Snow Falls In Clover Cove: A heart-warming romance set on the beautiful west coast of Ireland

by Maggie Finn

  ‘Fate?’

  ‘Fate,’ she said, folding his fingers gently. ‘It means something’s heading your way.’

  ‘Something good or something bad?’

  ‘Could be either,’ said Queenie, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she stood. ‘After all, it’s just a lot of squiggles on your hand, not a computer print-out. But if I were you, I’d keep your wits about you.’

  She pulled back the curtain and they stood at the top of the caravan’s steps.

  ‘On an autumn day I met her first and knew,’ said Queenie,

  ‘That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue’.

  ‘What’s that? Poetry?’

  Queenie tutted. ‘Kavanagh, Noah. One of Ireland’s greatest bards. It’s the next line that’s the killer though: ‘I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way’. His point is love might turn around and slap you in the face, but ah,’ she smiled a perfect smile. ‘Isn’t that the fun of it all?’

  ‘Better to have loved and lost, eh?’

  ‘Exactly, Guard. But don’t you need the heart of a poet to live your life that way?’

  She winked at him.

  ‘But you know what Noah? I think you just might.’

  Chapter Eight

  Eliza sat up, groaning and rubbing her lower back. Dropping her brush into the bucket with a soapy ‘plop’, she looked down at her wrinkled hands. Like the witch from Snow White, she thought.

  ‘It’s a long way from the nail bar on Melrose’, she said to herself, flexing her aching fingers. Eliza had spent the whole morning cleaning the shop, scrubbing, mopping, scouring and rinsing. At first, she’d thought sweeping the floor would be enough, but it soon became obvious that the shelves hadn’t been dusted in months – if not years – and the only way the bookshop was ever going to be anything close to clean was through some serious elbow grease.

  Still, it had been worth the effort, Eliza thought as she looked around the shop with satisfaction. The endless boxes of books had been neatly stacked to one side and the shelves and the floor gleamed. She had even found an unused squeegee and cleaned the big shop windows, letting the bright afternoon sunshine slant in, dust motes sparkling. The Font Bookshop actually looked like a real store now, instead of an abandoned warehouse. There was still a long way to go, of course: the books might have been moved out of harm’s way, but they were still hopelessly jumbled and even if they had been organized, there were far too many titles to actually display. But it was a start. Kind of a strange way to spend your Christmas holiday, but she knew her mom would approve. She liked everything in it’s place, couldn’t tolerate a knife being in the fork drawer, which, she supposed was why she couldn’t tolerate Eliza’s dad in the end. He was the kind of guy who’d put a spoon with the forks just to see what would happen.

  With a stab of guilt, Eliza realized she hadn’t told Mom she was coming to Clover Cove. And she hadn’t told her about splitting from Nic, either. As far as Mom was concerned, her dear daughter was spending the holiday shacked up with her long-term boyfriend, just like last year. So why avoid the truth?

  Eliza gave a sad snort. Because if she’d told her mother, then Eliza would have to choose between spending Christmas with her mom in Sausalito or in Sunnyvale with her dad – and she’d spent her entire childhood shuttling back and forth between them, playing referee in their co-dependent game-playing. No, it might be extreme flying five thousand miles from home to avoid the choice, but it was time for Eliza to start making her own rules.

  The bell over the door tinkled and Eliza turned as a pretty woman with long blonde hair stepped into the shop.

  ‘Oh my word,’ said the girl, her eyes wide. ‘What happened here?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Eliza, suddenly on the defensive. ‘Moira asked me to… well, actually she didn’t, but…’

  ‘No, no,’ said the woman, holding up both hands, ‘I like it, no I love it! It’s wow… such a transformation. I wasn’t sure I’d come into the right shop. You did all this?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eliza, slightly embarrassed. ‘I spent the morning on it.’

  She held out a hand. ‘Sorry, I’m Eliza. Are you Kate?’

  ‘What was it?’ said the other woman, ‘The accent?’

  Eliza laughed.

  ‘A little, although Moira did tell me there was another American in the village.’

  ‘That’s me, although there have been quite a few more of us recently, the “Yankee tourist invasion” as the local newspaper calls it. So you’re here on vacation?’

  ‘Well, that’s what I thought, said Eliza, pointing at her bucket. ‘Moira had other ideas. No rest for the wicked as they say. Listen, would you like a cup of tea? I believe its traditional in Ireland.’

  Eliza began to move towards the small kitchen at the back of the shop, then stopped. ‘Oh. I’ve just realized I don’t actually know where the kettle is.’

  ‘Luckily I do,’ smiled Kate. ‘Like everything else in this store, it defies logic.’ Eliza watched as Kate opened a cupboard behind the bookshop counter; inside on a cluttered shelf was a teapot and various jars labeled ‘tea’ and ‘sugar’.

  ‘So you’re the girl who worked for Ross Oil?’ called Eliza as Kate carried the kettle back from the kitchen.

  ‘Guilty as charged,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘Well, guilty no longer actually. Ross Oil and I parted company – they sent me to Clover Cove to set up a power plant and they weren’t all that happy when I decided that a power plant on the beach was a bad idea. So now I guess I’m on a permanent vacation.’

  ‘Well if you’re looking for some thankless unpaid work, I could do with a hand sorting out these,’ said Eliza, opening a big cardboard box crammed with books.

  ‘Sure, why not?’

  Tea finished, they set to work and quickly fell into a rhythm: Kate would grab an armful of books and call out genres and titles. Eliza would run around assigning them to their shelves. As they worked, Kate filled Eliza in on her time in Clover Cove, the ‘Ross Oil scandal’ and her romance with Connor, landlord of the pub.

  ‘And what about you, Eliza?’ asked Kate. ‘Are you courting?’

  ‘Courting?’ laughed Eliza.

  ‘Stepping out, going steady. Is there a special someone in your life?’

  Eliza paused. ‘No. Kind of why I’m here over the holidays really.’

  ‘Ah. Well you’re in the right place.’

  ‘Yes, I have noticed that the men do seem to be particularly good-looking here,’ said Eliza, handing her a book. ‘Even the policeman…’

  ‘Ah, so Noah’s caught your eye, hmm?’

  ‘No, no, Noah’s just been very kind since I’ve been here,’ said Eliza, blushing. She wasn’t even sure why she had mentioned him. ‘And anyway, I’m not really interested in romance right now.’

  ‘Actually, I meant that you’re in the right place if you’re alone at Christmas. Everyone’s… well, they’re very neighborly.’

  ‘They’re all into everyone else’s business you mean?’

  Kate smiled.

  ‘Gossip does tend to oil the wheels here. But their hearts are generally in the right place and…’

  The doorbell tinkled and they both looked up in surprise. A middle-aged man in a green jacket almost fell inside. He seemed equally surprised to see them standing there.

  ‘Oh, is the store open?’ he said, looking at the half-filled shelves. ‘I thought it had closed down.’

  Eliza and Kate exchanged a look. Store?

  ‘You’re from the States too?’ said Kate.

  ‘Uh, sure,’ he said, evidently flustered, ‘Shouldn’t I be?’

  Kate laughed. ‘No, it’s fine. Fáilte.’

  ‘Fall… what?’ said the man, taking a small step back.

  ‘Failte, it’s pronounced ‘fall-cha’, it’s Gaelic for welcome. Which you are. Excuse our amusement, it just struck us as funny that the three Americans in Clover Cove should have all come to this one spot at the same t
ime.’

  The man nodded uncertainly.

  ‘So you’re not the owners?’

  ‘No, we’re just helping out,’ said Eliza. ‘So, uh, was there anything you were particularly looking for? As you can see we’re in the middle of re-organizing, but we should be able to point you in the right direction.’

  ‘Oh. Well I’m here birdwatching,’ said the man, holding up a camera slung around his neck. ‘I thought I might find… well, a book about local birdlife.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Eliza, pulling an apologetic face. ‘Sorry, there is a nature section, but I remember packing it away when I was cleaning the shelves at the back. We’ll be more organized by tomorrow. Are you staying in town?’

  ‘No, no – well, down in Port Quinn.’

  ‘Well how about I dig out all our books on birds and leave them near the front? Then you can come in later and you won’t have to hunt around?’

  ‘Sure, that’d be great,’ he said, nodding curtly and turning back towards the door.

  ‘Actually, if you want to see birds, I could introduce you to Connor,’ said Kate. ‘He’s the landlord of the pub across the square. He knows the cliffs around here better than anyone. He can show you kittiwakes, gannets and – what are those funny little fat birds, the ones with the colored beaks?’

  The man looked at her, face blank.

  ‘They’re black and white like penguins, but with bright orange feet,’ prompted Kate, frowning. ‘Puffins!’ she said finally. ‘How could I forget?’

  ‘Ah, puffins of course,’ said the man, ‘That sounds great. He’ll be at the bar you say?’

  ‘I can take you across now if you’d like…’

  ‘No, no,’ he said, backing towards the door. ‘I have, um, somewhere to be, but I’ll definitely be back. Thanks for your help.’

  He closed the door and they watched him scurrying away in the opposite direction to the pub. Kate looked at Eliza.

  ‘Was it something we said?’

  Chapter Nine

  There was a sign on the door of Tessa’s studio. It read in big red letters: ‘Beware: Artist At Work’, then below in brackets ‘(I apologize in advance if I’m grumpy. I hate painting)’ The last line had an arrow leading to a final addition, ‘Sometimes’.

  Smiling, Noah pushed inside. Tessa was standing with her back to him, her long blonde hair tied back with a green scarf, paint-spattered dungarees hiding the rest of her.

  She clearly hadn’t heard him enter, as classical music – Vivaldi, Noah thought – was playing at top volume. As he watched, the artist stepped forward and began slashing blue paint across a large canvas. He couldn’t see most of the artwork, but it looked like one of the sea-scapes that had attracted such acclaim over the past few months.

  Not wanting to startle her, Noah carefully crossed to the radio and slowly turned it down. Tessa turned.

  ‘Oh. Oh! Noah, how lovely,’ she smiled. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

  ‘That’s fine, I didn’t want to surprise you and cause a sudden slip of the brush.’

  Tessa wrinkled her nose. ‘Might have improved it,’ she said. She stepped back from the canvas and now Noah could see she was being entirely modest. It was an epic clash of swirling iridescent greens and blues, like the sea viewed from above.

  ‘Gosh,’ said Noah.

  ‘Is that a good ‘gosh’ or a bad ‘gosh’?’ asked Tessa, dropping her brushes into a jar with a jangle.

  ‘An impressed gosh,’ smiled Noah. He’d always admired Tessa’s work, but since her first solo show earlier in the year, she seemed have increased in confidence; her paintings had certainly increased in size.

  ‘What’s it called?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Tessa, tipping her head on one side, looking at it. ‘Seascape number 56?’

  ‘How about ‘Ghost’s favorite view’?’

  They turned as Danny walked out from the back room, carrying Tessa’s Siamese grey cat in his arms. He rubbed Ghost’s ears. ‘D’you like that, Ghosty?’

  The cat evidently didn’t, as it leapt from his arms, ran across the floor and out the open window.

  Danny shrugged. ‘He loves me really,’ he said. ‘So what can we do for you Guard? Any news on my break in?’

  ‘Still working on it – we’ll get there.’

  Noah wished he were as confident as he sounded. Despite putting out feelers, it seemed no one had seen anything or heard anything either about the break in at Danny’s or at the Castle.

  ‘Listen, can I ask you a few questions?’

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ said Tessa, ‘I’ve got brushes to clean.’

  Noah and Danny walked out onto the terrace overlooking the beach.

  ‘Can I just ask you, Dan, what was on your computer?’

  It was the one thing that didn’t make any sense to Noah. Sir Charles had been correct when they had talked the other day, a laptop was an obvious high-value item to grab so – assuming the thief at the Castle was indeed the same as the one who had burgled Danny’s place – then why hadn’t they taken Charles Balcon’s computer too?

  ‘You’re seeing a conspiracy, huh? You think Ross Oil is trying to stop the great investigative reporter from publishing some devastating scoop?’

  ‘It did cross my mind.’

  ‘And mine. It would be a great story too, almost worth the break-in, but I hate to disappoint you Guard, I don’t have a scoop. In fact, the Ross Oil thing has gone really quiet. No news, not even any new rumors for a while. It does look like they might have given up on building their power generator here after all.’

  Noah raised a skeptical eyebrow. ‘D’ja think?’

  Danny snorted.

  ‘Maybe not, but there was certainly nothing they’d have to worry about on my computer. Just the first few chapters of my novel and the usual guff: invoices, emails and such. No files from whistle-blowers or anything so dramatic.’

  Noah nodded, taking it in. Perhaps it was just coincidence, but it did seem strange that the only break-ins had been at the homes of two men involved in Ross Oil’s attempt to take over the village. And in Noah’s experience, there were no coincidences.

  ‘So I’ve just come from Home Farm,’ he said as casually as he could. ‘You know the travelers are here?’

  ‘Ah. And you’re treating them as suspects?’

  Noah shook his head, aware that Danny was a reporter first and a citizen of Clover Cove second.

  ‘Suspects? Not especially if I’m honest. Queenie has the Hares under her thumb.’

  Danny nodded his agreement. ‘I certainly wouldn’t want to get on Queenie’s bad side, that’s for sure. And to be fair, the Examiner does get all sorts of letters complaining about the traveler’s camp – wild dogs, noise and mess, that sort of thing – but I can’t remember the Hares actually committing any crimes in all the years they’ve been coming for the festivities.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Noah. ‘And the same people who complain are always happy to have the travelers playing their music up at the Procession on Christmas Eve. Well, I’m sure we’ll turn up something soon.’

  He thanked Danny and wandered back up the cobbled lane, deep in thought. If the travelers theory was a dead end and there was no evidence of a professional gang operating in the area – no further burglaries, no intelligence from other forces or stations – then Noah was at a loss. But that didn’t mean he was going to give up. Noah hated unsolved crimes and he hated loose ends. Someone somewhere knew something, he just had to work out who and what. Just as he reached the square, he saw a woman carrying a huge bunch of flowers. Her face was hidden, but Noah immediately knew it could only be tone woman, Clover Cove’s florist, Diana Brennan. He briefly thought of ducking away, but he was too slow.

  ‘Ah Guard, just the man,’ she called.

  ‘Hello Mrs. Brennan. I’ve just been talking to your Danny.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ she said. ‘He has time to talk to the Guards but he never comes to see his own mother. Has he found himself
a new job yet?’

  Noah frowned, bemused.

  ‘New job? Isn’t he still at the Examiner?’

  She waved a dismissive hand.

  ‘He’s gone part time, so he says. He’s messing about writing some stupid book, like he’s some millionaire in a cravat.’

  ‘A cravat?’

  The woman pulled a sour face, as if a man wearing an Ascot would be the height of depravity.

  ‘Well I’m sure Tessa will make sure he stays on the straight and narrow,’ said Noah. At the mention of Danny’s girlfriend, Mrs. Brennan’s face lit up; as Noah knew it would.

  ‘Ah, Tessa…’ she cooed. ‘He doesn’t deserve that girl. So smart, so well-mannered. She’s invited me to Christmas dinner with Molly Maguire and her mother.’

  ‘That’s a date to be envied, Mrs. B,’ said Noah. ‘If Molly’s turkey is as good as her cakes and her pies, it’ll be like angels dancing on your tastebuds.’

  ‘That’s as may be, Guard,’ said the woman, seamlessly changing the subject, ‘But what are you doing about the damage to our government building?’

  Noah pressed his lips together and took a breath.

  ‘The Post Office is more than capable of looking after their own buildings, Mrs. Brennan,’ he said evenly.

  ‘General upkeep I’ll grant you, but they’re not set up to deal with casual vandalism. These Americans shouldn’t be allowed to come over here, defacing important buildings.’

  Noah looked across to the Post Office. It was plain grey stone with simple bow windows, little more than an overgrown cottage. It had some charm, he supposed, simply due to its age and the ivy curling around the windows, but it was hardly the most handsome structure in the Cove. And it wasn’t as if Eliza had fired a bazooka at it.

  ‘I thought we were all agreed that we needed the tourists coming to the village,’ said Noah, trying to appeal to her practical side.

  ‘Law-abiding tourists, Guard,’ said the woman, raising a finger to emphasize her point. Just then movement to the right of the post office caught Noah’s attention: it was Eliza herself, just inside the door to the bookstore.