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Of course, a young woman in Norway during the late nineteenth century can be a successful amateur sleuth, and goodness knows, Cornelia’s days are always more exciting when she can devote her time to resolving a local mystery.

Cornelia Gran is a dedicated daughter, friendly and kind; although, she has an exorbitant amount of curiosity. She devours Arthur Conan Doyle’s magazine articles and tries to follow the fictitious Sherlock Holmes’s investigative examples, but her fascination with solving puzzles always gets her into mischief.

Each morning, Cornelia reads the newspaper, looking for a conundrum to solve. Searching for clues—and then chronicling her discoveries—thrills her. She certainly finds those activities more entertaining than taking her grandmother’s advice and attending one Christmas ball after another in search of a husband.

But chaos and danger turn Cornelia’s quiet days upside down when her attempt to find information about the owner of a nearby abandoned cottage takes her into dangerous territory. As winter winds rattle the windows and swirl snowdrifts against the doors, she faces off with a ghost, gets in trouble with the police, and finds herself staring down danger without thinking of the consequences. In the middle of it all, she meets Simon and is captivated by his charm, good looks, and personality.

Meanwhile, a real killer is after her, and he won’t stop until he gets information she doesn’t have! Christmas, with all its cheery festivities, hygge, and family traditions, has never been more threatened. Cornelia must call on all her investigative skills, not only to stop the ruination of her family’s holiday, but also to make certain Simon and his aunt keep what belongs to them. And maybe, just maybe, the amateur sleuth will discover the meaning of true love.

Set in a fictitious town in Norway in 1891, this cozy historical mystery is perfect for those who enjoy curious and determined women sleuths, clean and wholesome romance, and the discovery of buried secrets in an abandoned house.

Our home is on an island an hour south of Oslo, Norway, but every summer we hop in the car and drive seven and a half hours north to Trondheim. There, in the countryside, we have a family cabin, nestled on the hillside close to the farm where my husband’s mother grew up.

I’ve been on countless hikes there, strolling on the scenic gravel road overlooking the fjord below and mountains in the distance. A few minutes down the way is an old yellow house. It’s clearly abandoned. No one lives there anymore. The silent structure is desolate and neglected, empty of people talking, laughing, working, and living. The painting is peeling off the outside walls, some of the windows are broken, and the garden is overgrown. The floorboards would creak and most likely break if you stepped inside. The whole scene is eerie, giving it a haunted atmosphere.

Whenever I see one of these types of houses or barns, I wonder who lived there. Why did they leave? Why hasn’t anyone else moved in and maintained the house and property?

I asked my husband.

“Two older sisters used to live there,” he said. “I have no idea what happened to them.”

This background gave me the idea for the story in Whispers in the Snow.

I gave it some thought. I wanted to write a historical romantic mystery novella, preferably set around the time of Christmas or New Year’s. The story should have a certain mystery that propelled the story forward, a fun-loving, curious heroine in her mid-twenties, some interesting characters around her, a handsome fellow to fall in love with, several horrible villains, a ghost, and snow… I love snow. I adore dogs, too, and knew I needed one to accompany the heroine when she was out walking in the dark. Enter Vickie, a beautiful collie. And where should this story take place? It had been a while since I wrote a book situated in Norway, so I placed my heroine in a made-up town that resembles the one I live in.

As I started my research and began building Cornelia’s (our heroine) personality, it turned out she was totally fascinated with the fictive detective Sherlock Holmes. British physician and writer Arthur Conan Doyle wrote the first short story about Holmes in 1887, a revolutionary and exciting addition to literature’s crime fiction. Cornelia devours the stories and tries to write some herself. For inspiration, she searches the local newspaper every day to find mysteries she can solve. I had fun discovering that Cornelia’s grandmother is much the same, except she is older and wiser…but only a bit.

The next part of plotting was finding a believable crime. I spent a lot of time researching the probability of the reason for the murder, but I won’t talk about that here, as that’s for the reader to discover. There’s an explanation about the background in the Author’s Note in the back of the book.

By 1891, six pieces about Holmes had been published in the Strand Magazine and since that coincided with the time for the crime I had chosen, the era for the novella was pinpointed to the end of the nineteenth century…December 1891, to be exact.

I have studied clothing history at the university and love to delve into what gowns, coats, hats, fabrics, and colors my characters are wearing. The end of the 1800s saw many fashion changes. Dresses changed dramatically every decade, sometimes every five years.

Whispers in the Snow talks less about their clothes than some of my other books, but in one scene Cornelia’s grandmother takes her to the seamstress to have a ball gown made. Fashion is fun, but more important are the characters’ personalities, what they believe in, and why they act the way they do.

Whispers in the Snow is what the description says, a romantic mystery…even cozy, if you want. I enjoyed writing about curious and lovely Cornelia, how she never gives up, and the way she defies problems and dangers to help the people she cares about. I’m sure this is not her last mystery. If she reminds me often enough, I may give her another one to solve. 

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Until next time, may your reading bring both light and encouragement.

Happy reading!
~ Danielle.