A Deadly Snow Fall (9 page)

“Sorry, if I sounded accusatory and
disrespectful of the Chief, James. It’s just that, if Edwin Snow
was murdered, couldn’t that mean that we have a murderer running
free in the village?”

“Liz, let’s look at this in another light.
This is a close-knit village. Everyone knows everyone else and
everyone’s dog. I suspect the Chief feels that this death, even if
it was murder, is unlikely to turn into a killing spree. For now,
best to let the dust settle and see what comes along.”

“Does that mean that he has considered that
the old man, Edwin Snow, might have been murdered but it was an act
of passion rather than pre-meditated; therefore, the killer is not
a danger to anyone else?”

“You are good. Might you be in the wrong
career, lovely lady?”

“Perhaps I need to explain myself a bit,
James. I was trained in archaeology. I love the work but I
contracted malaria on my very first dig out of university and
innkeeping kind of found me. I didn’t choose it. I was told not to
return to the field or I might not live to see my second dig. When
my aunt died and left me her business, the Cranberry Inn, I was in
flux. However, as sometimes happens in life, serendipity makes our
decision for us. On another note, I was reading British murder
mysteries practically in the cradle. Agatha Christie was my
surrogate mother. I moved on from her wonderful stories to cozies
and, I do believe, I have the equal of a police academy education
in crime solving.” I smiled, sure he would laugh at such an
outrageous claim but he did not. In fact, his face lit up with what
I could only interpret as delight and approval.

“I don’t think we have an open slot at the
station but you might try private detective work as a side career.”
Now, he was pulling my leg. Oh, what a lovely feeling.

“I wonder if you might “off the cuff” share
what you seriously feel abut the case, James? Suicide or murder?
”

The smile the gorgeous Irish cop gave me felt
like a bear hug. If smiles could hug.

“How about we first discuss the deceased, Mr.
Snow, to try and put together what might have led up to
his…death.”

“Fine. I like that idea. In fact, I will
begin with a question that has been on my mind since I learned a
bit about the old man, following his death. As I am sure, you have
heard the many stories about him and his propensity for making a
general nuisance of himself. Therefore, I am curious about why Mr.
Snow, Edwin, returned to the town after college and never left?
Never had a career? I know he was wealthy but most young men find
something to do with their lives. But, he just vegetated here.
Despite how obvious it had to have been to him that he was terribly
unpopular. To say the least.”

“No idea, at all. I’d say you’d have to talk
to some of the people who were here back then. There are still some
old timers who have been here since Hector was a pup, as my Grannie
used to say.”

So, we had that in common. I loved calling
upon my Grandmother’s wonderful, old sayings. One day, we’d have to
share Grannie stories, I thought.

“James, do you think he was murdered? Just
between the two of us.”

“Sorry Liz, but I’m afraid I cannot commit
myself to that proposition in light of my professional involvement.
Would you like to talk to Chief Henderson and give him your take on
the matter? You might convince him to re-open the case.”

“The fact is, I’m not really so sure that I
have a worthwhile take on the ‘case.’ Right now I seem to be
motivated by an…intuitive feeling. I have a very active and most
often, reliable intuitive sense. Please don’t laugh. I know men put
little faith in female intuition but…”

“Not me, lovely lady. Me Granny had the power
of knowin’ and the entire village came to her for answers. I have
nothing but respect for your female intuition. In fact, I envy
it.”

Where had this man come from? I wondered.
Sure, Ireland but also from an alternate universe where they
produced the men women only dream of and rarely meet. Definitely a
keeper.

Eventually, I knew I’d have to share MI6
Agent Nigel Hoppington’s take on how Edwin Snow happened to land
directly on the top of his head. In opposition to the way gravity
would have landed him without a yet to be named action that
affected that landing. But, my inner sleuth wanted a bit more time
to solve that mystery.

Out of the blue, between one breath and
another, James asked, “Liz, I wonder if I might take you to dinner
at my favorite Provincetown restaurant on Saturday night? That is,
if you are not otherwise engaged?”

“James, I’d love to. I fear that when the inn
fills up I will probably not see daylight for quite some time; so,
as my Scottish Grandmother would have said, I must make hay while
the sun shines.”

“So, you too had a clever Granny? I knew we’d
have lots in common besides geography.” Said charming James.

I returned to the inn and James went off to
check on the report of a dead harbor seal on the beach behind the
Lobster Bowl. “An elderly man called into the station to say that a
bunch of boys were seen poking it with sticks. The man is fearful
they’ll be making a mess on his section of beach. Not exactly
spurred by a belief in humane treatment toward one of Mother
Nature’s fallen creatures. Until Saturday, Liz. And don’t be goin’
off searching for murders without me, lovely lady.”

Chapter Ten

Back at the inn, I made myself a thickly
sliced tomato sandwich with home-made mayonnaise on Portuguese
bread from Souza’s Market. The wonderful tomatoes were locally
grown at Daisy Buchanan’s Land’s End Nursery greenhouse. Her first
crop of the season. It was clear to me, even without his proffered
words, that James also suspected murder.

However, he had to abide by the rules or find
himself unemployed. So, it looked as if I was on my own. I could
only hope that a contingent of tough, courageous, spunky female
amateur sleuths had my back.

Next on my list was learning more about the
dead man. Surely, how he’d lived his life would contain clues to
how he’d died and why. A good sleuth did not leave one stone
unturned or one villager unquestioned. I only hoped that I would
not find myself left outside slammed doors when I went seeking
answers from the villagers. After all, I was still, and would
always be, what the locals called a “wash-ashore.” I had learned
that the longer you remained in the village the more the villagers
tended to blur the distinction between newcomers and regulars but
had I been there long enough to earn that blurring? I doubted that
less than a year qualified. Thus, I’d begin with the one person I
knew had fully accepted me. Well, besides Daphne. Tish Souza.

“Good afternoon Liz. What can I do for you
today? I’ve got some lovely freshly made chorizo sausage Manuel
just brought in. Here, try this new cheese.” Handing me a thick
slice to sample, Tish Souza wiped her hands on her oversized black
and white striped apron and smiled, waiting for the verdict.

“Oh, Tish, that is wonderful! Oh, give me a
pound of that and I’ll take a pound of the chorizo.”

“How are things going with that cookbook of
yours, these days? Can’t wait to read it.”

“Don’t hold your breath; its still in the
planning stages.”

Another customer came into the store as
evidenced by the little jangling bell on the door. I didn’t turn
around since I was too occupied salivating at the sight of a pile
of gooey, sticky, sugar encased, gorgeous, Portuguese, fried dough
twists called malassadas. Could just one be wedged into my day
without adding saddlebags to my hips? The woman, whom I didn’t
recognize, came to stand next to me to talk to Tish. She turned and
smiled at me pleasantly. I too smiled and then returned to my
bargain with the calorie devil.

The woman did her purchasing and left. Once
again, Tish and I we were alone in the store. I had questions for
her that I preferred to keep private between the two of us. I knew
she was the soul of discretion and also that she’d been in the
village for almost forty years. Just the kind of information source
I needed.

“Tish, what do you know about that poor man,
Edwin Snow that might have led to his…. death?” I would keep the
“m” word to myself for the time being.

“I know what you mean by the term “poor” but
the man was very, very rich. I say, no wonder he jumped. What took
him so long to depart from this world? Oh, I know that sounds
heartless, Liz. Sorry. But the man was just the damndest old pest.
He was the most obstinate, difficult, annoying and bullying man in
town. Got to admit that it’s difficult for me to feel sorry for the
old coot, even posthumously. So, the term “poor” is better applied
as, poor everybody who had to deal with him.”

“You said bullying. Whom did he bully?”

“Kids. He’d send one of them to buy him a
newspaper while he sat outside the town hall and promise the kid a
dime for doing the errand but he never paid. He’d say the paper was
folded wrong or ripped or messed up in some way and just shout at
the kid telling him he’d done a lousy job. Imagine. Well, of course
that was years ago and all those boys are grown now but they
remember how it was and once the word got around no one would do
any errands for him.”

“Did anyone consider him their friend?
Somebody he grew up with, maybe?”

“No. Wait. That’s not quite correct. There
was one. The sweet old lady who grew up next door to the Snows.
Told me once she saw the goodness in the man or, as it were, the
boy. Goodness my ass. Sour as a pickle and mean as a wasp in
heat.”

“What is her name, Tish?’

“Mary Malone. Salt of the earth. Generous to
a fault and the sweetest lady you could ever meet. Knits little
caps for all the babies born in town and bakes for scholarship bake
sales. Mary is the quintessential grandmother. Although, when she
and Edwin were young, according to Mary, she actually was in love
with him. Hard to believe but coming from Mary I’m sure she was the
only one who dug far enough to find his sweet spot. But then, I’m
sure she’d find something to admire in Jack the Ripper.”

“She really liked the old coot, then? Is she
a credible person, Tish?”

“Credible as dawn is Mary. You ought to talk
to her if you really want the lowdown on the old bat. What’s your
interest though, might I ask, Liz?”

Quick Liz, too soon to give away the plot.
“Oh, I’m just a very curious person and I’m interested in what
makes people tick, that’s all. So, do you suppose he never pulled
one of his nasty tricks on Mary?”

“Oh, he played with her head, as well. The
only person ever to treat him kindly and he blew it. How about
this? Once, Mary told me, Edwin shaved her cat because he claimed
it put hair all over his new roadster when it was napping on the
hood.”

Tish wrapped my purchases and put them into
the canvas bag I always remembered to bring with me to the market.
Her clever daughter Shelley had designed the bright red logo of a
sausage dancing with a wedge of cheese on top of a crusty loaf.

“Do you think that Mary Malone would speak to
me about him?”

“Sure, why not? Mary’s a love. But be
prepared for a pretty jaundiced view of the old scourge.”

I knew I could trust Tish so I quickly
decided to share with her the old man’s bequest to me. She might
have some idea of why he’d done such a ridiculous thing to a
complete stranger. “Tish, if I tell you something very, very
private would you be willing to keep mum for a bit?”

“Sure. You pregnant, honey?”

“What? Oh no, Tish, nothing at all like that.
Oh my goodness, no. I am just interested in Edwin Snow because I
inherited, for reasons I will never understand, his
manuscript.”

“Come on. Why?”

“As I said, I don’t have a clue except for
the fact that he knew my Aunt Libby.”

“Doggone, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. So, what
are you going to do with it after you read it? Get it published?
Hey, that would be fun, of course if it’s any good. You could put
your name on it. Serve the old duffer right.”

“Here is where I need your secrecy for a
while until I have time to check on some things. He commanded me to
find his murderer! Also, I don’t get my hands on it until I do
so.”

“I’m just flabbergasted, Liz. Murderer? What
does the Chief have to say about that?”

“I don’t believe he knows and I thought I
just might do some investigating first to see if there is enough to
convince him to take another look at the case. That’s why I came to
you to see if you might have anything that might be helpful.”

“Sure. Let me think a minute. Well, there is
the mystery of why that beautiful young woman Rosita Gonsalves
wanted to marry him.”

“He was married? Why hasn’t anyone ever
mentioned that? Is she still alive, Tish?”

“The Gonsalves had eight children and they
struggled to keep this store going before we bought it. It was just
a regular neighborhood store back then. I’m sure they weren’t able
to give Rosita pretty clothes and stuff so she probably just
decided to get her hooks into the richest man in town. It happens.
Oh sorry, no, I have no idea if she is still alive. Left town right
afterwards.”

“Afterwards?”

“Yup, left him at the altar. All dressed up
and no wedding to go to.”

“Oh. Do you know why?”

“Nope. Of course, I guess there was a lot of
speculation at the time. One rumor was that she was with child, as
they used to say, and it was not his. Some thought it might be
Edward Granger’s since she cleaned the Granger’s house in Truro in
the summer.”

“Interesting.” A possible suspect? By why
wait decades to come back and face him? Hypothesis: She came back
to the village one last time knowing that she only had a short time
to live and called upon him hoping time had softened his anger.
Together they climbed the Pilgrim Monument for old time’s sake and
he accused her again of fooling around with the artist, Edward
Granger and she pushed him over the side. Stranger things have
happened. I had one more question for Tish before I left her to her
busy day.