A Fatal Affair by Faith Martin (top e book reader TXT) 📕

would think of as work. She helps out at some charity thing in Oxford. You know, one of those places selling jumble and bric-a-brac to feed some starving kids somewhere.’

Clement felt his lips twitch as Trudy sighed heavily. ‘Yes, I do know what a charity shop is Rodney. Where in Oxford, do you know?’

‘Some shop off St Ebbe’s I think,’ he answered vaguely.

Trudy nodded. They’d be able to find it, she was sure. ‘Well, thanks. I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything that could help us? About David Finch, I mean? Anyone see him on the day he died, maybe going towards the Dewberry Farm?’

‘Nah, nothing like that,’ Rodney said, obviously happy to be of no use whatsoever.

‘What are the villagers saying about him?’ Trudy persisted, but again he just shrugged, not in the least interested in doing her any favours.

‘Half of ’em think he did it then did away with himself, the other half seem to think some arty bloke might have done it.’

This was not the first time that people had mentioned the artistic man who had been rather closely associated with the dead girl, and therefore might have had a possible reason to kill David. Trudy and Clement already had him firmly on their ‘to be interviewed’ list.

‘OK. Well, thanks Rodney, you’ve been very helpful,’ she said ironically.

The big idiot just beamed at her and strolled on – no doubt to find a shady spot to sit and lounge the day away.

‘A lovely specimen,’ Clement remarked drolly, watching the golden-haired youth saunter off.

At this, Trudy had to smile.

Chapter 17

As Trudy had expected, it wasn’t that hard to find the charity shop where Janet Baines sometimes volunteered to work. Tucked away in one of Oxford’s many little medieval (or older) alleyways, it did indeed offer the jumble, bric-a-brac and other assorted and unwanted items that Rodney had predicted.

When they went in, a smartly dressed woman with white hair and sharp, pale grey eyes glanced up from behind the counter. Such was the force of her personality that Trudy instantly felt compelled to check on the bookshelves of second-hand books so that she might find something to purchase, for there was no way she would feel comfortable without spending some of her hard-earned pennies in here.

Luckily, she spotted an Agatha Christie that she hadn’t read yet, and as Clement approached the counter, she hastily snatched it and scuttled after him to pay for it.

‘I was wondering if you could help us,’ Clement said with a charming smile that unfortunately had no effect whatsoever on the guardian of the counter. ‘We’re looking for a Miss Janet Baines?’

The older woman’s eyelids flickered in some surprise as she eyed first Clement with such an openly speculative glance that Trudy almost blushed for him, and then, with more puzzlement, Trudy.

‘We don’t encourage our gels to have male visitors when they’re in the shop,’ the woman said, her cut-glass accent so acute Trudy almost had trouble understanding what she was saying.

Clement, who could do a good range in haughty looks himself when he wanted, gave one now. ‘I’m Dr Clement Ryder, city coroner. I need to speak to Miss Baines on a professional manner. This is my assistant,’ he added vaguely, gesturing at Trudy.

She didn’t mind being relegated and ignored, as she understood at once what he was doing, and why. People like this always reacted to authority. And, right on cue, the dragon lady relaxed slightly. But only slightly.

‘She’s in the office sorting through some crockery that was dropped off. We don’t sell chipped or cracked cups and saucers here,’ she added severely. ‘I’ll just inform her that she’s needed.’ And so saying, she opened a door and called briskly upwards, ‘Janet, would you come down for a moment please?’

Clearly, she was not about to leave the shop unattended, and Trudy couldn’t help but wonder if she and Clement looked like her idea of shoplifters. But perhaps they did? Trudy knew from her own patrols and bitter experience, that shoplifters came in all shapes and disguises. Once, a woman dressed as a nun—

Her trip down memory lane abruptly ended as she heard light footfalls coming down a set of uncarpeted wooden stairs, and a moment later, Janet appeared in the doorway. ‘Yes, Miss Boisier?’ she asked meekly.

She was a tall girl, with a figure that a fashion editor would no doubt have described as ‘willowy’. She was dressed elegantly but simply in a pale blue summer frock, and had long, very thick and slightly wavy dark brown hair. Her eyes were large and velvet-brown, and set in a perfectly oval and very pale face. Her features looked serene and interesting rather than pretty, and it took you a moment or two to realise just how beautiful it was – in total contrast to Iris Carmody’s more conventional beauty of fair hair, heart-shaped face and blue eyes, Trudy could nevertheless understand how Janet’s more subtle beauty would give her dead friend cause for jealousy.

‘This is Dr Ryder. He says he has business with you,’ the inimitable Miss Boisier said, her voice totally neutral but somehow endeavouring to make it clear that she didn’t believe a word of it.

‘Oh?’ Janet turned her large brown, deer-like eyes onto Clement.

‘I’d like to talk to you about your friends, Iris and David,’ Clement said, determined not to satisfy the older woman’s curiosity any more than he could help, and which he could sense was bubbling away beneath her tightly contained surface.

Janet blinked slightly at this, then nodded. ‘I see. Perhaps we should talk outside? We wouldn’t want to inconvenience any customers,’ Janet said, with just the smallest hint of a smile in her voice that told them that she, too, was determined to deny her co-worker the satisfaction of overhearing their conversation.

Once outside, she led them a little way down the narrow alleyway to a bus stop on a wider road that had the benefit of a wooden bench. Luckily, the seat was currently empty. She sat