“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 act
ually 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.
“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 sophisticate
d 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?”
A Deadly Snow Fall Page 7