Free A Deadly Snow Fall by Cynthia Gallant-Simpson Page A

suddenly on pins and needles. Agatha Raisin was
screeching inside my head and Miss Marple was sitting on my
shoulder, carpet bag in hand, advising me as to my next move. This
sleuthing business could be hard on the nerves.
     
    Next stop the Provincetown Police Station. I
jumped out of bed and quickly dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt.
I added a rust colored linen blazer to add a bit of professionalism
to the casual outfit. Maybe not right for the city but perfect for
the village. Having pulled my hair into a ponytail, I began to
think about the Irish cop with the great, sexy voice and pulled off
the elastic. I fluffed my newly trimmed and gently streaked,
“sun-kissed” Daphne’s hairdresser had said, shoulder length hair
and checked my eye makeup and lipstick. Subtle, soft, feminine but
with a definite edge that said, I am a serious minded woman in
search of answers. Hoping to, as the saying goes, kill two birds
with one stone, I set out for the Town Hall. I would ask some
questions pertaining to the Snow case and at the same time check
out Officer James Finneran. Oh, how I hoped he was not married,
covered in warts, had long, protruding canine teeth and was only
five foot three inches tall. Well, I had considered that he was a
leprechaun. Be careful what you wish for.
    The weather was the loveliest it had been in
weeks. The gentle, salt breeze off the harbor reminded me, as it
always did, of why I loved living there. Then, my mind slipped to a
day on the Thames when my history tutor and I boarded a river boat
to take the ride all the way to Greenwich. We were studying British
naval history and so we were off to view the Meridian and check out
the naval museum. A great plan that soon went awry.
    Boarding the boat in the shadow of Big Ben
with tourists from everywhere, I bought a little book telling the
story of how Greenwich Mean Time had been established. I remember
how it seemed odd to me that anyone could mess around with time.
Time just was, or so I thought until I read the edifying little
book.
    But the real high point was yet to come. Once
out on the water, the loquacious tour guide related funny and
historical stories about places we passed. I, however, had my eyes
on the water watching the things that floated by. The Thames is a
catch basin for everyday and also unspeakable things. This thing of
which I speak fell directly into the “unspeakable” category.
    After counting five wood planks, a broken
kitchen chair, a blonde wig and what appeared to be a child’s
stuffed Kermit the Frog toy minus its stuffing, a lumpy, plastic
bag awkwardly floated by. Sticking out of a hole in the bag and
gently “waving” at me as the passing boat wakes tossed it around,
was a hand. A human hand.
    The police boat was summoned and we all went
on our not so merry way. The day was ruined for all but one little
red-haired, freckle-faced American boy who kept asking his mother
if they could see the “friendly bag” again.
     
    The Provincetown Town Hall was quiet as I
stepped inside. Turning to my left, through the dust motes
highlighted by the tall window, I spotted the handsome Irish cop. I
took a deep breath. His dark rust-colored hair was a bit longer
than police regulations warranted but after all, it was an
unconventional village. I stood quietly watching him working at a
computer. Intent on his work, it took him a bit of time to realize
I was there. Turning toward me and rising, gentlemanly, I was
immediately aware that there was neither a wart nor a protruding
canine on view. Then, Officer James Finneran smiled. I thought only
silly women swooned!
    Now, I thought, if only he’s single and
available. My day was looking better and better. This sleuth stuff
was beginning to pay off. If I hadn’t become involved I’d probably
have had to get arrested to meet the gorgeous Irishman.
    “Excuse me, may I speak with you? Officer
Finneran, is it?”
    Turning toward me and grinning from ear to
ear, the handsome Irishman