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

responded in a deep, lilting brogue,
“Ah, as I live and breath, Ms. Ogilvie-Smythe, I presume. Unless me
granny’s talent for the knowin’ skipped me by.”
    I put out my hand hoping it would not betray
me by shaking. “I think we can proceed to Liz, Officer
Finneran.”
    “Delighted. And it’ll be James if you please,
just James. At last we meet. Sorry I didn’t know you were coming or
I’d have baked a nice Irish soda bread like me Granny always did
for drop-in folks.”
    My knees felt like jelly but I clamped them
together for better support. Get a grip Liz, I told myself; this is
not a cotillion and you’re not thirteen.
    “Sorry the place is a mess. But there’s
coffee and it’s not half bad.”
    “James, I wonder if you might be free to have
that coffee at the Green Genie? I’d like to speak to you in a more
private setting.” Looking around, I could see that there was not a
single other soul but the two of us and yet, something about the
walls of a police station felt like an environment of perpetual
eavesdropping.
    James nodded to me, walked over to a
partially open door and spoke to a woman he called, Mrs. Cannon.
“Mrs. Cannon, the Chief, I assume, will be along in a tick. So, if
you are not needing me, I’ll be stepping out for a bit.” Mrs.
Cannon’s response revealed that she’d been privy to our every word.
Perpetual eavesdropping. “Please bring me a nice cup of that lovely
Puerto Rican coffee Mamie is offering these days. Just black, dear.
Have a nice time.”
     
    We sat at a window table overlooking
MacMillan Wharf. It was a busy morning as fishing boats prepared to
go out on the in-coming tide. Unless the Green Genie was bugged by
the FBI, we could talk freely. James and I were the only ones
sitting to enjoy our drinks. Everyone else was a takeaway
customer--in and out again.
    Might as well get right to it. I looked James
right in the eyes and presented my question.
    “Despite the suicide verdict in the death of
Edwin Snow, is there any suspicion at all that he might have been
murdered?”
    James’ eyes did something that I later
learned to read. At rest, they were an amazing shade of azure with
a hint of the Irish green. When he was particularly intrigued, they
flashed with a king’s ransom worth of golden glints.
    “Liz, what I am about to reveal must stay
between us. At least, for the time being.”
    “You too have your doubts, don’t you,
James?”
    “Off the record, way off, I do believe that
the Chief chose to believe the man took his own life principally to
extinguish the volatility of the situation for townspeople.”
    “Do you mean that the Chief of Police might
be covering up what really happened to quell the town’s likely
reaction of turning on one another with accusations of murderer?”
My voice was edgy.
    James clicked back into professional cop
mode. He chose his words ever so carefully. I could almost hear his
mind whirring. In that stretch of weighty silence, rather than any
words he might have uttered, his concentration served to forge a
special bond between us. In those significant moments, our
partnership gelled like a nice, tangy, tomato aspic. I was not only
terribly attracted to the charming and handsome cop but I respected
him, as well. A perfect package.
    “The Chief is a saint of a man. He loves this
town like it was his child. Whatever reasons he had, and still has,
for his position in the Edwin Snow case, they are not for me to
question.”
    “Sorry, if I sounded accusatory and
disrespectful of the Chief, James. It’s just that, if Edwin Snow
was murdered, couldn’t that mean that we have a murderer running
free in the village?”
    “Liz, let’s look at this in another light.
This is a close-knit village. Everyone knows everyone else and
everyone’s dog. I suspect the Chief feels that this death, even if
it was murder, is unlikely to turn into a killing spree. For now,
best to let the dust settle and see what comes along.”
    “Does that