TEST WALKED THE wet sidewalk along Maple Street at a clip. Night had fallen and a sharp November wind knifed through her jacket.
The sidewalk lay empty and dark.
Dark ghostly imprints of maple leaves appeared here and there on the damp sidewalk, where the leaves had fallen earlier in the season and stuck to the wet concrete. The images were detailed to the finest of veins. They reminded Test of grave rubbings. No two alike.
The whole world was damp. The dark trunks of the maple trees glistened with wetness and gave off a pungent earthen scent that mixed with the oily odor of the asphalt street. The trees’ black calligraphic branches dripped rainwater.
Test enjoyed the tranquility of this second week of November.
Since moving to Vermont, she’d grown fond of November. Most everyone complained of its gray solemn skies. They faulted November because it was winter’s prologue. Stick season.
Test looked forward to the winter to come. She enjoyed sledding with kids, making snowmen and coming in and stomping off snow before setting about making hot chocolate. Most of her friends groused about the dark evenings, but she loved nothing more than to hibernate with Claude, to nuzzle before the fireplace in a flannel robe and shearling slippers. To burrow deep beneath heavy blankets together, to feel their heat trapped in with them, to make love while the snow outside blasted sideways, blown by an arctic wind that shook the corners of the house and cried its lonesome accompaniment in the eaves. She liked knowing that she and Claude were inside, safe.
Except now all of this was tainted.
It should not have surprised her. Nothing should ever surprise a cop.
You just never knew. That was the only truth. You just never knew.
Test traipsed along. The rain had started again and the wind had risen, grown to a bitter and nasty gale. She wished now for the warmth and brightness of her home, the chaotic hilarity of her children, the steadfastness and good charm of her husband. This was not her case. She could go home now and call North and tell him to follow up her lead. In twenty minutes she could be welcomed home by the warm smiles of her children. She could go for a run; a long, demanding, blood-thumping run of hills that would tax her, push her to the edge of her stamina, make her want to quit. A run to flush out the day’s toxins. She could indulge in a bath afterward. Shed this horrific day.
All the things Jessica’s mother could not do.
All the things Jessica would never be able to do again.
Detective Test put her head down and pushed straight into the storm.