information you get from your dreams. I think she’ll probably try to contact you again, especially if she knows we are aware of the message she’s sending us.”
* * * * *
A car flashed by, just skirting his peripheral vision enough to cause Trent Newman to swerve back into his lane. The other driver gave him the ‘universal hand gesture’ as he maneuvered his car in front of Trent’s truck. He didn’t bother to rec
iprocate the ‘favor’ since he realized that he had been close to falling asleep behind the wheel and might have caused an accident if he hadn’t been startled by the car’s proximity.
Grabbing for some gum in the glove compartment, he tried to shake the cobwebs from his brain as he unwrapped a piece for himself. Chewing something helped stimulate his senses while he focused on the road ahead and thought about the last week and the reason for his lack of sleep.
The visions…why did they start now? It’s been four years and…nothing.
He slammed his fist down on the steering wheel, hoping to eradicate the anger swelling up inside him like a boiling pot of hot grease. It threatened to spill over and become an uncontrollable fury if he didn’t take steps to repress it. Subconsciously, he chewed his gum harder, absorbing the flavor until it almost disappeared. Road rage was manageable to him; this was not.
He grabbed the wheel with such intensity that his hand clenched tautly and he lost feeling in his fingers. Unaware of the tingling sensation, he forged ahead, determined to make his deadline. But his mind began to wander—back to the dreams.
The first time she appeared to him, Trent was so shocked that he woke up suddenly and could feel himself shaking violently, causing him to break out in a cold sweat. It happened so quickly that he later speculated he might be imagining it.
Imagining it in my dream? I don’t think so! It was Libby and she was trying to tell me something!
He lifted his hand to massage his forehead and felt the dead weight of his fingers as they caressed the worry lines forming above his eyes. Shaking his hand to bring blood flow back into his fingers, he remembered the next time she appeared to him.
It felt like my head hadn’t even hit the pillow that next night, he remembered, when she invaded my dreams again.
“Nightmares were more like it,” he said aloud.
Swirling in, out, and around, Libby wove a tapestry of images that Trent would not soon forget. Her fingers and hands flew. Scenes flitted about like butterflies attracted to a flower.
Snow Signs Page 5