When you have ELIMINATED the impossible,
whatever remains however improbable,
must be the TRUTH." - Sherlock Holmes
whatever remains however improbable,
must be the TRUTH." - Sherlock Holmes
The night before last hubby and I were watching TV when I looked out the window and noticed a tall, thin male walking along the road heading towards Mader’s Cove. It was after 11:00 pm and the weather outside was clear but deadly cold, something like -19 C with wind chill, so it was weird to see someone out that late and on foot. He was walking with his back to traffic, foolish for that time of night, especially with dark clothing on.
These kind of temperatures freeze skin, turn the insides of your nose into hairsicles so the poor guy had to be cold to the marrow. He was wearing a short coat and a toque, probably gloves but I couldn’t tell with the pole lighting making him a silhouette against the backdrop of snow. My impression was that he was mid-twenties to early thirties; something in his walk dismissed a teenager.
He strolled past our driveway, past our neighbours mail box and then turned up their road. I thought it strange, the woman next door lives alone and who comes a callin that late at night? Hubby had gotten up to make a coffee and I mentioned there was a man walking up the neighbour’s driveway. We both scrambled to the window to gawk but couldn’t see any movement. We made the decision to call next door to find out if everything was okay. She’s a late nighter like us and many times I lay in bed reading to the wee hours and see her light on across the way. She answered and said she was alone and wasn’t expecting anyone. We told her if there is a knock on the door, don’t answer and give us a call. She thanked us and we hung up.
My imagination worked the various scenarios. Maybe he was a squatter, holding up in her garage for the night. Maybe he was cold and wanted to use a phone to call for a ride? Maybe his actions were more nefarious, but I tried not to go there although my mind was primed to enter the dark realm. Too many forensic science shows and true life crime can give a gal a salted imagination.
I watched her lit window for the next few minutes waiting for movement inside. Outside, the full moon illuminated her backdoor area and up the hill behind her house so I could spot someone moving about easily. I got out the binoculars and was able to see even better. Concern was rising like dough in a pan, but I beat it down, after all, this is Mahone Bay, the worst that ever happens is teenage vandalism, kids blowing off steam, a few tipped tombstones and a slashed tire.
Tuesday night we put the garbage out for Wednesday morning pick-up. Usually hubby takes the bags to the end of the road but I needed to do a little sleuthing. I grabbed the flashlight and the recyclables and hoofed down the driveway. It was bitter outside, not fit for a rock. Wrapped in a knee length fake fur, boots, hat, gloves and a scarf wrapped like a constrictor around my neck, I was still chilled to the bone. My face cracked; protesting the frigid dryness as it sucked the moisture from my skin. I pulled the scarf up over my nose so the warmth of my breath would protect my lips from chapping. It wouldn’t take much time in this weather to become a frozen, human Popsicle.
I went to the bottom of our driveway and starting looking for the man’s tracks in the snow. I found them as he went off the road to her property edge and traced them up the incline for about five feet. Then they turned and went back down the other side of the driveway and continued down the road. His prints were small, slightly larger than my woman’s size 8. The middle of the driveway had been ploughed and the surface was packed hard and icy so the prints didn’t show there, only the edges where it was softer snow did he leave his mark. So the question is, why this horseshoe side trip? If only I had stayed in the window when I first noticed him I might have seen him turn around and leave, sparing us all a worrisome night. If he walked up and then immediately down the driveway, what was he doing? Was he drunk and confused, staggering to the wrong home?
I read in bed to quiet my mind and find it helps to relax so sleep can come but I kept being distracted by the walking man. After putting my book down I looked out the window one last time with the binoculars and then took off my glasses and turned out our bedroom light but no sleep for me. It was a fitful night of tossing and turning for hours. The last time I looked at the clock through weary eyes was 5:00 am.
I woke up 8:00 am, jarred from a coma by the phone ringing. A repair guy that was supposed to come by at ten to do a job, phoned to say he had to drive his mother-in-law to the hospital and would drop by later. There aren’t enough words to describe how crappy I felt, swollen from a lack of rest, with a headache pounding behind my eyes like a tribal drum, all I could think about was next door.
The rural route mail arrived in the morning and the red arm was up. I waited for her to walk down and retrieve it, something she does everyday but of course this time she didn’t. I explained it away, she probably didn’t get much sleep and slept in. I probably scared the crap out of her. She’s a senior and lives alone and probably sat up all night with a baseball bat waiting for an intruder. I phoned her to chat and she thanked me for looking out for her. I think she slept better than I did so I was happy about that. She told me she hadn’t seen the guy so therefore wasn’t that alarmed.
On my way home from work yesterday I drove past a very familiar shape. It was a slim man with a red toque, red trim on his black jacket with a pair of gangly legs walking toward the pub. I knew instantly it was him because of his walk. Hate to sound boastful but I have excellent observation skills, facial recognition, and I can detect patterns quickly. I think I would have made a good detective, another fantasy I entertained as a young adult. I’d bet the farm that is the same guy I saw the night before last. I asked my cleaning guy who lives further down the road from us and he said he’s seen a guy matching that description walking along the road before. Mystery solved as for the who, the why is still unknown.
These kind of temperatures freeze skin, turn the insides of your nose into hairsicles so the poor guy had to be cold to the marrow. He was wearing a short coat and a toque, probably gloves but I couldn’t tell with the pole lighting making him a silhouette against the backdrop of snow. My impression was that he was mid-twenties to early thirties; something in his walk dismissed a teenager.
He strolled past our driveway, past our neighbours mail box and then turned up their road. I thought it strange, the woman next door lives alone and who comes a callin that late at night? Hubby had gotten up to make a coffee and I mentioned there was a man walking up the neighbour’s driveway. We both scrambled to the window to gawk but couldn’t see any movement. We made the decision to call next door to find out if everything was okay. She’s a late nighter like us and many times I lay in bed reading to the wee hours and see her light on across the way. She answered and said she was alone and wasn’t expecting anyone. We told her if there is a knock on the door, don’t answer and give us a call. She thanked us and we hung up.
My imagination worked the various scenarios. Maybe he was a squatter, holding up in her garage for the night. Maybe he was cold and wanted to use a phone to call for a ride? Maybe his actions were more nefarious, but I tried not to go there although my mind was primed to enter the dark realm. Too many forensic science shows and true life crime can give a gal a salted imagination.
I watched her lit window for the next few minutes waiting for movement inside. Outside, the full moon illuminated her backdoor area and up the hill behind her house so I could spot someone moving about easily. I got out the binoculars and was able to see even better. Concern was rising like dough in a pan, but I beat it down, after all, this is Mahone Bay, the worst that ever happens is teenage vandalism, kids blowing off steam, a few tipped tombstones and a slashed tire.
Tuesday night we put the garbage out for Wednesday morning pick-up. Usually hubby takes the bags to the end of the road but I needed to do a little sleuthing. I grabbed the flashlight and the recyclables and hoofed down the driveway. It was bitter outside, not fit for a rock. Wrapped in a knee length fake fur, boots, hat, gloves and a scarf wrapped like a constrictor around my neck, I was still chilled to the bone. My face cracked; protesting the frigid dryness as it sucked the moisture from my skin. I pulled the scarf up over my nose so the warmth of my breath would protect my lips from chapping. It wouldn’t take much time in this weather to become a frozen, human Popsicle.
I went to the bottom of our driveway and starting looking for the man’s tracks in the snow. I found them as he went off the road to her property edge and traced them up the incline for about five feet. Then they turned and went back down the other side of the driveway and continued down the road. His prints were small, slightly larger than my woman’s size 8. The middle of the driveway had been ploughed and the surface was packed hard and icy so the prints didn’t show there, only the edges where it was softer snow did he leave his mark. So the question is, why this horseshoe side trip? If only I had stayed in the window when I first noticed him I might have seen him turn around and leave, sparing us all a worrisome night. If he walked up and then immediately down the driveway, what was he doing? Was he drunk and confused, staggering to the wrong home?
I read in bed to quiet my mind and find it helps to relax so sleep can come but I kept being distracted by the walking man. After putting my book down I looked out the window one last time with the binoculars and then took off my glasses and turned out our bedroom light but no sleep for me. It was a fitful night of tossing and turning for hours. The last time I looked at the clock through weary eyes was 5:00 am.
I woke up 8:00 am, jarred from a coma by the phone ringing. A repair guy that was supposed to come by at ten to do a job, phoned to say he had to drive his mother-in-law to the hospital and would drop by later. There aren’t enough words to describe how crappy I felt, swollen from a lack of rest, with a headache pounding behind my eyes like a tribal drum, all I could think about was next door.
The rural route mail arrived in the morning and the red arm was up. I waited for her to walk down and retrieve it, something she does everyday but of course this time she didn’t. I explained it away, she probably didn’t get much sleep and slept in. I probably scared the crap out of her. She’s a senior and lives alone and probably sat up all night with a baseball bat waiting for an intruder. I phoned her to chat and she thanked me for looking out for her. I think she slept better than I did so I was happy about that. She told me she hadn’t seen the guy so therefore wasn’t that alarmed.
On my way home from work yesterday I drove past a very familiar shape. It was a slim man with a red toque, red trim on his black jacket with a pair of gangly legs walking toward the pub. I knew instantly it was him because of his walk. Hate to sound boastful but I have excellent observation skills, facial recognition, and I can detect patterns quickly. I think I would have made a good detective, another fantasy I entertained as a young adult. I’d bet the farm that is the same guy I saw the night before last. I asked my cleaning guy who lives further down the road from us and he said he’s seen a guy matching that description walking along the road before. Mystery solved as for the who, the why is still unknown.
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