Deadly Clementine

“Mrs Kirkaldy?” Clementine whispered in disbelief. “Screaming and clutching her hair?”

“Well, she wasn’t screaming exactly,” Brian edged.

Aware that the young man had probably overdone the sordid embellishments, Clementine looked sceptically at him. “Mrs Kirkaldy can barely manage a quick shuffle. There is no way she would run out of her house. She is barely alive as it is.”

“Well, she waved the farmer down and told him. She was all a dither,” Brian shrugged. “Ask her if you don’t believe me.”

“Well, I can believe that she was all a dither at finding a dead body, but I cannot see Mrs Kirkaldy who, let’s face it, has to be about the slowest person in the village, to run anywhere, much less be overset by anything so much that she screams, or clutches her hair.” Clementine folded her arms and lifted a brow at the young man, who had the good grace to look a little sheepish. “Is Mrs McGaffney dead, or might she have just been resting on the floor or something?”

“Well, go and see for yourself if you don’t believe me. Oh, Mrs Riverton said she will see you at the meeting. Ta da.” Brian waggled his fingers at her before he dodged around her and hurried off.

Clementine turned to watch him go, not least to make sure he had gone before she turned her attention to what he had told her. She was no closer to knowing for definite if Mrs McGaffney was dead or she had just wasted the last several minutes of her life listening to a young man’s lies.

“God, that’s all I need,” Clementine whispered. “Another person I am due to go and visit to drop dead. People are going to start to think that I am cursed or something.”

She shuddered but decided that it was best to err on the side of caution and at least go to the village hall to see what the latest gossip was, and if indeed Mrs McGaffney was dead, before she decided what to do about it. Knowing how mischievous Brian could be, it could all be a figment of his imagination, dreamt up as a result of Sally’s death to try to get people worried. It was something he would laugh about.

“What if Mrs McGaffney is dead?” Clementine had no idea what she would do, but what she did know was that she was not going to get stuck with the organisation of the village fair. Absolutely not. Ever. It wasn’t possible, or even going to be contemplated briefly.

“Good morning,” she called to the ladies already in the village hall when she arrived several minutes later.

It was a relief to find them there, not least because there was at least some hope that Brian’s story had been nothing more than a fictional tale she could immediately dismiss. Clementine immediately willed herself to relax and removed her shawl, but as she was folding it up, slowed her movements until she almost too-carefully neatened the edges and placed it precisely on one of the chairs beside the door. Reluctantly, she turned to greet the women who were standing about aimlessly as if unsure whether to stay or not. When Clementine was met with a few murmured, half-hearted greetings, she knew instantly that Brian had been at least partially telling the truth. Something had happened.

“What is it?” she asked, even though she already knew.

“It is Mrs McGaffney, my dear,” Mrs Riverton whispered, a little dumbstruck. She crossed herself and slumped into a chair at the long table positioned in the centre of the room whereupon she set about fanning herself with a handkerchief.

“What about her?” Clementine felt compelled to ask, reluctantly playing along with the silly game of not knowing even though Brian had told her.

“Mrs McGaffney has died, my dear,” Mrs Kinnerton sniffed, even though there were no tears.

“She was just at the funeral,” Clementine whispered.

“So were we,” Mrs Riverton wailed theatrically.

“Oh, do get a hold of yourself, my dear. It will do you no good to get too upset,” Mrs Kinnerton snapped unsympathetically.

Thankfully, Elaine chose that moment to sail through the door and temporarily broke the noise of Mrs Riverton’s wailing.

“Good morning,” she called breezily. She busied herself by dropping her basket onto the bench beside the table and removing her shawl. It took her a moment to realise that there was a somewhat subdued atmosphere to the room this morning. It was only when she turned around to face that room that she paused.

“Elaine.” Clementine wasn’t at all sure what to say.

“What?” Elaine asked blankly without taking her eyes of a wailing Mrs Riverton.

“Have you heard?” Clementine asked.

“About Mrs McGaffney? Yes. I think the whole village has heard by now, don’t you think?” Elaine replied bluntly. “What are we going to do about the fair? At this rate there is going to be nobody left on the committee to organise it.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Mrs Riverton wailed again.

Clementine rolled her eyes and sighed. “I am sure she didn’t mean that we are in any danger.”

“So, you think we are too,” a now hysterical Mrs Riverton wailed.

“Oh, do shut that racket up. I can hear you halfway down the damned street, woman,” Mr Smorsley commanded when he stalked into the room. He slammed to a stop and threw a heavy scowl at the still seated Mrs Riverton before he removed his cap and rammed it into his pocket. He then turned to lift his brows at the rest of the room’s occupants. “Have you heard?”

“Yes,” everyone replied in a chorus of answers that made Mr Smorsley huff in annoyance. “I was only asking,” he muttered dourly.