A Deadly Snow Fall by Cynthia Gallant-Simpson

it is, James?
It’s eleven-twenty.”
    “Actually I do not know what century it is.
And, I don’t give a damn. Come up here woman and let me kiss you
properly before it is eleven twenty-one.” I moved up so that our
noses touched. Then our lips. Like sipping from a honeycomb.
    James’s stomach let out a great, leonine
growl that said it all. So we headed for the kitchen. “How about
pancakes, James? I’ve got a great recipe for cornmeal and cranberry
pancakes and a few days ago I made a batch of hazelnut maple
syrup.”
    “I’ve not only slept on a cloud with an angel
but she cooks, as well. I must have been very, very good this
year.” He kissed the tip of my nose and went scouting through the
cupboards looking for mugs. “I also cook. Have I told you that,
fair maiden? I have secret recipes to share. However, you will need
to keep me around to learn them all.”
    Oh yes, I said to myself. You, James Finneran
are definitely a keeper.
    Digging our way through a pile of pancakes
and two pots of coffee, sated and happy, we sat in my sunny
kitchen. I told James about my plans for up-dating the
old-fashioned space and how I was toying with the idea of perhaps
giving some cooking classes come winter. He heartily approved.
    Finally, I knew that I had to be honest with
the lovely man. Keeping secrets from him would only endanger our
chances of a future together.
    “James I have a confession to make. Perhaps
you’d like a stenographer present for this.” I smiled and he
cringed.
    “I knew it, my Mam warned me about vixens
like you. So, you’ve got yourself a husband back in jolly old
England. Perhaps a brood of little blighters, as well. Here it
comes, get ready, James. I finally found the perfect woman and
she’s a fraud. Mam was right, I must return immediately to Ireland
and find me a nice local girl with eight ways to cook
potatoes.”
    “James, I can cook potatoes fifteen ways. Not
to worry. And, there is no husband and not a single blighter. Just
a suggestion. Since we….mesh so well. I thought we might consider
working as a team on this case. We both believe Edwin Snow III was
murdered but how and why, that’s what remains to be discovered.
    James’ face flashed through an assortment of
reactions; relieved, deeply thoughtful, briefly doubtful and then,
what I’d been hoping for--agreeable. Also, something more but at
that moment I chose not to explore that last fleeting emotion
because if we were going to work together better not to muddle
things with that particular feeling, just yet. Quickly, James
returned to the business at hand.
    “The old man, Ned Snow, Edwin’s father, put
families out in the cold but he always had the law on his side. He
knew just how far he could go and still be within the bounds of the
law. A slick bugger. The son did not follow in his father’s
“professional” footsteps, and I use the term disparagingly in this
context, but instead Edwin was headed on a course toward medical
school. Learned that from the dusty folders. When he showed up back
in Provincetown and just never left, everyone was shocked and
confused. Probably even disappointed. The boy had always been
trouble. He was rich, privileged and never had any supervision. Old
Ned left him to grow up like a wily weed after his mother died.
Well, she died at his birth. Stands to reason the boy grew up mean
and nasty. No one to love him and rear him and steer him onto the
path of proper behavior.”
    “Do you think someone he knew when he was
young killed him?”
    “It has crossed my mind that maybe the
offspring of someone cheated out of house and land might have
exploded with the need for revenge. Stranger things have happened.
Family grudges have a life of their own, sometimes.”
    “That’s good, James. Yes, maybe. Tish told me
about Rosita Gonzales who left him at the altar. Should we try to
find her, do you think? If she’s alive.
    “That’s right. Tish and Manny bought the
Gonsalves’ store. Their daughter