Deadly Clementine

“How are you doing, Captain, sir?” Moss grinned.

“All right – for now,” the Captain replied a little dourly. He lifted his brows. “She came to see you then.”

Moss nodded. “I take it you believe her?”

The Captain lifted his brows at him, but it was the knowing look in his eye that unnerved Moss the most.

“There has been another one,” Moss murmured when he saw the look on the Captain’s face.

“What of it, eh? What, or rather who, do you think is behind it?”

“Another seizure?” Moss asked, almost dreading the answer.

The Captain nodded. “Was found this morning, as a matter of fact.”

Moss felt a little sick. “Woman or man?”

“Woman. Another committee member,” the Captain replied.

“The fair’s committee?” Moss closed his eyes when the Captain nodded. “Good God.”

“It isn’t wayward suspicion, or idle gossips going wild with speculation,” the Captain assured him. “Something damned odd is going on only that idiot who calls himself a doctor, who couldn’t find his stethoscope if it had a label written on it by the way, won’t hear a word of it. He can identify a dead body but only if it sits around for a while. The man is a bloody buffoon, and I don’t mind who hears me say that. Him, and that coward who considers himself a magistrate, are both useless.”

“Coward?” Moss asked weakly.

“Olley is a magistrate who is too damned scared to go out after dark,” the Captain snorted. “He always sends his men who come and do his duty for him. The fool doesn’t bother to come out himself. Oh no. He is too busy, he says. It’s his job, but he won’t do it. It is unsurprising that one of the villagers has gone loopy and decided to kill everyone. They probably think there is no chance the magistrate will even bother to try to look for them, much less arrest them.”

“It’s probably too much peace and quiet that has sent them potty,” Moss growled with a disgusted look at the empty streets about them.

“There is nothing wrong with country living,” the Captain snapped, affronted at Moss’s clear dislike of the place. “It wouldn’t do you any harm for you to learn to enjoy country life a little. You won’t be able to do your job forever, you know. The old bones will catch up with you one day, and that is for definite.”

Moss sighed but didn’t argue. His ‘old bones’ had already started to catch up with him and he was only two and thirty. It was inevitable that he would be unable to lurk around in the dark, in all sorts of weather, in search of career criminals who liked to work in the night when most decent people were tucked up safely in their beds. Right now, though, being a private detective was his life.

As is Clementine, apparently.

So much so, just as soon as Clementine had left his house, Moss had found himself unable to concentrate on the investigation he should be doing. All he could think about was how right Clementine had looked sitting in his parlour. How melodic her voice had been when she had told him about the odd happenings in the village. How much he wanted her to stay while at the same t

ime he wanted to open the door and shove her out of it so he could pretend she hadn’t been there. She had, without doubt, turned his life upside down once more, and left him staring thoughtfully into space while thinking about her – again.

It was only when the Captain coughed that Moss realised that he was doing just that, thinking about her – again.

“The latest victim was a committee member as well?”

The Captain, with a somewhat knowing twinkle in his eye, nodded. “Three members of the committee have now died. I wouldn’t have sent her to you if they were just random villagers. I thought you might like to know that the committee are dying fast, and it is feasible to consider that she might be next.”

“There is nothing to indicate that she might be.” It was really a question.

“Not yet, if you ignore the fact that she is on the committee of the damned.”

“What are the locals saying?”

“They are looking at the committee members who are left and wondering who is next,” the Captain reported.

“Who is left?”

The Captain squinted off into the distance. “There is Clementine, of course. The farmer’s daughter, Elaine. Mrs Kinnerton who has an odd tendency to wail and weep at practically everything. Mr Smorsley is still standing. I have to confess that I have wondered how.”

“How what?”