A Deadly Snow Fall Read Online Free PDF

around, makes a few critical comments, and leaves.
However, never without saying under his breath, ‘They ought to go
back to Portugal where they came from.’ Hey, Manny is from New
Bedford and I’m from Quincy. The man is unstable and just plain
mean.”
    “Do you think he really is writing a book
about Granger the artist?”
    “Well, someone does and someone is mighty
upset by it, I’d say.”
    “Why do you say that, Tish?”
    I never heard her answer since the shop was
suddenly very busy. It was the day Manny put out the newest batch
of homemade Portuguese sausages and the rush was on. After all, not
only were the sausages terrific, but there was a finite supply
every Tuesday morning. They were always gone by noon. Later, I
joined the anxious throng, rising early on Tuesdays to be there
first.
    What Tish would have gone on to present as
evidence that someone was upset about Edwin’s real or imagined
book, Daphne filled me in on, a few days later at the scene of
Edwin Snow III’s fall into the snow. The man had been, if not
physically attacked, then at least, the victim of two attempts. The
cement block and the stone may have missed him but that did not
mean, necessarily, that he didn’t have an enemy out to get him.
Curiouser and curiouser
     
     

Chapter Five
     
    When I’d told my mother about my inheritance,
she was far from pleased. “But, Mother, you know I love the sea and
I can have a little sailboat and swim every day and I’ve always
wanted to live in a small village. In addition, I can finally put
to use those lovely cooking lessons from the Cordon Bleu. Owning
and running an inn really appeals to me.”
    My mother, Lady Gwendolyn, let out a loud
“harrumph” that travelled all the way from her townhouse in Holland
Park, London, across the wide ocean and into my ear like a
trans-Atlantic taser. I held the cell phone away from my head for
fear of hearing damage.
    I had put this off for days, but, finally, I
had no choice. The call to my parents to let them know that I was
beginning a new career had to be faced. I didn’t kid myself that
they would be pleased--particularly my patrician mother.
    “Sometimes I do believe that you are not my
child. Why must you do such a foolish thing as go into that
business (her tone might have been in response to my announcement
that I was driving a rubbish truck)? A subservient business.
Running an inn. Darling, you will be a servant. Does your trust
fund not provide enough for your needs, my darling? Tell me how
much you need and MaMa will send it. I have more than I need. Or
better yet by far, do come home and marry that lovely man who has
adored you since childhood, Cecil Bottomley. Have a few little ones
and learn to garden. But pleeeeze, darling, not commerce.”
    But, by then it was too late. I was settled
in and enjoying my new life as innkeeper. My aunt’s very capable
manager, a grad student in hotel management, Katy Balsam, had
quickly immersed me in learning the business when I arrived on a
lovely August day. The inn was full and the town was, as Katy
described it, “a zoo with all the animals un-caged and on the
rampage.” I rather liked the crush of tourists. They added a
carnival air to the little seaside village. Katy was an excellent
instructor. In fact, in the interim since my aunt had died she had
carried on so well, that, as she said, “I don’t mean to be
disrespectful Liz, but it seemed important to me to continue on
doing my job in such a way that the guests would never suspect that
Mrs. Huntley had checked out.”
    When Katy returned to school that first
autumn of my new career, leaving me in charge, I actually enjoyed
myself. Perhaps, if I’d known what was waiting for me in the not
too distant future, I might have run like a rabbit. But, maybe
not.
    That first winter, I put my own mark on the
inn. Never having painted a wall in my life I took on four
bedrooms, turning them from my aunt’s evidently favorite colors of
lilac and aqua