Deadly Clementine

“I didn’t realise we had an appointment,” Moss continued, eyeing her cold expression with caution.

Clementine mentally winced but then instantly chastised herself for feeling guilty. Given what she had just heard, he should be the one who felt bad – for his rudeness.

A pain in the proverbial indeed.

“We don’t, Mr Banfield-Moss,” she replied crisply, aware of his dislike of his name.

There, I hope it annoys you, she thought spitefully.

“Moss, please,” Moss replied firmly, struggling to keep his impatience out of his voice.

He made his way over to the fireplace, but rather than take a seat in the high-backed chair opposite hers, Moss stood with one booted foot on the fender and one elbow braced on the mantle. He then lifted an arrogant brow in her direction.

“How can I help you? My offices are next door. Did you not know?”

“I know,” Clementine replied. “I have come here under the advice of our mutual friend, Captain Humphries. He said it might be best if I called upon you at your home seeing as you were likely to be working on one of your investigations.”

Clementine removed a small folded piece of paper from her bag and handed it to him. Moss eyed it warily before he reluctantly ventured closer and took it off her. The alternative was ignoring it and leaving her holding it aloft like a candle in the night.

“Captain Humphries has gone to visit his cousin,” he replied.

“He left the note with me before he left.”

Moss opened the notepaper and skipped over the words the Captain had jotted to him, essentially telling him to hear her out.

Because the Captain knows I am likely to send her on her way.

“So, what is this ‘issue’ the Captain seems to think you need my help with?” Moss asked quietly. He re-folded the notepaper and dropped it onto the mantle at his elbow before looked at Clementine one more. Moss struggled to hide the instant well of attraction that threatened to bubble over. She looked so beautiful that he struggled to focus on why he was supposed to be getting rid of her.

“People around me are dropping dead,” Clementine began with all the seriousness of someone who truly believed she was stating fact and not making wild allegations.

Moss smirked. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“I beg your pardon?” Clementine glared at him. She wanted to slap him, not least because she was being honest, and all he could do was laugh. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Moss smiled. “We are back to all that foolishness about the wet cloak at Sally Walcott’s, aren’t we? I confess that I cannot explain why Sally’s clothing has vanished. It is likely that she changed and put her soiled clothing away somewhere you couldn’t find them, or a friend took them, or something. Without searching through all of Sally’s belongings, neither of us are likely to ever find out. I have made enquiries with the doctor since we last met and have been assured by him that Sally’s death was natural. Believe me, Sally Walcott’s death was not murder.”

“Really.” Clementine brushed ineffectually at her skirt.

“Yes, really.”

“So, how do you account for two further deaths?” Clementine asked coldly. “I suppose there is nothing odd about them also dying unexpectedly, having a short, seemingly unexplained, illness. Maybe it is just coincidence that they are all on the Autumn Fair committee, and all died within two weeks of each other? Maybe you could explain how three seemingly otherwise unconnected people all die of the same seizure?”

“There have been more deaths?” It wasn’t a statement. Moss straightened.

“Mrs McGaffney was going to take over the chair of the committee seeing as Sally, our chairwoman, died. We, the Fair Committee, were due to meet on the day of Sally’s death. You know, onwards and upwards and all that, but then Mrs McGaffney returned home from the funeral, probably to change or something. One of the neighbours heard her cry out. When they went to see if she was all right, they found Mrs McGaffney dead on her kitchen floor. It appears that she also died unexpectedly from a mystery seizure. But maybe she died after choking on a stray bun or something, eh? But then, maybe, you should explain why Mr Richardson, who was also a healthy individual, would suddenly also die of a seizure not but a week later. He too had the misfortune of speaking to me the day before he died, but we shall dismiss it all just because you think I am some addle-brained female.”

“Was he on the committee?” Moss interrupted. “Mr Richardson?”

“No, but we cannot have everything can we? Two people dying on the same committee is not enough to make anybody suspicious, obviously.” Clementine pushed to her feet but was horribly upset that Moss still looked doubtful. “I am sorry to have wasted your time. I just thought that you should know how wrong you are to dismiss the unexplained death of Sally Walcott, and what your dismissal has meant for the two new victims. They have now lost their lives because nobody is prepared to do anything to find out what has caused these seizures. I am sorry to have wasted my time trying to explain it to you, but there you go. I thought you were a professional investigator. I am sure the Captain will understand your lack of willingness to accept facts, you not coming from a village and all. Good day to you.”

Clementine was positively trembling with temper as she marched unceremoniously to the door and closed it firmly behind her with a defiant click.

Moss blinked at the empty chair and then glanced blankly at the door. It took him a moment to realise that Clementine had gone. When it did filter into his conscious thought, Moss bolted for the door. He caught up with her just as she was about to yank open his front door.

“Wait!”

Clementine turned to face him. “I apologise for taking up your day. I am sure you will understand that I do not find anything dismissive about death. It appears I shall have to investigate this matter myself.”