On the second day of March, Ralph the plow truck driver learned through a phone call that his dear friend Emily Jones had been brutally murdered. Her body had been found by the river at the bottom of the hill near the edge of the county. Replacing the phone on its port he went to stand at the window and watch the snow fall. He was saddened by the news.
Emily was eight years old. He met her when he worked at the library and she was five; she would come in to get books with her mother and she’d attached herself to him because she thought he was funny. Evercrest was a small town, and so he saw her often after that. He’d see her in stores, he’d see her at the diner, he’d see her when he returned to the library every wednesday.

About two weeks earlier, he saw her at Stevie’s Diner. She saw him and hustled to his table with her juice box.
“Hi Mr. Ralph,” she called him.
“Hello Emily,” he replied.
“What are you doing today?”
“I’m getting lunch then going back out on the roads.”
“Oh. My mom and I are going to my grandmothers for the weekend. Daddy’s being mean again,” she whispered.
“Mean?” Ralph frowned. “How mean?”
The little girl curled her knees under her and leaned far over the table. “Last night, he hit mommy. He never hits her, only me. She kept saying ‘This is the last straw,’ whatever that means.” She sat back down and sipped her juice. “We have plenty of straws,” she informed him.
Ralph studied her, frowning. Now he noticed the dark clouds under her eyes; now he noticed her unnaturally skinny frame; now he noticed the bruises and busted lips he remembered seeing so often.
Emily spoke up again, “Why is snow white?”
“I dunno Emily, maybe there’s a book at the library on it,” Ralph answered.
“I’ll come Wednesday and look,” she promised him with a smile.
“Okay,” he grinned. “I’ll see you there.”

Emily didn’t come to the library Wednesday. Concerned, Ralph shrugged his baggy gray jacket onto his shoulders, placed his red checkered hunters hat on his head to tame the curly black bush of hair and got in his truck. Speeding ever so slightly, he drove to her residence to inquire about her well being.
Her father Ted answered the door before Ralph could knock. Craning his neck, Ralph peered into the dark interior of the home.
“Yes whad’you want?” He had a rough voice, like a drawn out dog bark.
“I was wondering if Emily is here,” the plow truck driver responded. “I brought a book she was interested in,” he held up a picture book titled Snow!
Ted was unimpressed “She’s not here. She’s at her grandma’s. I can give it to her when she gets back.”
“Well sir you see, it’s a library book. Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“No,” he rumbled, “but it should be within the week.”
“Okay,” Ralph smiled, “I’ll stop by in a few days.”
Before Ted could respond, Ralph turned on his heel and marched back to his truck.

Ralph drove by the house of Emily Jones every day at six after four for the rest of that week. That was the time Emily’s school bus arrived. On Thursday, he spotted her jumping down from the yellow vehicle and dragging her feet to her front door. Ralph circled the block again and parked at the end of her driveway.
He trudged through the snow and climbed the rickety, washed out gray steps that led to her front door. Before he could knock, he heard screams. Ralph immediately knocked vigorously.
Ted came to the door, wild eyes stretched and skin flushed red.
“Is Emily here today?”
“No!” he slammed the door in Ralph’s face.
“I saw her get off the bus!” he shouted, but no one paid attention to him. The yelling, however, had stopped.
When Ralph got back into his truck, his eyes raised themselves to the second story window near the corner of the house. Emily was there, hands and face pressed to the window, tears running down her face. She waved to him.

Ralph was good friends with the sheriff of Evercrest. He cruised to his house and arrived around 4:30.
“Hello young man,” the sheriff beamed when he opened the door for Ralph. “What brings you here?”
“May I come in, Dan?”
“Well, sure.”
From across the dining room table, Ralph expressed his worries for Emily.
Dan sipped his coffee slowly, peering out from under his bushy eyebrows at Ralph. “Have you seen anything in person?”
“No, but-”
“I’ll talk to Ted. I see him from time to time when I go into his store. And I’ll talk to one of my boys on the force-he’s a neighbor of the Jones.”
“Thank you Dan,” Ralph stood, shook his hand. “I really appreciate it. Gimme a call if you hear anything.”
“Will do Ralph. Have a good day now.”

Sheriff Dan phoned Ralph on Sunday.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Ralph? It’s Dan. How are you today?”
“I’m good Dan, how are you?”
“Mighty fine, mighty fine. Listen, I can’t seem to find any reason to suspect Ted Jones of anything bad,” the officer informed.
“But even Emily told me he hurts her,” Ralph protested.
“I know Ralph, I know. But listen, sometimes children mistake discipline for abuse. They take stores so much further than what really happened, you understand?”
“Yes but-”
“Hey I’ll keep it in mind, believe me I will. But I can’t go any further with this case-well not so much a case as a citizen’s concern. But I’ll keep my eye out for ya, okay Ralph?”
He was answered by a sharp click.

Ralph did his grocery shopping every Sunday evening. As he perused the aisles of the local grocer, his attention was caught by a Emily’s mother: A short, frizzy haired woman reaching desperately for the only box of Cheerios left on the top shelf. Ralph, being quite tall, stepped forward and grabbed it.
“Oh, Ralph! Thank you so much,” she pushed her glasses up her nose and smiled gratefully as he placed the cereal in her cart.
“You’re welcome Mrs. Jones,” he replied, sliding his hands into the pockets of his gray jacket. “How is everything?”
The look that flashed through her eyes was his answer, but she lied, telling him everything was good.
Ralph nodded and ‘hmmed’ disbelievingly. “Where’s Emily? She’s usually here with you.”
“Oh Emily?” the woman’s face fell. “She’s, well she’s, you know.”
Ralph raised his eyebrows.
“She’s at a friends tonight.”
“On a school night?”
“Listen Ralph it was really nice to see you but I’m in a bit of a hurry,” she ducked around him and scurried out of sight.

As Ralph sat eating his dinner that night, he thought and thought and thought. Picking up the phone, he dialed *67 and the Jones’ number.
Emily’s small voice answered.
Ralph said nothing. He was happy to know she was still able to talk.
“Emily! Who is it!” Ted’s voice boomed.
“I don’t know,” came her small reply.
“Well how many times have I told you not to answer the phone!” there was a pause, a small squeal, and then, “Hello who’s this?”
Ralph swiftly hung up.

He didn’t see her again until Friday night, at the diner with her mother and father.
“Hi Mr. Ralph,” she said as she joined him at his booth. She still wore her purple coat and pink hat, even though the diner was very warm.
“Hello Emily. Aren’t you hot?” Ralph asked.
“No,” she murmured.
He changed the subject. “Do you have any fun plans for the weekend?”
She thought a moment, then shook her head. “Do you?”
“Do I?” Ralph scratched at the stubble on his chin. “No I don’t. I’m just snowplowing all night.”
“Emily, get back here and finish your food!” Ted barked.
Ralph glared at him. He knew he had to get Emily away from him before it was too late. She had to be protected.

Sunday morning his phone rang. It was Sheriff Dan to tell him the sad news.
“We’re bringing Ted in for questioning. Emily will have justice,” Dan promised him. “I know how much you cared about that little girl Ralph. I’m gonna get to the bottom of this.”

Sheriff Dan was questioning just about everyone in Evercrest who might have been out the night of the tragedy. The whole town was buzzing; like a steady machine the citizens morphed into one voice that was constantly humming the words, “Emily Jones.”
On the Wednesday afternoon, at about twenty to three, the Sheriff presented himself at Ralph’s door.
“Hello Ralph,” he gave the boy a warm smile, to show he meant no harm. “Mind if I come in?”
“Sure, sure come in,” he replied. “Would you like some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”
“That sounds good.”
The two men settled themselves at Ralph’s kitchen table. To his right, the clock ticked away seconds as Sheriff Dan stirred sugar into his coffee, then cream, and another packet of sugar.
Finally the older man spoke. “Listen Ralph, I’ve been going around, house to house, questioning anyone who may have seen Emily that night, anyone who might know anything.”
“Yeah,” Ralph nodded.
“It’s just procedure.”
“Oh sure, sure. D’you wanna biscuit?”
“No thanks Ralph. So did you go out that night at all?”
“Friday? No-oh wait, yes I did,” the boy scratched his bushy head. “I grabbed a bite to eat at Stevies. Emily was there,” he nodded. “I saw her. She had this little pink hat.”
“Was she with anyone?” Dan asked.
“Mhm. Her parents. Ted, I don’t trust him Dan. He was hurting her-”
“I’m looking into it.” the sheriff cut him off. “What did you do when you left?”
“I went to work-snow plowing. I did that for a few hours, till the storm passed,” Ralph explained.
“Mhm. Then what? Did you see Emily at all after that?”
“No I went home.”
“It’s a shame, such a shame.”
Ralph uttered a noise of agreement.
“She’ll have justice Ralph,” Sheriff Dan promised.

The roads were terrible the Friday following the sheriff’s visit to Ralph. At quarter after ten he started up the plow truck and was out on the roads by the half hour. The view from the windshield was a whirlwind of white and the ground beneath his truck was a sheet of ice.
The plow truck driver went off the road; he struck a tree. His doors wouldn’t open but his window had shattered, and because he was skinny he slipped through it easily.
The walk to the nearest gas station was cold and painful, but Ralph made it. He asked to use the phone and dialed his friend.
“What the hell happened?” the sheriff had been fast asleep. His ears stuffed up when he slept and he was prone to anger when woken from his sleep, but he recognized that Ralph needed him and hurried to pick him up.
He questioned the boy on the location of his truck so he could send someone out to get it, and delivered him safely to his home.
“Don’t worry kid,” he promised, “I’ll take care of it.”

Two days later Sheriff Dan informed Ralph that his truck had been damaged in the accident, and it had been sent to a shop.
He was in Ralph’s kitchen again, staring at him from across the table. “They found blood on your plow Ralph. I’d like to know how it got there.”
“The blood? I hit a deer the other night on one of my routes,” Ralph explained.
“A deer? When, what night?”
“That’s right, yes. I dunno what night, maybe Saturday, maybe Friday.”
“What happened to the deer?” Dan wanted to know.
“It died, it ran a little into the woods and it died.”
“There’s yet another deer I’ll never shoot,” the sheriff said, making a joke to keep the mood light.
Ralph didn’t feel like laughing, however, and merely “heh-hehed” in response. The older gentleman, sensing his discomfort, rose and bid him his farewells.

Sheriff Dan sat nestled deep in his den late Sunday night. Pictures and files sat spread out before him; he was sure he had most of the pieces to this puzzle he just had to fit it together. He thought of Ralph. He’d had the blood of his plow tested, and a deer had indeed been found broken in the woods a few yards away from where Ralph said he’d hit it.
Ted was holed in his house; he hadn’t come out once that week. Dan made a mental note to pay him another visit.
“Poor girl,” he mumbled as he surveyed a picture of the body. He saw her purple coat and her green gloves, and he saw her messy red hair.
He peered more closely at it. Something was missing.

Ralph was upset to learn that Ted hadn’t been taken in for questioning yet. He thought it was obvious that he had hurt Emily, he didn’t understand why Dan didn’t see it that way.
He drummed his fingers blankly on the table as Emily paraded through his thoughts. His only comfort was the knowledge that she was safely removed from Ted’s fists.
Ralph stood and went to his room. Opening the top drawer of his drawer, he withdrew one item. It was a bloody pink hat.