A Deadly Snow Fall

by Cynthia Gallant-Simpson

  “James, I have a confession to make.” He turned. The sun shone onto his handsome face and my knees, already weakened from the climb, turned to mush.

  “Not another one. The last time, you nearly caused me a stroke waiting to hear that you were married with a brood of, to quote you, ‘spoiled Brits’ at home. You’re not a royal hiding out here, are you, love?”

  Whew, that was close to another truth yet to be revealed. “No, nothing like that. It’s about the murder. I haven’t been wholly truthful with you regarding something I checked out with an expert friend back in London. My old childhood chum works for MI6 and he’s in the forensics department. I asked him how Edwin Snow might have torpedoed head-first because it seemed odd to me.”

  Telling him what Nigel Hoppington had told me, I watched his eyes light up with that flashing combination of blue and green and gold. “That’s it,” James said looking relieved. “That’s what has been teasing my mind since that snowy morning. The blood all around Edwin’s head and the injury. The top of his egg-shaped head was crushed. That was the proof that the man landed directly on the top of his head. I knew that was problematic but I couldn’t put my finger on just why. It’s been rolling around in my brain since then. Of course, the man would not have landed like that naturally, now would he have? I don’t have any background training in forensics so it just didn’t congeal but it did toss around a bit in the old cranium. Good detective work, Liz.”

  “I too, like you, felt that there was something curious about that landing. That’s why I checked with Nigel. Did Chief Henderson ever mention it to you as being strange?”

  “No, never. Sorry. I don’t mean to infer in any way that the Chief is sloppy at his job. It’s just that between his gout and lumbago, he’s in a lot of chronic pain. I try to relieve him of as many duties as possible, but he’s an old warhorse and just refuses to retire. His wife, Trudy, died a couple of years ago. They had plans to go south and he wanted to learn to play golf and all kinds of fun things they had on their retirement agenda. But when she died suddenly, he just closed in and made his job his life. He’s got nothing else. I’m afraid he simply doesn’t have the energy for a murder investigation. If you and I could get enough proof to convince him to reopen the case and we do all the work….not that I’d expect you to do police work, Liz.”

  “Don’t worry, James. I understand. We work well together and with all those cozies I’ve read, I feel as if I’ve attended the Cozy Police Academy for Amateur Sleuths.” We got a good laugh but I was careful to hang onto my nose. The stench was just unbearable despite the spring air coming in from outside.

  “Unless he was dead before….” James moved over to take a look over the side. “If his killer crushed his head up here and then tossed him to stage a suicide, then that would explain it, now wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes. It certainly would. But, there would be blood up here.” I looked at the floor and saw no trace. Although it had been two weeks. Rain and snow had come in since then.

  James chewed on the information, thoughtfully. “But, what if he was killed elsewhere and dragged up the stairs? Again, because the killer wanted it to look like a suicide.”

  “It certainly has troubled me no end as to what pretext someone could convince the frail, old man to climb hundreds of steps on a cold and snowy night. For what? To look at the view? In that weather the view would have been totally obscured, anyway. None of it has made sense to me, James.”

  “If someone did drag him, that someone would have to have been young and strong. Right?” asked my handsome swain.

  “You’re correct. But, what young person would want to kill Edwin Snow? Seems highly unlikely he’d have a young enemy. Everything points to an old person. Someone anxious to prevent some secret or scandal from the old days from being exposed in Edwin’s book. Right?” I looked at James and he nodded. Our minds were coordinated and functioning smoothly as one. It felt good. Not that I hoped for more murders in our sweet, little seaside village but, this working together was most rewarding. And, kind of sexy.

  “Come on. Got to get you away from this awful stink. I’ll come back with a flashlight and check closely for evidence. A bit of cloth, a dropped, monogrammed lighter. You know, the kind of thing Agatha Christie wrote into her books.”

  Arriving at the bottom of the stairs, we stood in the shadowy entry hall before stepping back out into the sunny day. I tried to imagine two elderly people coming there to recall the old days. As Daphne had said, “Old people do odd things knowing the end game is near.”

  I reached out and took hold of James’ arm “Before we leave and Bill can overhear us, I need to tell you something else I picked up just by chance the other night. Daphne took me to dinner at Sal’s Place and we talked to Mario the manager. He’s a friend of Daphne’s. Do you know him, James?”

  “Oh, yes, Mario, the Romeo. Well known around town. I hope Daphne isn’t foolish enough to be involved with that Casanova. He’s bad news for women.”

  “No, Daph is smarter than that. However, he mentioned that he liked Edwin and sometimes gave him a lunch at the restaurant and the old man often talked to him openly. It seems that the old man mentioned that he was being blackmailed.”

  James’s eyes lit up. “Blackmailed? By whom?”

  “Don’t know; he never gave him a name. However, according to Mario, the old man acted kind of peculiarly about the whole thing. As Mario said, he seemed to be either smug or amused by the fact. But here is the really interesting thing; Edwin said that he had no intention of ‘paying off a dead man’s debt.’ What does that mean to you, James?”

  “I suppose it referred to something he knew about someone who is already dead but why worry about blackmail if that was the case?”

  I didn’t offer what it meant to me. I still needed one more piece of vital information before deciding if my inkling carried any viable weight.

  We stepped out into the sunshine to find Bill sitting on a bench drinking from a thermos cup what appeared to be black coffee. “Well, find a Maltese falcon or a suicide note?”

  James stopped to talk to Bill while I wandered off to look at the spot where the body was found in the snow a fortnight before. Since then, the grass had greened. It was difficult to believe that there had so recently been a deep layer of snow horribly stained by human blood on that very spot.

  It occurred to me that the melting snow cover would have worked most efficiently to wash away any clues. Nothing to see there. Then, my eye was caught by something shiny reflecting the overhead sun.

  I bent down to see what it was glinting in the brilliant sunlight at the edge of the path where the grass met the pavement. There, just lying as if it had been dropped minutes before, was a tiny silver ring. Definitely a female’s ring, although in P’town that was a risky judgment call. Perhaps even a child’s ring. It was pretty tiny. Why hadn’t the police found it? I wondered. What about combing the scene of the crime? Then, I answered my own question. If it hadn’t been dropped recently, it would have been easily hidden under the snow--if the killer dropped it. I wrapped it in a tissue and slipped it into my pocket.

  “Like a ride back to your place, Liz? I’m heading that way.”

  Sitting in the police car we were both quiet and I had time to think about the tiny ring. I wondered if it just might be the glass slipper I needed to identify a very dangerous Cinderella.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Temperamental and tempestuous April had slipped into glorious May and the villagers who had spent long months hiding inside their warm homes were beginning to crawl out of their protective shells like hermit crabs. I awoke on a glorious morning knowing it was time for my first swim of the year. As a child, a virtual fish-child, I’d set myself the challenge of being the first one to swim at school in the spring and then the one to take a swim the latest in the fall.

  One year, I actually joined the Hastings Polar Bear Club for their annual February plunge into icy water from which they ran quickly to the Hen and
Wolf Pub for hot toddies and lots of good cheer. I fully intended to carry on this tradition in Provincetown.

  Pulling on my bathing suit, I found that all the good living had added a bit of unwanted padding. Mostly I blamed the experimenting with recipes for both my book and the up-coming inn season breakfasts. Time to walk more but also, now that weather was warming, I could easily swim every day.

  Wearing an oversized man’s shirt and ratty cut-off jeans over my black bikini, I set out for the stretch of beach to the west of MacMillan Wharf. Daphne was just raising her hand to reach for the brass lobster knocker on the kitchen door as I opened it and we nearly collided.

  “Hey, where are you going in such a hurry? Got a fire to get to? Your best friend is here for a cuppa.”

  “Hi. Sorry. I am going for a swim.”

  “Right. And I am growing a third ear, the better to hear you with.”

  “Seriously. Remember last year when I swam earlier than anyone else and everyone thought I was nuts?”

  “And you are going for a record by reassuring them for the second year running that you are truly bonkers?”

  “Come on with me. It’s a great day. You can sit on the beach and watch me. I like doing this for myself. I’m not trying to impress or amaze anyone. Actually, I’m thinking of starting a polar bear club in town. They have one in Boston. You might want to be a charter member. If not then, as you like to say, cut me some slack. There are surely others who love an early and late in the season swim, as well.”

  As we walked, I filled Daphne in on the climb to the top of the Monument. She suggested the awful stink was rotting blood and guts, but I cautioned her to keep that to herself.

  “Do you think a small woman could overpower an eighty year old man if she was angry, Daph?”

  “Even if she wasn’t angry, why not? Her age wouldn’t be a factor because a woman’s strength comes from more than her muscles. A mother can pick up a car to save her child. You must have read Ashley Montagu’s The Natural Superiority of Women. When necessary, any woman can excel over any man. So you do think Rosita came back for her bit of revenge?”

  I managed not to answer. I needed some more time before sharing that tidbit.

  Two local men were casting fishing lines from the shore and one of them spoke to us. “Morning, ladies. Come to see how it’s done, have you?”

  “Hi Sam. No; just go on about your business. Just here for a quick swim.” Daphne smiled and the two men laughed at her joke.

  “Sure you are.”

  With that, I stepped out of my jeans, took off my shirt and raced for the water while the two fishermen stood open-mouthed.

  “Lady is crazy. What the hell is she doing in that freezing water, Daph?”

  “Nutty as a fruit cake, but not to fear; she’s not a danger to anyone but herself. I’m her nurse. No stopping her when she gets a wild notion in her head. Valium prescription ran out. Just go about what you were doing but please try not to hook her.” Daphne laughed but the two men seemed too flabbergasted by the sight of a crazy lady in the still far-too-chilly-for-swimming water to enjoy the joke.

  The other man couldn’t resist. “Hey Lady aren’t you a little young for hot flashes? The wife says when she gets one she wants to race out of the house and jump into the bay, even in winter. But she never actually follows through.”

  I simply smiled and continued to enjoy the cold water. “Come on in. It’s great.”

  Later, back at the inn, Daphne carried the newly painted and faux marbleized table she’d recently finished for me into the sitting room to my applause. “It is so lovely, Daph. You are so very talented. The lady paints pictures on canvas, does murals on walls and takes a junky table found at a yard sale into the realm of a precious treasure. And she is also my best friend. Now, if you could just cook.”

  Daphne ignored my last remark, placed the table in the spot waiting for it and took a little bow. “Not bad if I do say so myself.”

  “Come on into the kitchen and try my new chocolate raspberry layer cake with mocha ganache. Renew your strength after all that heavy lifting.”

  “Bring me up to speed, girl. I’ve been in Boston for three days. Are you and James the copper married yet? Baby on the way to make me an aunt, maybe?”

  “Get a grip girl. We are just having fun. He’s a sweet guy who just happens to be very sexy and he seems to like me. He’s working on the case with me.”

  “Do tell. The way he looks at you, wowzer! I just wish some guy would look at me like that. What’s stopping you from taking it to the next level, Liz? You’re getting long in the tooth, you know. Your hormones are drying up and wrinkles are on the way. Better pop out a little one soon or you’ll be on the shelf lonely and whining. Women of our…your age are like yesterday’s produce. Looking a little wilted with a few rotten spots but cleaned up and propped up they can see another day. It looks to me like the universe has sent you a bargain shopper and you’d better not let him go or it’s off to the rubbish tip for you.”

  “How romantic you are, Daphne. Give me a break. My biological clock is still ticking along happily, not feeling pressured at all. Eight years of university education, a busted career in my chosen profession, a new career as innkeeper, so I’m just getting started. In fact, I may not want to have children anyway. Where do you get these wild ideas? That is absolutely the wildest theory regarding a woman’s body that I have ever heard. Please, let it die within this room. I fear the villagers may decide to burn you on a pyre if you don’t watch your back. You are just inches from being called a witch.”

  “Hey! This cake is better than sex. Not that I can remember sex. It’s magnificent, orgasmic, in fact. If you haven’t already named it, I’d definitely go with, ‘Better ‘n Sex.’”

  “Right. That’ll guarantee sales of the book. On another subject, while you fill your face. Daph, I think I might be getting close to being prepared to go to Chief Henderson with what I know.” Daphne nodded as she stuffed cake into her mouth as if she knew it was her very last meal.

  “I’m beginning to think a woman was involved. Maybe even Rosita.”

  “Gob, dis is gweat cag.”

  “Daphne, do you suppose you could stop filling your gob for just a minute and speak in the language we share.”

  Daphne swallowed, washed down the cake with tea and said, in her quirky non sequitur way, “Did you know that George Bernard Shaw said something to the effect that the problems that arise between Great Britain and the U.S. are based on the fact that they are separated by a common language?”

  “Oh I give up. You are hopeless. Here. Have another piece of cake; it will only add another 3000 calories to your day and you have a high revving metabolism, so what will it matter? I myself must go to wash my hair and pass an iron over my gorgeous new ball gown in preparation for attending the Blessing of the Fleet Ball tonight.”

  “Oh, boy! James’ll probably pop the question tonight right on the dance floor. Bet he has a ring box in the pocket of his tux. It’s the traditional thing to do hereabouts. Whoopee! This could be the night. I promise to get set planning the wedding shower tomorrow.”

  “Nut. Get out and never, never darken my door again, crazy woman.”

  Daphne left when she was good and ready. I left her in the kitchen expecting to find only a few dark brown crumbs left on the cake plate.

  James rang the kitchen door bell precisely at seven. He was delicious-looking in his tux and it was obvious his longish hair had been trimmed a bit. Handing me a yellow rose corsage, his smile set off sparks in my heart. Maybe we should just stay in and…no, mustn’t waste the gorgeous black dress and sexy high-heeled sandals. Later.

  “Great dress. Thought you were going to whip up something from the living room drapes, however.” James said. I stood mystified. The living room drapes?

  Silence. “Oh, now I get it. Scarlet O’Hara, right? Your iconic all-American movie. I didn’t see it until I came to the states.”

  It passed through my mind tha
t I hoped the villagers could not tell the difference between a fifteen dollar costume jewelry pearl necklace from Marshalls and the seven-thousand dollar pearls with a six diamond clasp I’d received for my sixteenth birthday. Or my Vera Wang dress. I had been, after all, working hard at being one of them

  Standing there taking each other’s measure, James made an audible swoon and I imitated it but even louder and more like a wolf call. He hugged me and we laughed at our own silly antics. Once again, I thanked Cupid for inspiring this romantic and passionate relationship that was also great fun.

  “You are the most gorgeous woman in the entire world. I am the luckiest guy on the planet. Step back and let me take this all in, woman. Wow, that is the sexiest dress in eight counties and love the pearls. My Mam always wears pearls. My Da forked over two hundred dollars one Christmas so she could have a real nice string of them. Earrings to match. She’s pretty proud of those pearls. Wears them like she’s the Queen. Your Queen. Not that you or my Mam can afford that quality, but these are lovely.”

  You cannot begin to imagine, James Finneran. One day soon I would have to come clean, I reminded myself. The “Lady” title, the huge inheritance from my grandmother, vast properties in England and Scotland that would one day be mine. But, not just yet.

  We danced all night to the local orchestra made up of two storekeepers, an inn keeper, the guy who pumped gas at the Bradford Street Shell gas station and two fishermen. Fishing boats were in for the fete from George’s Bank where the best fishing was. The Blessing of the Fleet was an annual event everyone in the village came out for. Emily Sunshine was there manning the drinks and snacks table wearing a vintage twenties dress that sagged on her tiny frame.

  “Aren’t we lucky? I just love living here, James.” He whirled me around the floor as if we were on our own private cloud.