A Deadly Snow Fall (17 page)

“No kidding. A real human leg bone. What was
your aunt up to? Well, I suppose it does cause one to surmise about
what she did with difficult guests.” Daphne was enjoying our
gruesome find entirely too much. I gave her a look of disdain, but
she simply grinned like a fool.

“So what happens next?” Daphne asked James,
ignoring me entirely. “Do the police send out an all-dogs roundup
bulletin until they manage to put together a complete skeleton? By
the way, are we talking about a really, really old bone like from a
Pilgrim or an Indian ah, pardon me, indigenous person?”

“No, it’s only about sixty years old, Daph,”
James answered my whacky friend in his usual kindly, patient
way.

Daphne turned her attention back to me to
deliver her take on the bone-in-the-garden question. “Hey, if your
Aunt Libby was a murderess, the Lizzy Borden of P’town, she might
have killed guests she took a disliking to. Or, maybe anyone who
didn’t appreciate her cooking. You could use this to your
advantage, Liz. People love that kind of stuff. Millions flock to
walk through the famous Lizzy Borden house in Fall River. Money in
the bank, girl.”

Despite my best effort to hold back Mary
Malone’s inference of something unworldly in the Snow mansion, I
couldn’t help but wonder just what had gone on at the inn in the
past. Something had happened between my Aunt Libby and Edwin Snow.
A “dirty trick” as Mary had called it. The question was, was there
a connection between the dirty trick and the leg bone planted in
the garden.

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 African 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.”