Snow Signs. Jennifer Seet

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.

      Mary will be a wreck! He doesn’t have that many hobbies and you can only do so much fishing.

      Oh well, she decided, it will be a learning process for both of them, and I’m sure they can handle it.

      I’m handling it pretty well, she decided.

      Just wish I could find out why these things keep appearing in my yard…and why I think they have something to do with Libby Newman.

      Claire shook her head and forced herself to stop thinking about it, and get back to her speechwriting.

      But when she completed the tribute, she found herself staring at the folder containing the information from the Libby Newman case again.

      Knowing that something was gnawing at her, she shrugged her shoulders and opened the file, realizing that she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else until she investigated it further.

      * * * * *

      She was drawn to the information that included the identification of the victim and the search for the woman.

      Claire read the physical description through, noting that Libby was of slender build, five feet, four inches tall, long blond hair, blue eyes, pretty by any standards.

      Identifying marks? Yes, she remembered, there was an identifying mark. She had a tattoo on her right ankle.

      Her mother had mentioned that during the interview. She never liked that Libby had a tattoo, even though it was tastefully done and in a discreet location, not noticeable to most people.

      Now let me see, Claire thought, what was that tattoo anyway?

      She read through the report and gasped when she came upon the information she was looking for.

      A rose! Libby had a rose tattoo on her ankle!

      But that’s not so strange, Claire reasoned. Lots of people have a rose tattoo, especially women. It’s one of the most common according to tattoo artists. She remembered talking to one of them about it when she was investigating the case.

      So, why should it surprise me that it was a rose tattoo when I was just thinking about roses?

      “It’s just a coincidence. What do they call that? Synchronism. Yeah, that’s it. I’m having a synchronistic moment.”

      Laughing, Claire shook her head, bent down, and tried to return to her reading.

      My mind was on roses and that’s why it jumped out at me in the report, nothing more, she told herself.

      Adding, but the coincidences between this case and my present-day life are piling up, and it’s hard not to recognize that fact!

      She attempted to concentrate on the report once again as she read through the search summary.