Deadly Clementine

Clementine, oblivious to his thoughts, led the way to the door and missed the searching look Moss gave her and then Elaine. She was too busy contemplating the growing awkwardness she began to feel toward her friend. Clementine had no idea what had caused it but, for the first time since she had met Elaine, she felt a gulf of difference between them. It was something she didn’t want to contemplate too closely because she wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to do anything to narrow it again.

There, I have acknowledged it now. I don’t care about this gulf of difference between us stays.

What was concerning was that Clementine couldn’t understand why she should feel that way. Elaine had always been a part of the village, although as children they hadn’t spent

much time together. Clementine was the only daughter of a merchant banker who had inherited a fortune from a distant cousin and retired to the countryside at a relatively early age. Her family had always been able to afford a reasonably comfortable lifestyle but without the luxuries the extremely wealthy could afford. In contrast, Elaine was the second of five daughters of a farmer who barely managed to provide for his family. While cheerful, and always willing to help others, money had always been short and hand-me-downs plentiful. Still, Clementine and Elaine had still forged a friendship that had stood their transition to early adulthood. As young ladies of two and twenty and four and twenty respectively, they had plenty in common and enjoyed simply having a natter occasionally with someone in their own age group.

Until now.

Now, Clementine sidled closer to Moss and wondered if she might just be needing to leave her childhood behind. Elaine certainly seemed to be trying to by rather dubiously attempting to take over the running of the Fair Committee.

Maybe I am trying to help Moss with this investigation?

“Are you all right?” Moss asked her gently as he held the door open for her to precede him out of the room. He had been watching the interplay of emotions on Clementine’s face and knew she was trying to understand why her friend was so grumpy. “Denial helps people cope with situations they don’t understand or can’t cope with. To deny something is happening keeps life normal and delays them having to face something they find upsetting or troubling in some way. Many people won’t stop to accept that there is anything unusual happening until someone finds evidence and presents it. Elaine is probably scared. She will be fine in time.”

Clementine nodded. She offered him a smile because when couched in those terms it was truly understandable that Elaine would brush off the prospect of a murderer living in the village. If she did stop to accept it was possible, she would have to acknowledge that her life would be dramatically restricted by her father, fair or not, and the village would not be able to operate in a way that everyone was comfortable with.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Where are we going?” Clementine asked quietly when Moss led her past the end of the road that would take her home.

“I think we need to pay another visit to Sally Walcott’s house, don’t you?”

“I thought you said I should stay away from there?” Clementine gasped, shocked that he would allow her anywhere near the place.

“I did, didn’t I?” Moss grinned but without changing his stride.

Clementine rolled her eyes but didn’t object. She was thrilled that he was including her to this extent. She carefully ignored the niggling voice that warned her he was only allowing her to go so he could be certain that she was safe.

Moss held his elbow out for her. His smile widened when Clementine readily took it. Together, they began to amble casually down the road. For all intents and purposes, they were an ordinary couple taking a stroll, but Moss was aware of some of the villagers peeking out of their windows at them as they passed. Moss didn’t care who saw them so long as people began to link Clementine to him, a private investigator. He knew her connection to him would make Clementine safer. Of course, he didn’t tell Clementine that, not least because she looked decidedly pretty on his arm and was as relaxed about their open display of togetherness as he was.

Moss swiftly blanked out the small nagging voice that asked him if there might be a more personal reason for him to want everyone to know she was spoken for. It felt as if he was making some sort of possessive statement to any potential suitor who might have her in their sights, but he didn’t care. He was possessive about the woman on his arm, and protective. More so now that he had gotten to know her a little better.

Eventually, they reached Sally Walcott’s house. Moss eyed the front façade of the house as they walked past it, but they didn’t stop, not until they reached the narrow path which ran along the end of the gardens. It wasn’t really a path; it was just a grove worn into the field that bordered the gardens. Still, it gave them a clear route to the back of the property, and the oak tree where Clementine had watched the intruder with the Captain.

“Where were you with the Captain when you saw the intruder?” Moss whispered.

“Standing over here,” Clementine replied. She led the way to the secluded spot beneath a huge oak tree and waited.

Moss studied the house, but all was as he would expect; still and quiet. At his insistence, they made their way around the edge of the garden, all the while studying the houses on either side of Sally’s garden, but no curtains twitched, and nobody appeared in the shadows of the windows. Consequently, they reached the back door unchallenged, and let themselves into the house using the key Moss had tucked into his pocket.

“Well, that was easy enough,” he mused as he closed the back door and studied the neat kitchen before them.

“It’s so quiet and cold,” Clementine whispered.

Moss didn’t answer. He was studying the kitchen. It was as he would expect it to be; neat and tidy, clean and scrubbed, and ready for its owner. Unfortunately, the owner was never coming back, and that gave the room a somewhat eerie feel of abandonment that left him on edge.

Or maybe that eerie feel is caused by the fact that something is wrong with this house.

With a heavy scowl Moss studied the room. His gaze slid over the dresser, but apart from a few knick-knacks, nothing was disturbed. Quietly, he ambled through each room of the lower floor anyway, but each room he found was the same.

“There is nothing in the way of clues,” he sighed. “That is what’s wrong.”

“Pardon?”

Moss looked at her. “There are no clues. Someone has made sure there are no clues.”

“Is that why he keeps coming back?”