Deadly Clementine

“They are harvesting. I suppose it is a busy time of year,” Clementine reminded him.

“I would check she is going to be able to meet with you tomorrow then,” Cameron suggested.

With a shrug, Clementine went to fetch her boots and cloak and, after a brief goodbye to her father, let herself out of the house. The village hall was the last place she wanted to go but she really had no choice, not least because she felt it a moral duty to ensure that someone took over Sally’s hard work. It seemed wrong, especially after all the work Sally had put into the event, that the first fair after her death should not be as good as it would have been had Sally organised it. As far as Clementine was concerned, it should be a r

esounding success in commemoration of a recently deceased organiser.

“I really need to think of something other than this fair, Sally, and Moss,” Clementine warned herself.

“Hello.”

Clementine gasped and clutched a hand to her thundering heart when a young lad of about twenty jumped out of the hedge and appeared in her path.

“Oh, hello, Brian. How are you?” Clementine asked noncommittally. She tried to edge around the young man, hoping that he would disappear as quickly as he had appeared. He didn’t. He fell into step beside her instead.

“I say, have you heard the latest news?” Brian asked after a moment or two.

“You know that I don’t indulge in gossip,” Clementine chastised. With a sigh, she knew she was going to ask what news he had, though. “What have you heard, Brian?”

“Mrs McGaffney is dead.”

Clementine slammed to a stop in the middle of the pavement. She went from hot to cold while she started to tingle from head to foot. “What?”

Brian nodded.

Clementine began to shake her head. “I think you have that wrong. Mrs McGaffney has just been to Sally Walcott’s funeral. With me. This morning. She was in fine fettle. I just spoke to her less than an hour ago for God’s sake.”

Brian shook his head. “Well, she is dead now.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“She was at the funeral this morning.”

“Just now,” Brian expanded.

“How?”

“Seizure.”

“Where?”

“At home.”

“Who found her?”

“Neighbour.”

“Just?”

“Yes.”

“A seizure, did you say?” Clementine asked weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Brian nodded, his small brow eyes alight with a morbid glee at being the first to break the news to her. Of course, he made no bones about adding the gory details.

“Apparently, she was found face down on the kitchen floor with froth oozing from her mouth. It was clear she had gone. That old woman who lives next to her came running out, screaming and pulling her hair. Caused a right ruckus, she did.”