A Deadly Snow Fall

by Cynthia Gallant-Simpson

  Of course, I’d never met my aunt. I’d made her into an icon of good cooking, conscientious housekeeping and a greeter of happy visitors. What if she had been something quite different? A passing thought demanding attention was what, if anything, connected the bone, Edwin’s death, the arson at the Snow house and my benefactress Aunt Libby?

  Daphne continued, despite my growing annoyance with her latest flight of fancy. “Great sport staying in a place where a Lizzie Borden-type British lady topped off difficult guests and neatly dismembered them before burying them in among the peonies. You could rent out shovels and let guests have a go at it. Haunted houses are all the rage these days. The way I see it, the quirkier this town gets the better. I didn’t settle here to be bored.”

  I looked at James. “Everyone says Aunt Libby was the soul of goodness and kindness. I just don’t want to think of her as a cold-blooded murderer.”

  Before James could respond, Daph was at it again. “Have you ever noticed how the neighbors always say that in news interviews after the guy next door chopped up six members of his family? He was such a quiet amiable fellow, loved cats and dogs and little children.”

  “Oh, Daphne.”

  “Got to head back to the station and let the Chief go home for his lunch.

  See you ladies, anon. And Daph, don’t spread your latest theory around town just yet, please.”

  James headed back to the police station and eventually Daphne went home to see what frozen goodies she had in her freezer for her supper. James would be back at six and we’d finally grill a steak. I had just enough time to shower, wash my hair and slip into a sexy sundress before James arrived with the boneless steaks, a bottle of red wine and a bunch of pink freesias at six on the dot.

  Sitting on the terrace waiting for the gas grill to finish the steaks, James brought me up to speed on the final report on the fire. “Ed Wilson, the Fire Chief, and the arson squad sent down from Boston finally got inside what remains of the Snow house. One room right in the center of the house remains standing and pretty much undamaged. The fire appears to have started in a back room next to the conservatory in a potting shed. A gas can was found there. Definitely arson.”

  “Who would have done it? I wonder. Unless it was kids, just for the fun of it, I cannot imagine why anyone would want to burn the lovely, historic house.” I reached for the bottle of red wine and re-filled our glasses.

  “Too early to tell. Interesting though. Right in the center of the house was what had been the original structure on the property. A thick-walled stucco place; kind of like a southwestern adobe that the mansion was built around. Because of the thick walls and heavy wooden doors with wide iron strapping, the room nearly escaped completely the fierce fire.”

  “What was in there, James?”

  “Looked like the old man used it as an office. Someone had obviously tossed the room completely. Drawers turned out, files strewn all around. I’d say someone was looking for something.

  “The manuscript?”

  “That would be my guess.” James checked the steak.

  “So, isn’t that pretty solid proof that it was someone not from here?”

  “Why would you say that, love?”

  “Because,” I said as I reached for my wine glass, “every man, woman, child and dog by now knows the status of the manuscript. Everyone in the village knows that I don’t have it and may never unless I follow Edwin’s command and find his murderer. Therefore, if the arsonist was looking for it at the Snow house, they are obviously not in the village information loop.”

  “Right. Of course. You know, love, you ought to go into police work. No, scratch that. It’s a lot safer writing those cozy mysteries you love reading.”

  “James, have you ever heard of the liberation of women? I am not a hothouse flower. Women do the same things as men, these days.” Another discussion for another day.

  “I do know that, love. But I’d prefer to protect my lovely woman from ending up in a shallow grave and dug up by dogs.”

  “Oh, James, you are far too romantic.” James only smiled his leprechaun smile

  “So, I’d say the arsonist, who may also be the murderer, tossed the house looking for the manuscript. Someone who’s not in the Provincetown information loop. Having no luck, his anger and frustration grew and, finally, he lit the match,” said the wise policeman.

  “Or, having no luck, he figured that if he burned the entire place, the still-hidden manuscript would go with it. A clean sweep,” I added.

  “You, my gorgeous, irresistible temptress are a genius. A sleuth extraordinaire. A paragon of female detective prowess. Come here and let me kiss you.” I did.

  “Unless.” Kiss interruptus. “What if the arson had come there believing that old Edwin had barrels of cash hidden in the house? Typical miserly trick.”

  “Hm.” James scratched his chin and I went into the kitchen to toss the salad.

  Returning to the deck, I asked, “Do you think that we have one mystery or a handful, James?”

  “Good question. One does wonder if they are all connected in some way. Murder, arson and stray bone.”

  “Don’t overlook blackmail.” I added, making our case even more perplexing. “I believe we need to check on Edwin’s bank transactions in the past year. Large withdrawals to pay a blackmailer. Despite Mario the Lothario’s description of Edwin’s smug attitude, he might actually have paid up.”

  “Aha! Think how easy our task will become if, in fact, old Edwin had paid by check.” James grinned and placed the perfectly cooked steak on the cutting board.

  “Yes, and if Edwin had suddenly stopped paying, refused the blackmailer anymore money, why not murder?” I said as I scooped salad onto the plates and James sliced thin the steak.

  The sleuthing business was growing to encompass every waking hour. Summer was coming at me fast and soon I’d be too busy for crime solving. Despite that fact, I was a person who completed every task given me. So, there was no way I was going to drop the ball. Or, as it were, the bone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The mystery of the leg bone in my back garden took a weird turn in the following week until Daisy Buchanan of the Land’s End Nursery and Garden Center dispelled what had begun to look like a local massacre back in the village’s history.

  Finding bones suddenly became a village pastime. People brought in every manner of bone in every condition to the police station and old Ted Bump even brought in an entire bucket full demanding they be tested because he was sure they were, “murdered people what got buried on my land.”

  Ted’s bones turned out to be goat bones from his pet goat herd that the man had buried himself over the previous fifty years as his goats had died and he’d forgotten he had done it. In addition, brought in by men, women and even children there were beef bones, ham bones, fish bones, chicken bones and even seal bones. Each person was treated with respect. The bones were accepted, placed in plastic zip lock bags and labeled with the finder’s name and each person went away feeling that he or she had done his or her duty nobly.

  Everyone was on the lookout for human bones. Finally, Chief Henderson put his foot down. “This has gotten completely out of hand. One damn human leg bone and the town goes wild. Stands to reason, burying people in sandy soil for four hundred years is going to cause some to get tossed around. Add together dogs and bones and you get trouble. No more bones will be accepted by this office. Do I make myself clear?” The Chief told James and James told me.

  While the bones episode was racing around town, Daph and I met at Beasley’s for lunch on a sunny Saturday to review the clues. Daphne had become my often unwilling, but occasionally helpful, sounding board. I knew she was growing bored with the case. Cases. After all, we’d hardly had one conversation in the previous three weeks that did not have to do with the mysteries.

  Sitting in a booth at Beasley’s under old movie posters, I imagined us as Sherlock and Watson. I sat under Katherine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart on the Af
rican Queen. Daph’s totally appropriate poster was Rebel Without a Cause. The table was covered in blue and white checkered oil cloth and the salt and pepper shakers were in the shape of Harley Davidson motorcycles. Definitely, a time warp scene.

  Beasley’s had quickly put together a new spring menu to accommodate the earlier than usual visitors. Nothing like the possibility of a murder to flood the town with early tourists. That day’s luncheon special was fresh asparagus, spring leg of lamb, roasted baby red potatoes and early greenhouse raised strawberries atop an old-fashioned, biscuit-type shortcake.

  Waiting for our orders, Daphne mused, “When we have an entire skeleton we can display it in the Provincetown Museum next door to the Pilgrim Monument. Label it Pocahontas or John Smith, depending on the sex. Do we know the sex of the bone, Liz? Did James say?”

  “No, Daph. I don’t believe that one leg bone can tell the sex of the original owner. I believe you need the pelvis or the skull. And, even if we were to find all the bones, a complete skeleton, I don’t think it is legal to keep it and display it.”

  Daphne responded, “Drat. Hey, maybe Emily Sunshine could be helpful on a cold case. Maybe good old Eloise can identify the bone’s owner.”

  “Not crucial to the investigation, Daph. Right now, we need to convince the Chief to reopen the Edwin Snow case and prove it was murder, not suicide. But, the Chief is still sitting on the gate.”

  “By the way, that’s sitting on the fence, Liz. But I get your drift. You know, you really ought to try harder to learn American slang.” Daphne picked up the salt motorcycle and inspected it closely. “Nice detailing for a cheap knickknack.”

  I ate the delicious food but my mind was elsewhere. “What if Edwin hired someone to kill him to make it look like suicide? People do that to make sure the life insurance gets paid. But to whom would he have left his life insurance, in that case? Rosita? His daughter, Edna?

  “Hey, look up there! A pig flying.”

  “You could try and be helpful, you know. Rather than treating this like a game.” Daph’s casual attitude was getting on my nerves.

  “Okay, how about this Madame Sleuth? Maybe,

  old man Ned Snow and his creepy son Edwin joined forces killing people. Just for kicks. Loners who happened by. Hikers, bikers and hookers. Hey, good title for a mystery. Hikers, Bikers and Hookers. Don’t you just love it? At last, they’d found something to share---murder.”

  “Hey, not bad.” I considered Daphne’s proposition, despite its absurdity. “Suppose some relative found an old postcard saying he or she stayed at the Snow house and then…nothing. Years later, the relative came looking for answers.” Daphne grinned, but I remained serious.

  “It isn’t your worst idea, Daph. Not nice and neat and ready for the jury but it isn’t entirely nutty, either. Congrats!”

  With that she took both Harley shakers in hand and drove them wildly in the air for effect, nearly hitting my nose. I shoved them away but she continued her childish antics.

  “Our darling Edwin was a pre-med student; he’d have known how to dismember bodies.” Daphne added before I tossed a rolled up paper napkin at her.

  I groaned. “Do you consider anything out of bounds for your sense of humor, Daph?”

  “Lighten up Liz. You’d think you were a good pal of old Edwin. He was miserly, nasty, sneaky and a complainer of the first order. What’s your problem anyway?”

  “Doesn’t it make you feel even a bit sad, Daph?”

  “This all is making you sad, Liz?”

  “Even you, cold-hearted woman, must admit that the story of Edwin is fraught with bad decisions and missed opportunities that rendered his life a sad tragedy. You’ve got to feel sorry for someone who wasted his education and came home to vegetate in the small village where his family was scorned. Then, he lost the only girl he’d ever loved. It’s a Shakespearean or Greek tragedy, Daph.”

  “Oh, lighten up, woman. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.” Daph picked up a piece of garlic bread and dropped it onto my plate from her outstretched arm. Never should have told my friend what Emily Sunshine shared with me about Edwin’s unhappy childhood. Poor “Eggy.”

  I tried to maintain my cool professional stance but finally lost it and we hooted together until Mr. Beasley gave us the stink eye.

  “Poor, poor Egghead Edwin turned into an omelet,” Daphne.

  “Egged to death.” Me.

  Laughing until our sides hurt but attempting to keep it under control so as not to be the only people ever ejected from Beasley’s, we finished our lunches. Daphne had to get back to the gallery to meet a potential customer. I sat finishing my tea. In the quiet space left by the removal of Daphne the Jester, what I overheard changed everything.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “It never occurred to me that they might be from my pile of bones. I’m so embarrassed. I’ve just been so busy with spring planting. I simply forgot about the bones. My boyfriend Peter was going to put them through his heavy-duty mulching machine. It would have turned them into useful bone meal. If he hadn’t had to go off-Cape to a conference, the bones would have been safely buried and no one would have been any the wiser.”

  I leaped off the bench as if it was an ejection seat. Turning to look into the booth behind me, I saw Daisy Buchanan of Land’s End Nursery, our local green thumb and expert on everything that grows. Across from her sat my friend, Tish Souza.

  “Hi, Liz. What’s new?”

  When I again found my voice I mumbled, “Daisy, what did I overhear about a pile of bones? Sorry, I wasn’t being a nosy parker but bones are kind of a hot topic in the village right now.”

  Daisy motioned me to come and join them. I did. I waited. Finally, the latest mystery took on a whole new aspect.

  “I’m just so embarrassed, Liz. It’s all my fault! I’ve been so busy. I simply forgot the pile of bones out behind the greenhouse.”

  A sentence I’d never imagined I’d hear from the lips of such a fine woman. The woman who was going to be my surrogate green thumb and turn my back garden into a productive herb and vegetable wonderland.

  “A friend of Peter’s owns a huge butcher shop in Springfield and he offered me a truck load of bones. Bone meal is excellent for gardens, you know. Peter has a high-powered mulching machine that would have turned them into fine mulch. But, Peter had to attend a landscapers’ conference in Ohio. So, the enormous pile, unknown to me, was being scavenged by local dogs.”

  Daisy smiled guiltily. I nodded. Tish laughed. Dee Dee delivered their desserts and we shared the news with her. The bones mystery had been solved. Well, not completely. The bone Patton had found in my garden could not have come from the greenhouse. My backyard was completely fenced in and dog-proof. Except for the one dog who’d been inside that fence. I didn’t bother to mention that.

  In the realm of sometimes truth is stranger than fiction, one more human bone showed up. The universe can be perverse. Sometimes the seemingly impossible becomes possible. Sometimes, just when we think things could not get any crazier…they do.

  Standing on my back doorstep obviously waiting for me to come home was Tish and Manny Souza’s daughter Shelley. “Liz. At last. I’ve been waiting about twenty minutes. Oh sorry, that sounded terrible. I mean, no reason you shouldn’t be gone when I come to your house. Oh, I am blabbering here.”

  Aware that usually happy-go-lucky Shelley was obviously uncharacteristically upset and shaking I quickly opened the door and guided the teenager to a chair at the kitchen table. Plugging in the kettle I looked back at Shelley who was tearing a paper napkin into tiny bits and creating a pile that would make a fine bonfire for a mouse. Neither of us said anything until the hot sweet tea was served.

  “Drink it up, Shelley; it’ll relax you.”

  “Sorry about being so impolite outside. Ma would give me what for if she knew.”

  “Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me.” I smiled, hoping to put her more at ease.

  “It’s this thing. This ugly thi
ng that scared the living hell out of me when I was picking spinach and chard in my Dad’s garden. It was just sticking up, like pointing at me. Ugh.”

  She pulled a piece of paper towel out of her canvas L.L. Bean bag and pushed it quickly across the table to me as if it burned her fingers. My first reaction was to let it sit there unopened, forever. However, knowing Shelley wanted me to see what she’d found, I proceeded to look inside. “Oh.”

  “Right. Damn thing nearly knocked me on my ass. What the heck is it, Liz?”

  Before I could answer, Shelley said, “It’s a damned finger, isn’t it? So what was a finger doing in the vegetable garden? Did my Dad plant it there? I don’t think so.” Despite our mutual disgust and surprise at sitting with a whitened finger bone between us, we both began to laugh uproariously. A shock will do that.

  “But why did you bring this to me Shelley? You should take it to the police station.”

  “That’s what Mom and Dad said, but I’m not comfortable there. When I was young and dumb, two summers ago, I was picked up for carrying a six pack of beer to a beach party and since then, I’d rather not deal with the cops. Mom suggested that I bring it to you because you are working on the Edwin Snow case. She assumed you are also working on the bones case. Mom said that you are the smartest person around.”

  “Please thank your mother for her confidence in me. Yes, definitely a phalange.”

  “Yuck, you mean it’s a man’s…not a finger?”

  “No. No, I mean a finger.”

  “Oh ya. That’s a lot better. I really thought you meant….” Shelley blushed. “So, now that a mysterious dead person has given us the finger, what do we do?’

  Our laughter served to lighten the heaviness of a reality I was not prepared to deal with. Not wanting to upset Shelley any further, I simply offered to deliver the skeletal finger to the police station.