Deadly Clementine Page 4

  “The same.”

  “Which is why you are visiting everyone.”

  “I just popped in to have a quiet word with Mrs Saunders, that’s all.”

  “You were trying to find out if she saw you enter the house this morning.”

  “No.”

  “Oh, I think you were,” Moss corrected smoothly. “But one has to wonder why.”

  “Why what?”

  “Why you need to find out what Mrs Saunders has seen? What do you intend to do now that the Captain and myself have seen you?” Moss challenged.

  “I have nothing to hide.” Clementine hated the way he was studying her far too closely to be polite. “Do you know, from your tone one would be inclined to think that you suspect I had something to do with Sally’s death?”

  “Well, you were the last one to see her alive,” Moss replied with a nonchalant shrug.

  “That doesn’t mean I had anything to do with her death. She died of natural causes apparently.” It wasn’t until she had finished talking that Clementine realised how much the fading of her voice when she had finished her sentence sounded like uncertainty.

  “Did she give you that pertinent information? Mrs Saunders, that is? Did you ask her if she had seen you enter Sally’s house?””

  Clementine’s mouth fell open for a moment while she tried to summon up an answer. When she couldn’t think of anything to say, she snapped it closed again.

  “We were just chatting, all right?” Clementine gasped. “Is neighbourly concern a bad thing? She must have been upset to find her neighbour dead. I just wanted to see if she was all right. We were both discussing just how well Sally had been yesterday when we had both seen her alive.”

  “I would ordinarily be inclined to believe your protestations of innocence,” Moss warned hesitantly.

  Inwardly, a small voice was screaming at him to shut up before she slapped his face in outrage, but Moss wanted to keep goading her not least because he couldn’t forget just how furtive she had looked when she had left the house this morning. It looked suspicious even to him, and he didn’t live in the village and survive on gossip like the locals did, especially Mrs Saunders. Clementine was risking being the focus of some nasty gossip if she carried on hanging around the deceased woman’s residence like she was. Moss felt he had a duty to warn Clementine just how much of a risk she was putting herself in.

  Where this protective instinct toward her has come from God only knows, but I must do something.

  Clementine glared at him. “What do you mean ‘ordinarily’?”

  Moss had been a private investigator for what felt like all his life. He knew how people behaved, and Clementine was keeping secrets. For his own peace of mind, Moss had to find out what they were – all of them. Then he could decide if he was ever going to be able to walk away from Miss Clementine Marlborough and forget about her, or if he had to do something about this driving need to be with her.

  Preferably before it drives me out of my mind with worry.

  Moss leaned toward her until his lips brushed her ear. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper. “I know you are lying.”

  When he drew breath, the delicate scent of roses teased his nose. It reminded him of warm summer sunshine and made him want to step closer and savour every precious moment of the warmth it brought him. Instead, Moss forced himself to step back and allow her to resume her journey home.

  “A lady never lies,” Clementine snapped.

  “So, tell me what you were really up to in her house,” Moss urged.

  “I have told you. Tidying up.”

  “Why were you so furtive?”

  “You scared me, that’s all.”

  Moss was impressed by her ability to stick to her fabrications, regardless of the building evidence against her.

  “Why did you feel compelled to go and find out what Mrs Saunders saw?”

  “I just needed to see if she knew how long Sally was ill for after I left last night.”

  “Oh? Why would you want to know that then?”

  “Because it is highly unlikely that Sally would have suffered in silence. If there was one thing Sally was good at it was getting things done. It was part of the reason why she always oversaw the arrangements for the Autumn Fair. Sally was someone who always bustled and kept busy. If she felt ill, it is likely that she would have found Mrs Saunders and asked her to send for the doctor. It is odd that Sally didn’t yet managed to get upstairs.”

  “Upstairs?”

  Clementine nodded. “And back down again, while apparently too ill to send for a doctor. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  No. It didn’t, especially to Moss, who hadn’t got a clue what she was muttering about. Yes, it did seem odd, but that was no reason why Clementine should risk drawing the attention of scurrilous gossips who would be talking about Sally’s untimely death.

  “Now she is dead. I just don’t understand.” Clementine glared at him and sighed heavily when she saw the closed expression on Moss’s face. She knew that he thought she was going off on a wild tangent that was driven by her wayward feminine imagination. “Before you say it, I know that people die unexpectedly. We are all God’s children and can be taken from this mortal coil at any moment.”

  Moss grinned. “The vicar has been to see you.” It wasn’t a question.

  Clementine rolled her eyes. It was a little disconcerting just how seemingly at ease he had put her in such a short space of time. She was talking to Moss as she would her own father, and it was almost unheard of because men were often avoided if Clementine could manage it. The only other person she had ever felt herself able to be herself with had been Sally.

  “I am sorry,” Moss murmured when he saw Clementine’s sad look. He suspected she was thinking about her friend in her final hours. “I doubt anybody will know what Sally did in her final moments because nobody was there.”

  “But she got into her night-gown,” Clementine announced in frustration.

  Moss grinned. “So?”

  “At six o’clock in the evening?”

  “How do you know it was six o’clock in the evening? She could have gotten into her night-gown at, say, nine?”

  Clementine glared at him but mentally winced because she knew he was right. “I know you think I am a fool, but I know my friend’s normal routine. Sally always usually went to bed around ten o’clock. She made a point of always being home at nine, or eight in the winter, although what that extra hour was supposed to help was always beyond me. Anyway, Sally locked up the house, got into her night-gown and then made herself a night-time drink before she went to bed. She was always up with the cockerel because she liked to get her jobs done before most of the gossips were up and about. I think she wanted to avoid the gossips as much as she could. It is unlike Sally to get changed into her night-gown so early. Besides, there is another odd thing that I don’t understand.”

  “Oh?” Moss prompted when Clementine fell quiet and seemed to have forgotten he was there.

  Clementine looked up at him. “The clothing she wore yesterday is missing.”

  “Missing?”

  “They are nowhere to be found. I have checked. Mrs Saunders has confirmed Sally was in her night-gown and she didn’t see the clothing Sally wore yesterday either. It’s not in the house, Moss. What on earth could it mean? Who would take it and why? And before you ask, Mrs Saunders says that the undertaker didn’t take any of Sally’s clothing with him when he left.”

  “Why on earth would he do that?” Moss demanded around a huffed laugh he tried, and failed, to smother.

  Clementine glared at him. “To dress the body of course,” she snapped as if he was slow.

  Moss, duly chastised, coughed and squinted suspiciously at the house. Before he could speak, Clementine continued relaying the facts she had gathered.

  “There is no reason why Sally would throw her own clothing out, but it isn’t in that house where it should be.”

  Moss stopped walking and stared hard at
her. “Are you sure her clothing has vanished?”

  “It’s not the only thing. Come and see for yourself,” Clementine urged.

  Moss sighed, but Clementine was already marching back to Sally’s house. He caught up with her and shook his head in disbelief but didn’t stop her from leading him into the house and up the stairs to Sally’s bed chamber.

  “Yesterday, and last night, Sally was wearing a dark brown calico dress. Usually, and I know this because I used to come and check on the house when Sally went to visit her sister, Dotty, Sally kept her clothing that needed washing draped over the back of the chair in that corner, but there is nothing there.” Clementine pointed to the boots in the closet. “These are highly polished, agreed?”

  Moss struggling to hide his smile, duly nodded. He was, although would never admit it to Clementine, impressed with her deductive reasoning. He just didn’t think it stood a chance in Hell of proving anything untoward had happened to the unfortunate Sally Walcott. However, he patiently listened while Clementine poked around in Sally’s closet.

  “Sally always wore her boots like that. They were always so highly polished that you could see your face in them. She always took pride in her appearance. Now, what I don’t understand is this-” Clementine stopped talking while she rummaged in the closet and lifted out the wet ends of Sally’s cloak. “-Why would she then go out wearing her cloak but no boots?”

  “Maybe she used her cloak to pop out but kept her slippers on? Or went barefoot?”

  “But where would she go?”

  “How in the Hell should I know?” Moss cried, a little exasperated now. “She probably popped out to the garden for something. Does she have a cat? Might she have been out there trying to catch it? Did she fancy cutting herself some flowers?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, there you go then,” Moss sighed.

  “’There you go then’ what? It doesn’t explain where she might have gone in her night-gown and cloak but without boots.”

  Moss had to concede it sounded a little unusual, but he wasn’t prepared to allow Clementine to see he was starting to become a little suspicious as well.

  “Maybe she took her clothing to someone to wash for her and took ill on the journey home?”

  “Without her boots on,” Clementine snorted flatly.

  “She could have used some other footwear,” Moss suggested.

  “I have checked her shoes beside the back door. They are bone dry too.”

  “All right, I will accept that there are a few anomalies here, but that doesn’t even begin to prove that something sinister happened.”

  Clementine sighed and yanked open the cupboard beside the fireplace. “Sally would never leave a cloak in the cupboard to dry. Smell it. It is fusty already. Now look at the house. Does this cloak look like the work of someone as meticulous as Sally?”

  Moss closed his eyes and dug deep for his patience. He slowly eased the sodden cloak out of Clementine’s fingers, pushed it back into the cupboard and then closed the door.

  “Look, I will grant you that Sally’s death has come as a shock to everyone. However, what I would ask you to consider is that if Sally was ill, you don’t know what frame of mind she was in. She might have become confused in, say, the last hour of her life. She might have felt too ill to care. I mean, isn’t it human nature to look after oneself first, especially when you are not very well? Why would you give a damn if your cloak is a little wet if you are so seriously ill?”

  “That is more than a little wet,” Clementine countered. She pointed to the now closed closet door. “Where would any sane woman go in her night-attire and a cloak? Moreover, if she went out and got her clothing soiled, why would it not be draped in front of the fire in the kitchen or something – with this cloak? She was too ill to care, yet brought it upstairs and put it away rather than draping it over a chair in the kitchen where she died? Really?”

  Moss stared at her but had to concede again that she had a point there too. Still, he adamantly refused to acknowledge that to Clementine because he didn’t want to do, or say, anything that would feed her already active imagination.

  “It is not me. It isn’t my imagination. This just doesn’t add up. I knew as soon as the vicar told me where Sally had been found dead this morning that something was wrong. This isn’t like Sally. It isn’t like Sally to die so suddenly. She always had everything planned.” Clementine sucked in a breath when she realised her voice was more of a plaintive wail.

  “People don’t plan death, Clementine, not usually in any case,” Moss sighed. “You must consider that there is a rational explanation for everything, even situations like this. It seems odd at first, but I am sure that over the next few days whoever has her clothing will return it. Whoever was here this morning will make their presence here known. I am sure that it will all become clear in time. There is no sign of a struggle. There aren’t any broken windows or signs of her being attacked, are there?”

  “She had some sort of seizure,” Clementine told him.

  “Well, there you are then; a perfectly rational explanation,” Moss reasoned. “All sorts of illnesses cause seizures, you know. Who knows what happened to her? I doubt anybody will find out now seeing as she was all alone when she died.”

  “But-”

  Moss sighed when he saw the doubt on her face. “We aren’t going to know what kind of illness was behind that seizure. Do you think any doctor is going to explain the nitty-gritty details to you? What would you give him as your excuse for wanting to know about Sally’s personal medical problems? I can tell you now that he won’t thank you for trying to cast doubt on his professional diagnosis. He is a well-trained doctor whereas you are not.”

  He sighed when Clementine’s lip began to wobble. Even though she wasn’t looking at him, Moss knew her eyes were pooling with tears.

  “Look, I am sorry for the loss of your friend, but these things happen. Right now, I cannot see that a soggy cloak in a closet is any cause for alarm.” Moss tried to keep his tone soft but felt awful when Clementine hurried out of the room. With a sigh, he slowly followed her and eventually caught up with her at the kitchen door.

  “Why would someone come in this morning and tidy up?” Clementine whispered. “Someone else – a third party – was in this house this morning looking for something.”

  “While you were creeping around,” Moss reminded her crisply.

  “I wasn’t creeping around. I came to check that everything was all right and heard them in the kitchen.”

  “If you have nothing to hide, why didn’t you go into the kitchen to ask what the Hell they were doing in here?” Moss demanded.

  “How was I to know it wasn’t the killer?”

  “What killer?” Moss coughed and forced himself to lower his voice. “Please, God, tell me that you haven’t gone around this village asking foolish questions about people lurking around this house.”

  “I have just been to ask Mrs Saunders what Sally was wearing when she found her this morning,” Clementine cried.

  Now that Moss was asking questions, Clementine truly felt foolish for her allowing her wayward imagination to get the better of her. She wished now she hadn’t taken Moss into her confidence because it all sounded strange even to her.

  “How do you know that some other kindly citizen hasn’t come in here this morning and decided to tidy up and take Sally’s laundry for her as a kindly gesture to help this sister – Dotty?” Moss reasoned. “You don’t. Look, I know this was unexpected but things like this are perfectly normal.”

  “Not around here they aren’t,” Clementine challenged. She glared at him in frustration. “I should have known you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “It isn’t that I don’t want to believe you. I just know from experience that there isn’t enough evidence to go on to even get the doctor to reconsider his diagnosis. I am sorry, but there just isn’t.” Moss waved to the front door. “Shall we? While you are trying to find a reasonable and
sensible explanation for Sally’s death, looking for killers is not the answer. You are only drawing attention to your own furtive behaviour and risking being considered as behind Sally’s death. Don’t risk your reputation like that, Clementine.”

  “I have lived in this village all my life. People know me and know I would never do anything to hurt anybody.”

  “Except yourself.”

  “I have not done anything to myself,” Clementine countered.

  Moss leaned forward until they almost bumped noses. Clementine, who was at the front door, had nowhere to go and blinked owlishly up at him. To her disbelief, Moss dropped a soft, swift, and gentle kiss against her lips. It lingered briefly in a way that left her yearning for more while at the same time struggling to quell the fine tremors that coursed through her.

  “You have risked your reputation this morning. You are, my dear, alone in an empty house with a very eligible bachelor. Now, ordinarily, I would have no qualms about the villagers linking us together. However, my life is my work. I have no time or intention of getting embroiled in any romantic liaison, especially with someone like you,” Moss assured her firmly.

  Clementine tipped her chin up. She was thoroughly shocked that he should say such a thing to her, and humiliated that he had seen her attraction and rejected it. It made her tears sting even more, but no more so than the acute embarrassment that coursed through her.

  “I don’t believe I have ever given you any indication that I wish to indulge in a romantic liaison with you or anybody else for that matter. If I was ever that foolish, I certainly wouldn’t be attracted to someone like you,” Clementine whispered so fiercely that her breath came out in a soft hiss. “I am sorry for taking up so much of your time.”

  She remained quiet while she yanked the door open and stepped back to allow him through it. He paused on the step while she closed the door and locked it before leading the way back down the path and out onto the main street.

  “I shall bid you good day,” she muttered before she stomped angrily away.

  As she walked, Clementine repeatedly reminded herself that leaving the man behind was the wisest thing to do. It was best that she put Moss out of her mind and then forget about him for the rest of her life. Moses Banfield-Moss was arrogant, roguish, charming, saw far too much, was far too domineering, and had no interest in her. There was no reason she should give him another single momentary thought. She would never think about him again – ever.