A Deadly Snow Fall (10 page)

“Speaking about his money, did he ever do
anything charitable with it? Contribute to the Fund for Lost
Fishermen’s Families or give to the Christmas drive for poor kids
or anything?”

“No way, not our Edwin. I remember one time I
was working the booth at the Blessing of the Fleet and Edwin came
by and when I asked him if he’d like to donate to the Fishermen and
Fire Fighters’ Widows and Orphan’s Fund he actually spit in the can
with the money in it. I had to wash all that money.”

Tish’s face grew red with old anger
remembering that experience and added, “Quite frankly, and do not
mistake me for one of those atheists who don’t revere life, but I
for one am just delighted that he jumped off the Monument. Only
thing makes me sad is that poor Bill Windship had to find his
bloodied body. Bill’s had a couple of heart attacks and the shock
couldn’t have been good for his health. Even if there was no love
lost between the two of them going back to childhood.”

Aha, another clue to run down. Just then,
four customers arrived at once and I said goodbye to Tish, thanking
her for the great food and the information.

So, he and the old man, Bill Windship, who
found Edwin’s crumbled and bloody body in the snow at the foot off
the Pilgrim Monument, were long-time enemies. Interesting.

Daphne was just locking up her art gallery
next to the wharf after a couple of hours of painting in her studio
when I walked by. “Hi, Liz, where are you off to?” Leaning in
toward the bags in my arms she inhaled deeply. “Mmm, let’s have a
picnic.”

“Come back with me to the inn and I’ll make
you a marvelous panini with chorizo and a magnificent new cheese
from Souza’s.”

After a tasty lunch, Daphne and I sat in the
sitting room finishing the bottle of Truro Vineyard’s latest
offering Purple Plum Vino. “I’m considering calling my family’s
attorney in London to see how I can get Edwin Snow’s manuscript
released from the instructions in Edwin’s codicil based on the very
real possibility that it may contain important, vital clues to a
murder case.”

“Murder! Oh, how tasty. Speaking of tasty,
any more left in that bottle. Hand it here, girl.”

“Did you know that Edwin was once engaged to
be married, Daph?”

“Correcto mundo, woman.”

“Daphne for heaven’s sake, will you please
speak English. At least when you are with me. You sound like a
crazy rapper.” A big, deep breath.

“You know I think you should move in with me
for a while until this blows over. I have a little pistol and my
neighbor is a weight lifter.” Said Daphne, offhandedly as if she
was offering to lend me a pair of shoes.

“I’ll be fine Daph. Anyway, I thought you
viewed this whole thing as a fun game with no potential for
danger.”

“What fun is a game without danger,
woman?”

“So, you agree that I might be in danger if I
pursue a sub-rosa investigation to try and determine if Edwin was
murdered?”

“Only in danger of looking like a nosy parker
like that meddlesome Emily Sunshine at the Fairies in the Garden
Shop. But, hey, go ahead and be Provincetown’s answer to Miss
Marple. I’m sure that handsome Irish cop James Finneran will
protect you if you smile at him just right.” Sly grin. Reverse
psychology always did work on me and Daph knew it.

“Don’t underestimate me, Daph. I don’t need
protecting. I can do this on my own. ”

“Right.” Daphne held the wine bottle over her
glass encouraging the very last drop of nectar to fall.

Finneran and Ogilvie-Smythe Detective Agency
did however have a nice ring to it.

Chapter Eleven

The knock on the front door of the inn set
butterflies to dancing a tarantella in my stomach. My first date
with James Finneran. I was as nervous as a schoolgirl. It had been
a very long time since I’d felt unsure and awkward with a man but
that was how the delightful James Finneran affected me. Where was
the sophisticated Londoner who’d once had men trailing in her wake
regardless of the cool shoulder she turned toward them? Wouldn’t my
mother love this, I thought. Dating a lowly bobbie. Even a palace
guard would be better. But not much.

Opening the door, I was greeted by his honey
lips dripping with poetry. Oh, they had thrown away the mold after
they made darling James.

‘Hard is the heart that loves naught May.’
Geoffrey Chaucer’s immortal words ran through my head as I
approached your front door, lovely lady.” With that, he executed a
deep bow and rising, handed me one miniature sunflower tied with an
equally sunny yellow ribbon.

Naturally, I was momentarily speechless. When
I caught my breath I said simply, “Oh James, one of my favorite
flowers.”

Not knowing just how formal the Red Inn was
I’d dressed for mid-range in a pencil thin olive green linen skirt
topped by a muted paisley silk shirt in shades of olive, pumpkin,
gold and cream belted in by a wide natural tan rope belt. I had
tried boots with the outfit but they weren’t right so I slipped
into a pair of tan leather very simple pumps with two inch heels
that felt like gloves. At five foot ten I’d sometimes been taller
than my dates; however, handsome James topped me by two inches. The
shoes brought us nose to nose, eyeball to eyeball….lips to
lips.

Avoiding those tasty looking lips was not
easy. however, I managed to head to the kitchen for a tall vase.
James followed me. “Wherever did you find a sunflower so early in
the season, James?”

“Have you been to Daisy Buchanan’s Land’s End
Nursery? Have you seen what is growing in her greenhouse? It is
like the secret garden come to life.”

“Oh, I mean to call Daisy to come and create
a lovely garden here at the inn. My thumbs are not as green as most
Brits. I am going to need some help.”

“If its help you need, lass, just call old
James any time, day or night. I am at your service. And, I’m not a
half bad gardener, either.” The man obviously shared my fondness
for double entendres.

“I like you James.”

The Red Inn was delightful. The food
wonderful. The ambiance, looking out over the harbor at the
sprinkling of early to their moorings boats, sandpipers dancing
along the shore in search of snacks and a couple of fishermen
casting lines in the afterglow of the sunset was breathtaking. One
of those times that ought to be cast in amber to last forever.

“Between the two of us,” James said after his
first sip of Irish whiskey with soda, “I’ve been doing some private
research. In fact, I spent most of last night digging into dusty
files that no one has touched in decades. I was looking for
anything about Edwin that might help us.”

That “us” felt like a kiss. James continued
after a second sip. “Of course, if you could get your hands on the
manuscript we might have everything we need. The old guy probably
named names right there. In fact, that is what confuses me about
his codicil. If the manuscript is actually in-depth and honest it
would reveal his enemies and so, it would be….”

“Hold up a tick, James. How do you know about
the manuscript? I never told you I inherited it. The only person
who knows besides the lawyer and me is Daphne and she is as
discreet as a tree. Although she is a whacko and sounds like a bad
western, I trust her and love her.”

“Ah yes, sorry. I came upon the information
professionally. That stuffed shirt lawyer felt he had to tell the
Chief in case the bequest put you in danger. The man had a good
point, I’ll give him that; possessing it could make you a target.
Especially if you got it into your lovely head to take on the old
fool’s challenge.”

“But I don’t possess it. It’s in a safe in
Boston and I will probably never even get a glimpse of what the old
man wrote.”

“Forget not, lovely woman, this village has
eyes and ears everywhere. Also, the villagers have a tendency to
embellish. Facts get altered to make them more interesting. I
expect, by now, everyone believes that you have read every word and
are privy to every secret the old man wrote. That is why I ask you,
dear, lovely lady, don’t go getting ideas about being a private
investigator. Despite the old man’s command. Not worth it. And, it
could be dangerous.”

“So, I suppose you want me to go voluntarily
into the witness protection program.” I laughed but the handsome
cop’s eyes did that color-changing thing. The glints flashed like
heat lightening.

“Oh really, James. I am a big girl and I have
a fairly good brain. I can also protect myself, just fine.” What on
earth was I saying? I wasn’t living in a cozy mystery. We weren’t
characters in a book. It was real life. I could be putting myself
directly into harm’s way. Like standing on a railroad track facing
the speeding train.

I changed the subject and got James talking
about his childhood. The rest of the evening, we managed to avoid
talk of either the murder or my possible involvement.

The evening ended back at the Cranberry Inn
where I made us espressos. “Are you alright with a big shot of
caffeine this late?”

“What can caffeine do that hasn’t already
happened to me? I could dance on water at the moment.” With that,
my leprechaun did a little Irish jig right there in my kitchen.

That first date night extended through the
next day. We were having too much fun together to part. Sitting on
the soft leather couch in the sunroom after returning from dinner
and despite the espresso, we had slipped off to sleep in one
another’s arms. Awakened by a large slice of bright sunshine coming
in through the windows, James took a deep breath of my hair
exclaiming that it smelled like a lemon tree. “Is this heaven? Ah,
and begorra it must be since I am awakened beside an angel.”

“Oh James, where did you come from?”

“Dublin.” That amazing smile. Were those
dimples? I couldn’t be sure with my head snuggled into his
chest.

“Are all the boys in Dublin as sweet as you
or were you hatched from a sugar egg?”

“Oh, you do flatter a fellow now don’t you,
pretty lady?”

Kissing my neck, my ears, and my lemon tree
hair, he repeated like a mantra, “Delightful. Delightful.
Delightful.”

“You’ll never guess what time it is, James?
It’s eleven-twenty.”

“Actually I do not know what century it is.
And, I don’t give a damn. Come up here woman and let me kiss you
properly before it is eleven twenty-one.” I moved up so that our
noses touched. Then our lips. Like sipping from a honeycomb.

James’s stomach let out a great, leonine
growl that said it all. So we headed for the kitchen. “How about
pancakes, James? I’ve got a great recipe for cornmeal and cranberry
pancakes and a few days ago I made a batch of hazelnut maple
syrup.”

“I’ve not only slept on a cloud with an angel
but she cooks, as well. I must have been very, very good this
year.” He kissed the tip of my nose and went scouting through the
cupboards looking for mugs. “I also cook. Have I told you that,
fair maiden? I have secret recipes to share. However, you will need
to keep me around to learn them all.”

Oh yes, I said to myself. You, James Finneran
are definitely a keeper.

Digging our way through a pile of pancakes
and two pots of coffee, sated and happy, we sat in my sunny
kitchen. I told James about my plans for up-dating the
old-fashioned space and how I was toying with the idea of perhaps
giving some cooking classes come winter. He heartily approved.

Finally, I knew that I had to be honest with
the lovely man. Keeping secrets from him would only endanger our
chances of a future together.

“James I have a confession to make. Perhaps
you’d like a stenographer present for this.” I smiled and he
cringed.

“I knew it, my Mam warned me about vixens
like you. So, you’ve got yourself a husband back in jolly old
England. Perhaps a brood of little blighters, as well. Here it
comes, get ready, James. I finally found the perfect woman and
she’s a fraud. Mam was right, I must return immediately to Ireland
and find me a nice local girl with eight ways to cook
potatoes.”

“James, I can cook potatoes fifteen ways. Not
to worry. And, there is no husband and not a single blighter. Just
a suggestion. Since we….mesh so well. I thought we might consider
working as a team on this case. We both believe Edwin Snow III was
murdered but how and why, that’s what remains to be discovered.

James’ face flashed through an assortment of
reactions; relieved, deeply thoughtful, briefly doubtful and then,
what I’d been hoping for--agreeable. Also, something more but at
that moment I chose not to explore that last fleeting emotion
because if we were going to work together better not to muddle
things with that particular feeling, just yet. Quickly, James
returned to the business at hand.

“The old man, Ned Snow, Edwin’s father, put
families out in the cold but he always had the law on his side. He
knew just how far he could go and still be within the bounds of the
law. A slick bugger. The son did not follow in his father’s
“professional” footsteps, and I use the term disparagingly in this
context, but instead Edwin was headed on a course toward medical
school. Learned that from the dusty folders. When he showed up back
in Provincetown and just never left, everyone was shocked and
confused. Probably even disappointed. The boy had always been
trouble. He was rich, privileged and never had any supervision. Old
Ned left him to grow up like a wily weed after his mother died.
Well, she died at his birth. Stands to reason the boy grew up mean
and nasty. No one to love him and rear him and steer him onto the
path of proper behavior.”

“Do you think someone he knew when he was
young killed him?”

“It has crossed my mind that maybe the
offspring of someone cheated out of house and land might have
exploded with the need for revenge. Stranger things have happened.
Family grudges have a life of their own, sometimes.”