“Sally always wore her boots like that. They were always so highly polished that you could see your face in them. She always took pride in her appearance. Now, what I don’t understand is this-” Clementine stopped talking while she rummaged in the closet and lifted out the wet ends of Sally’s cloak. “-Why would she then go out wearing her cloak but no boots?”
“Maybe she used her cloak to pop out but kept her slippers on? Or went barefoot?”
“But where would she go?”
“How in the Hell should I know?” Moss cried, a little exasperated now. “She probably popped out to the garden for something. Does she have a cat? Might she have been out there trying to catch it? Did she fancy cutting herself some flowers?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, there you go then,” Moss sighed.
“’There you go then’ what? It doesn’t explain where she might have gone in her night-gown and cloak but without boots.”
Moss had to concede it sounded a little unusual, but he wasn’t prepared to allow Clementine to see he was starting to become a little suspicious as well.
“Maybe she took her clothing to someone to wash for her and took ill on the journey home?”
“Without her boots on,” Clementine snorted flatly.
“She could have used some other footwear,” Moss suggested.
“I have checked her shoes beside the back door. They are bone dry too.”
“All right, I will accept that there are a few anomalies here, but that doesn’t even begin to prove that something sinister happened.”
Clementine sighed and yanked open the cupboard beside the fireplace. “Sally would never leave a cloak in the cupboard to dry. Smell it. It is fusty already. Now look at the house. Does this cloak look like the work of someone as meticulous as Sally?”
Moss closed his eyes and dug deep for his patience. He slowly eased the sodden cloak out of Clementine’s fingers, pushed it back into the cupboard and then closed the door.
“Look, I will grant you that Sally’s death has come as a shock to everyone. However, what I would ask you to consider is that if Sally was ill, you don’t know what frame of mind she was in. She might have become confused in, say, the last hour of her life. She might have felt too ill to care. I mean, isn’t it human nature to look after oneself first, especially when you are not very well? Why would you give a damn if your cloak is a little wet if you are so seriously ill?”
“That is more than a little wet,” Clementine countered. She pointed to the now closed closet door. “Where would any sane woman go in her night-attire and a cloak? Moreover, if she went out and got her clothing soiled, why would it not be draped in front of the fire in the kitchen or something – with this cloak? She was too ill to care, yet brought it upstairs and put it away rather than draping it over a chair in the kitchen where she died? Really?”
Moss stared at her but had to concede again that she had a point there too. Still, he adamantly refused to acknowledge that to Clementine because he didn’t want to do, or say, anything that would feed her already active imagination.
“It is not me. It isn’t my imagination. This just doesn’t add up. I knew as soon as the vicar told me where Sally had been found dead this morning that something was wrong. This isn’t like Sally. It isn’t like Sally to die so suddenly. She always had everything planned.” Clementine sucked in a breath when she realised her voice was more of a plaintive wail.
“People don’t plan death, Clementine, not usually in any case,” Moss sighed. “You must consider that there is a rational explanation for everything, even situations like this. It seems odd at first, but I am sure that over the next few days whoever has her clothing will return it. Whoever was here this morning will make their presence here known. I am sure that it will all become clear in time. There is no sign of a struggle. There aren’t any broken windows or signs of her being attacked, are there?”
“She had some sort of seizure,” Clementine told him.
“Well, there you are then; a perfectly rational explanation,” Moss reasoned. “All sorts of illnesses cause seizures, you know. Who knows what happened to her? I doubt anybody will find out now seeing as she was all alone when she died.”
“But-”
Moss sighed when he saw the doubt on her face. “We aren’t going to know what kind of illness was behind that seizure. Do you think any doctor is going to explain the nitty-gritty details to you? What would you give him as your excuse for wanting to know about Sally’s personal medical problems? I can tell you now that he won’t thank you for trying to cast doubt on his professional diagnosis. He is a well-trained doctor whereas you are not.”
He sighed when Clementine’s lip began to wobble. Even though she wasn’t looking at him, Moss knew her eyes were pooling with tears.
“Look, I am sorry for the loss of your friend, but these things happen. Right now, I cannot see that a soggy cloak in a closet is any cause for alarm.” Moss tried to keep his tone soft but felt awful when Clementine hurried out of the room. With a sigh, he slowly followed her and eventually caught up with her at the kitchen door.
“Why would someone come in this morning and tidy up?” Clementine whispered. “Someone else – a third party – was in this house this morning looking for something.”
“While you were creeping around,” Moss reminded her crisply.
“I wasn’t creeping around. I came to check that everything was all right and heard them in the kitchen.”
“If you have nothing to hide, why didn’t you go into the kitchen to ask what the Hell they were doing in here?” Moss demanded.