A Man for Clair: Secret of the Widow Mulvane (Mystery loves Romance Book 2)

by G. S. Bailey

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Should I pretend and cuddle up?” she whispered playfully. “Do you want me to?”

  “Um…” David had to think. “As much as I’d be into that, I think no. I wouldn’t want to upset her unnecessarily.”

  “Ahh—a gentleman,” Clair pondered. “Maybe I didn’t quite have you figured, Tarzan.”

  Cassie was too close for David to respond. “Hi, Cass.”

  Her eyes darted to the woman beside him and back a few times. “Hi,” she said, without stopping.

  David didn’t look back. He wondered if Cassie did. “Well?” he asked of Clair after a moment.

  Clair glanced back. “Well, David, she’s waiting to cross the road and looking at us.”

  Cassie was quite plain compared to Clair. David wasn’t that big on appearances and was more interested in other qualities, but it was simply true that Clair was significantly better looking.

  “She’s probably wondering who the hell you are,” he said with half a smile.

  “It was classy that you didn’t want to tease her, though,” Clair repeated.

  “Probably should have.”

  Clair looked back again. “No, that was better… Not knowing if you should be jealous really bites!”

  The impression David had formed as Clair stepped out of her car at the B&B the other day was of a refined, probably stuck-up city woman who knew how good she looked. The revelation that she was actually a stripper had come as a nice, intriguing surprise, not as a shock. Spending that morning with her dispelled the stuck-up bit of his original assessment. She was not pompous or arrogant, not in the slightest. She was more like the chick next door who was confident that she looked pretty good.

  They deposited the shopping bags in their rooms and continued their walk, down past the school, around the creek and the lower part of town. They arrived at the intersection where the widow’s driveway met the main road. It was a short climb from there to the overgrown entrance to the old house. The driveway was a gazetted road that ended at the gates of the Mulvane mansion and also serviced the ruined house next door.

  David pushed through a thicket of spikey shrubs that had claimed the driveway. Old wheel tracks were barely distinguishable in the sandy ground where they once curved around to the left of the house, toward the shared perimeter with the grounds of the mansion. The old house stood tall and narrow. It was a two storey weatherboard dwelling with a small porch and tiny cross-framed windows with most panes of glass smashed. The weatherboard was flaking dirty cream coloured paint and bare in places. There were flower boxes along the front that were full of dead grass, with some pink and red geraniums having survived the years of neglect.

  “Oh, my gosh. This is the house I dream about all the time,” Clair mumbled wistfully. “Except it’s not here. It’s in the city and my grandparents still live in it.”

  “So, they did live here!”

  “Must have, I guess.”

  David was testing the floorboards on the porch. “It looks safe enough.”

  He led the way with Clair following. The front door opened smoothly. It wasn’t locked and didn’t creak or anything. “I was expecting eeek,” he said, grinning back at Clair’s wide eyes gazing about.

  “This is it,” she said conclusively.

  They had entered a bare living room. It was small with a fireplace and staircase. Beyond the staircase was a kitchen with a back doorway but no door. The door was outside rotting on the ground with grass growing up through it. There was an outhouse in the back yard with a toilet visible through an open door and a concrete wash tub in an adjoining section of the small, weatherboard building.

  “Yep—I remember that,” Clair offered from the back doorway as David turned to walk back up the concrete steps. She was looking at the outhouse. “Spiders!” she added. “Used to have to go out there and sit with the friggin’ spiders. Or wet the bed.”

  David nodded. “We used to have an outdoor toilet when I was a kid, right where my treadmill is now, before they had proper sewage systems. I think my folks built onto the house when I was a baby. I can just remember the old toilet being there, but we never used it.”

  “I could have walked to your place. It’s not so far,” Clair said, but paused with a new thought. “How old are you, Tarzan?”

  “Thirty… You, Jane?”

  She giggled. “It’s rude to ask women.”

  “You don’t look thirty,” David tossed out there.

  “Thanks. I’m not. I was just thinking you were there at your house when I was here with my grandparents. Maybe we saw each other.”

  “Probably did. What did you do when you were here? I was either hanging around the beach or at the playing fields by the school. Or down the creek.”

  “I don’t remember what I did. I remember the lighthouse, so I must have gone up there, but I’ve worked out that the widow’s father would have lived there at that time. N. D. Cornish. Noel. He died about ten years ago.”

  “Yeah, I remember Mr Cornish. He was cool. Used to let us kids climb up the lighthouse and look out to sea. He was really friendly.”

  “Oh, well that makes sense, then. My grandparents probably knew him and took me there sometimes.”

  David was checking the stairs and found them and the hand rail to be fairly sturdy. They climbed to the upper level where there were two bedrooms and a small room between that had a hole in the floor.

  “There was a bath in there, I think,” Clair informed. “This is where I slept. I remember looking out at Granddad’s workshop.”

  “What, that?” David asked. There was a building of the same weatherboard construction behind the widow’s perimeter fence. He hadn’t noticed that it matched the old house before.

  “Yeah, that was Granddad’s workshop and garage. He used to drive the car underneath… I remember that. It’s in my dream sometimes. But how come it’s behind the widow’s fence?”

  “Because the widow owns this property. As far as I know, her husband bought it before he died. They say he bought it so no one could move in next door. Which must have been after your grandparents moved, I suppose.”

  “Well, they moved when I was seven. I know I was here that Christmas, and that was the last time. So, they would have sold it and moved to Melbourne in 1985.”

  “So, you were seven at Christmas 1984, eh?” David nodded cheekily. “So, that makes you… Um, when’s your birthday..? So, I know when to buy you something.”

  “Oh, yeah? What will you buy me?” She pushed him playfully. “Smart arse!”

  It was the first time she had deliberately touched him. She brushed past and went to another window. He approached behind her, edging close. She peered back up at him, but he didn’t meet her eyes. His heart was thumping a bit. She turned back to the window as he looked down at her hair.

  “I wonder why the Mulvane’s fenced Granddad’s garage onto their side,” she said.

  “Don’t know.” David swallowed at the fact that his throat had dried up. “It’s always been locked up. I just mow around it.”

  Clair turned fully around and looked up at him deliberately. She was smiling lightly. She placed both hands against his chest and pushed him as she stepped past.

  She glanced back, though. “Still think you’ve got me figured?”

  “Not so much,” David replied, sitting back on the window ledge. “I figured twenty-three, twenty-four tops.”

  She departed the room peering back enticingly, and he followed to find her at the window of a larger room, presumably the main bedroom. He approached close again, but she didn’t glance back at him that time.

  She pointed out the window. “That’s where Granddad used to drive his car in. Right where those drums are.”

  There were rusted forty-four gallon drums stacked two-high against the end of the dilapidated old building.

  “I think we need to come back one night and see what’s in there,” she said. “You can’t have a locked up old building on th
e same property as an unsolved murder. That’s just wrong.”

  “It is?” David asked, swallowing again.

  She turned and faced him, touching his chest but not pushing that time. “Can we sneak a look?” she asked, fiddling with the pockets of his heavy cotton shirt.

  David touched her hips, placing his hands there and almost drawing her closer, but not.

  She poked at a button on his shirt. “Can we?”

  “Sure,” David said. The old garage was obscured from the mansion by trees. It would be easy enough to get in through a gap in the perimeter fence that he knew of.

  She looked up at him again, meeting his eyes searchingly. “Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?” He knew the question had nothing to do with sneaking a look at the old garage.

  She lifted to his lips, and he pulled her close and kissed her.

  “I know what I’m doing,” he said, and he kissed her again, harder.

  “I’m only here two weeks,” she uttered, pushing against him a little.

  “Perfect,” David stated categorically, and he crushed her to his body, sucking in her sweet new essence and groping his arms around her as he mauled her neck.

  “Okay, but not here,” she breathed into his ear.

  “Then where?”

  “What do you mean, where?” she cried, wriggling to get away as David mauled her neck some more. “In a bed you bloody cave-man, that’s where!”

  “Oh!”

  “And not yet either!”

  “Well, when?” David sat back on the window ledge watching her fix her hair and straighten her sweater.

  “Tonight. After that guy picks Amanda up,” she said to him. “You sure you’re up to rebound sex?”

  “Yep,” David said, smiling at her.

  Chapter 11

  Susan Mulvane had grown accustomed to her reclusive lifestyle. Since the night of her husband’s death, she had felt as something other than a normal Everly Cove citizen. She didn’t feel above anybody, or below. It wasn’t about worthiness. It was about carrying an attachment that meant she could never fit in. She could never be wholly open and honest with anyone and was, therefore, unable to simply relax. Being guarded and, in fact, labelled, meant that she was most comfortable alone there in her mansion. She was The Widow. It was a nick-name that had stuck, and in light of the fact that she had actually killed her husband, she had come to accept that it was fairly deserved.

  Susan could go months without thought of her husband crossing her mind. At first it was something that consumed her life and claimed every waking thought, as well as her dreams and nightmares. Within a year she was able to focus on other things, but the thoughts would frequently interrupt her. After ten years, the sight of him convulsing and oozing blood on the study floor would strike her occasionally, but she was no longer waking to the feeling of dread.

  Nineteen years had passed since the night she had returned early from softball training to find him photographing their naked daughter, and these days she rarely had occasion to process the gut-wrenching memory of what she had seen and what she had done. She had reacted as any wild animal would have, protecting her young. It had been a base and shocking experience yet completely fluent. She had used the softball bat in her hand and murdered the predator before thinking.

  Susan expelled a breath along with her tension, recalling things. She had seen her gardener and the blond woman enter the old house next door an hour earlier, and just then she saw them emerge and stroll back down the driveway. She had been forced to recall things more often again since the student-girl had arrived. She had heard gossip of someone coming to town to do some sort of research into the death of her husband. The gossip had been around for a couple of weeks, stirring up Susan’s nightmares.

  They appeared at the bottom of the driveway and walked across to the footpath where they stood looking out at the cove. Susan went into her daughter’s room and used the telescope. As close as they were, the scope had the magnification to make out facial features quite distinctly. Susan had not encountered the girl prior to that moment, so it was her first look at her face. She was laughing. She tossed her hair, and that brought her face into brilliant focus, stopping Susan’s heart and jamming it up into her throat as recognition thumped her.

  “It can’t be,” she muttered, gripping the scope and glaring into the eye-piece. “Oh, my God!”

  She left the telescope and rushed to the closet in her bedroom. She pulled a cardboard box down from the top shelf. It split with its contents of papers, envelopes and folders slewing across the floor. She dropped to her knees and delved through to find a large, white envelope with Logan Thomas Private Investigator labelled on the top corner. There was a single page report and three photographs. She sought the photographs and rushed back to the telescope. The girl had moved on from where she had been facing Susan’s position. She and her escort were walking along the foreshore toward town and facing away.

  It was the same face, though—the same girl, ten years older. Susan checked her photographs again as she flipped open her phone and scrolled to John Phillips’ number.

  “Susan, hey…”

  “John, I um—“ Susan gathered herself. “This student-girl—I think it’s little Clair Wells.”

  John took a moment to respond.

  “I see. That sort of makes sense, though.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, her family’s from here. She’s studying and needs to research a crime. Why not one from right next door? It doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” John added supportively.

  “She’s right there at the market,” Susan informed. “She’s with David Barrett.”

  “What, here?”

  “Yes—I’m looking at them with Nelly’s telescope. They’re walking right toward your office.”

  There was shuffling on John’s end of the phone.

  “Yeah, they’re coming in,” he said. “This is good. I’ll see what’s the deal and call you back.”

  “Okay—call me back, John. I’ll be waiting.”

  “What are you looking at, Mum?” Nell had approached behind Susan.

  “Nothing, sweetheart. Just at town.”

  Nell took a breath and made an announcement. “I want to try again.”

  “Try again?” Susan queried.

  Nell nodded, motioning toward town. “Could you take me, instead of Doctor Karen?”

  Susan half pointed down at the cove. Her daughter wanted to try facing her fears again. She was thrilled and scared.

  “Of course, sweetheart! Of course I can take you!”

  “And can we meet John?” Nell pressed. She had obviously thought through what she wanted.

  “He’d love to meet you,” Susan agreed. ”Are you sure, though?”

  Nell nodded calmly. “After everyone’s asleep, though—after town goes to sleep.”

  Susan smoothed her daughter’s hair and gave her a cuddle. She had been waiting in hope that she would ask for another outing. The doctor had been reasonably happy with the last one but wanted the next move to come from Nell.

  Susan’s phone rang, and she left her daughter and closed her bedroom door.

  “Yes?” she started anxiously.

  John sounded relaxed, as usual. “It’s nothing, baby. Yeah, I think you’re right that’s little Clair all grown up, but she doesn’t know anything… She’s got balls, though… Asked me straight up if we we’re sleeping together back then and if I knew who killed Charles.”

  “Oh, she did?” Susan asked, imagining her boyfriend being taken on and seeing the funny side of that.

  “Yeah—I gave her the usual story. Everything’s cool.”

  “Okay, then. They were just here at the old house, but I guess that makes sense too. And she came out of there laughing.”

  “Yeah, I think they’re on together—she and David.”

  “Oh! Well, I’ve got some other news if you’re sitting down.”

  Jo
hn chuckled. “I’m sitting. Let’s have it.”

  “Nell just asked if I will take her to town tonight to meet you.”

  There was silence.

  “Really?” a faltering voice asked. The man was choking up.

  Susan knew how much it would mean to John to meet her daughter again. There had been the occasional brief telephone interlude and the emails the past few days. The last time he had actually been in Nell’s presence was when Nell was fifteen years old—when she finished school and retreated from the outside world.

  “Yes, really, John. It’s entirely her idea. It will be in the middle of the night, though.”

  “That’s fine. Just tell me what to do,” he said. “Whatever she needs…”

  Chapter 12

  Clair pushed David up against the closed door of his man-cave. He tried to kiss her again, but she palmed his face. “You’re like a bloody puppy,” she complained playfully. “Enough with the face licking already!”

  He extended his tongue and made a dog-panting sound, going after her face with a couple of slurping licks.

  Clair liked him. He was a bit of a goof but that was nice. He’d taken hold of her, but she squirmed around to be backed up against him. He kissed her neck, making her squirm even more, and she lifted his hands and placed them upon her breasts, grinding her bottom back against a quickly firming erection.

  “What about the couch?” he breathed into her ear. He had already suggested the pool table.

  “No!” she said. “Later! In a bed!”

  “When, later?” he groaned that time. His big, coarse hands had started moving upon her breasts, kneading them and feeling for her nipples. He was grinding his erection against her. “Mandy won’t be home for an hour yet,” he tried, moving to the other side of her neck and searching down over her belly with one hand.

  She caught that hand and swivelled around, clamping hers over his mouth. “Just shut up and stand there,” she said. She was working at the fly of his jeans. He held her eyes, and she felt herself blush a little at the thought of what she was about to do. He seemed to understand pretty much right away what she was thinking.