by Evelyn James
The Fossil Murder
A Clara Fitzgerald Mystery
Book 15
By
Evelyn James
Red Raven Publications
2019
© Evelyn James 2019
First published 2019
Red Raven Publications
The right of Evelyn James to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system without the permission in writing from the author
The Fossil Murder is the fifteenth book in the Clara Fitzgerald series
Other titles in the Series:
Memories of the Dead
Flight of Fancy
Murder in Mink
Carnival of Criminals
Mistletoe and Murder
The Poisoned Pen
Grave Suspicions of Murder
The Woman Died Thrice
Murder and Mascara
The Green Jade Dragon
The Monster at the Window
Murder on the Mary Jane
The Missing Wife
The Traitor’s Bones
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter One
Captain O’Harris dropped the newspaper down on the Fitzgeralds’ dining room table.
“Finally, a bit of science comes to Brighton!” He said with a grin.
Clara pulled the paper towards her and read the headline.
MISSING LINK TO APPEAR IN EXHIBITION: TOWN HALL TO BECOME MUSEUM FOR A WEEK
“This is about the exhibition of fossils that has been touring the country. I believe the crates with the displays inside arrived today,” Clara perused the text of the article. “I see Gilbert McMillan is sticking to his usual formula of writing a lot of words without saying very much at all.”
“Gilbert McMillan?” O’Harris asked.
“He is a journalist at the Brighton Gazette,” Clara explained, passing back the paper. “I assume by your excitement you want to go this exhibition?”
Clara was smiling.
“Of course I want to go! But the tickets are all sold for the private viewings. I’ll have to wait until the public open day,” he grimaced at the thought of having to fight through a throng of people all barging into the town hall to see the exhibits on the one day they were open to the public for free.
“That’s a shame,” Clara said with a twinkle in her eye. “Especially seeing as I happen to have three tickets to the exhibition myself. I can’t possibly think who I shall share them with.”
O’Harris raised an eyebrow at her.
“You have tickets?”
“I like science too, you know,” Clara pretended to be offended. “I did have an education.”
“I never doubted it, I just thought your interests lied more in the present than in the past,” O’Harris teased her.
“I could always ask Colonel Brandt to accompany me. He has some rather fascinating views on evolution, or rather how it can’t possibly have happened,” Clara said folding her arms over her chest.
“All right, apologies for questioning your interest in science,” O’Harris winked at her. “You’ll take me, right?”
“I suppose I really should,” Clara couldn’t resist smiling a little. “Seeing as we are friends.”
O’Harris made a pretence of sighing with relief.
“Who gets the third ticket?” He asked.
“That would be me, old man,” Tommy Fitzgerald walked into the room and smiled at his sister and the captain. “I wouldn’t miss seeing that Archaeopteryx fossil for the world.”
“Imagine, the one fossil that demonstrates how dinosaurs became birds,” O’Harris whistled to himself.
“My understanding is there is still a lot of debate about that,” Clara interjected.
“Depends on whose book you read on the subject,” Tommy said. “But most scientists who follow Darwin’s Theory of Evolution agree that the Archaeopteryx is the missing link between lizards and birds. Here is what at first glance could be just another small dinosaur, except it has feathers and we have to assume it could at least glide, if not fully fly.”
“Certainly gets my vote for being the clearest bit of hard evidence around for evolution,” O’Harris nodded. “What about you Clara?”
“I don’t question evolution,” Clara shrugged. “But, I do like to hear all the various sides of the argument concerning this fossil. I find it fascinating how even scientists can twist the facts before them to suit their own ideas. This exhibition has already caused quite a stir in other towns. In Manchester there was a protest about the Archaeopteryx being displayed at all. A Baptist minister condemned it as a hoax and an insult to God. All over a bird encased in stone.”
“So, when do we get to see the culprit in the flesh,” O’Harris was grinning from ear-to-ear.
“Monday,” Clara announced. “First day of the exhibition.”
Captain O’Harris was obviously delighted and his excitement made Clara happy. They had known each other for a relatively short space of time, but their relationship was strengthening by the day. The dashing former Royal Flying Corps captain and Brighton’s first female private detective had yet to admit to themselves that their friendship was deepening into something much stronger, but it was obvious to Clara’s brother Tommy and to the Fitzgeralds’ friend and housekeeper Annie. Sooner or later, Annie had declared more than once, Clara and O’Harris would have to admit they loved each other. And if they didn’t, Annie was going to have words with the both of them.
Annie failed to appreciate that her own situation with Tommy was a mirror image of that of Clara and O’Harris. If Clara ever nudged her about her feelings towards Tommy, she refused to talk about them. Annie was quite comfortable with things as they were, thank you very much. She would acknowledge her feelings towards Tommy in her own time.
“Well, I need to get back to the house,” O’Harris picked up the newspaper.
“How is everything going?” Clara asked.
O’Harris had founded a convalescence home for servicemen suffering psychology problems after the war. There were a number of facilities that helped former servicemen who had been physically disabled during the war, but very little for those who had suffered mental trauma, and whose suffering continued in everyday life. O’Harris had experienced this for himself and was trying to make a difference. It was a drop in the ocean, when you considered how many men were carrying the scars inside of that time, but it was a start.
“On the whole things have been running s
moothly,” O’Harris nodded, his smile becoming a little fixed. “We have had a couple of gentlemen complete their time with us and return home. From what I have heard they are doing well. The only fly in the ointment is Private Peterson.”
“Your subsidised soldier?” Tommy clarified.
O’Harris’ home was a private operation and the patients paid to attend. However, there was provision for at least one soldier to attend without charge. These subsidised patients would be men who could not normally afford the fees for the home, but who it was felt needed the help the place could offer. Private Peterson was the first of these subsidised patients and O’Harris had taken a huge chance on him. His case was pretty severe; he was suffering from hallucinations when he thought he was back at the Front and he regularly dipped into paralysing depression. He was unable to work and barely able to live a normal life. Treatments had been attempted in the past but had failed to have a lasting effect. The truth was, O’Harris’ home was his last option. If they could not help him, it was difficult to see where else he could turn.
Peterson himself had given up hope of recovery. He had come to the conclusion that he was as permanently damaged as if he had lost a limb. Only the determination of his family, namely his mother, was keeping him from giving up altogether and ending things. O’Harris thought the young man was on the precipice of suicide or possibly complete insanity. There was a real risk he would end up confined to an institution for the rest of his life.
“Peterson is willing enough, but so far we have not been able to find the key to his problem. He has suffered three hallucinatory episodes since being with us, the last one we found him in the garden in the middle of the night attempting to dig a foxhole to hide from falling shells. He screamed when we approached him, thinking we were German soldiers,” O’Harris’ former excitement had evaporated. “I knew he was going to be a challenge. Maybe I was over-confident when I insisted we take him on. I thought we could help him. Perhaps I thought it would prove the validity of my project to some of my naysayers if I took in such a severe case and cured him. Now I fear I will fail him. I gave him and his family hope, and now my cockiness may cost us all.”
“You’ve barely begun to help him,” Clara pointed out. “These things take time.”
“She is right,” Tommy concurred. “It’s only been a couple of months.”
“Hopefully you are right,” O’Harris smiled again. “Anyway, enough of that, best let you get on.”
O’Harris wished them farewell and departed out the front door. A few minutes later, Clara was heading out herself, off to her office to see what cases the day might bring. She had taken a brief break from work to travel to Belgium to solve a murder and had returned home to find correspondence piled up on the doormat of her office and a number of people trying to get hold of her. Clara was well-known in Brighton for solving crimes the police could not get their heads around and so many people wanted her help, that Clara was finding herself in a position where she had to turn down clients – something that had never happened before. There was too much work and not enough hours in the day, she was almost considering taking up Tommy on his offer of becoming her assistant. It would certainly ease her workload and would give her brother something to do with his time. Tommy had never had an actual job, having left university and signed up for the army at the outbreak of war. He had returned home a cripple and these last few years had been a long road of recovery for him. He could now walk with only a slight limp and wanted to start doing something more than just wandering about the house. It was probably time Clara had a chat with him about whether he wanted to be more than an occasional helper in her business.
Clara was mulling all this over when she bumped, almost literally, into Mrs Wilton. Mrs Wilton had been the client who made Clara’s name. Through the woman, Clara had become involved in her first murder case. It had been an anxious and exhilarating experience and had set Clara on her path as a real private detective. Even so, when Clara bumped into Mrs Wilton, she always felt a pang of dread. The woman had a way of involving her in things she would rather stay out of.
“Clara!” Mrs Wilton said in delight. “You look very well. I hear you have just been to Belgium?”
“Yes, it was for a case,” Clara said, trying to shuffle along the pavement.
“How exciting!” Mrs Wilton had a knack for being overly dramatic when she talked. She waved her hands about, gesticulating as if she was on the stage. “I hear talk you were working for Mrs Priggins?”
“I can’t discuss my cases Mrs Wilton,” Clara said gently. “I have to respect the privacy of my clients.”
“Oh, of course!” Mrs Wilton brushed aside the matter with a flick of her hand. “But now, how fortuitous I came upon you as I did, it saves me coming past your office again. I went there the other week and that was how I learned you were in Belgium. The nice man in the grocer’s shop told me.”
Clara was hoping that Mrs Wilton had not found another ‘friend’ to inflict on her. The woman seemed to think it was her duty to find work for Clara and routinely sent the most trivial matters in her direction. Clara was long past finding lost cats and discovering who was taking flowers off graves in the churchyard (that had proved to be Mrs McGinny’s nanny goat, who occasionally got loose from the garden and wandered to the graveyard to gorge on fresh flowers).
“It is a very serious matter,” Mrs Wilton insisted, dropping her voice and not apparently noticing that Clara was trying to inch away. “My neighbour is really in a pickle over it.”
Clara stopped moving, resigned to the inevitable. Whatever she did, somehow Mrs Wilton would find her and insist that she take on this case. Mrs Wilton was the human equivalent of an unstoppable force and there was no point trying to elude her.
“Your neighbour,” Clara said, racking her brain to think about who had the misfortune of living next to Mrs Wilton. “The gentleman with the very old Great Dane?”
“No, not him. My neighbour further down the road. Miss Holbein, she is the sole heiress of a rather nice fortune and is quite alone in this world. Need I tell you the perils a young woman must face when it is known that she has an awful lot of money?”
It sounded like a Victorian novel. Clara could imagine that a woman alone and with a lot of money at her disposal would attract all sorts of rogues.
“I have been keeping my eye on her,” Mrs Wilton said with an air of pride. “I told my son he ought to watch out for her too, not that I was considering him and her…”
Mrs Wilton gasped at the sudden realisation that it might appear that she was after Miss Holbein’s fortune.
“No, no, I only meant he should do so as a friend. He has his heart set on this other girl, anyway. But that’s another matter,” Mrs Wilton snorted a little bit and Clara had the impression she was not enamoured with the girl her son had chosen. “What really concerns me is that there is this fellow hanging around Miss Holbein. He dresses well enough, but there is something about him that makes me uncomfortable. I don’t want to think the girl is being taken advantage of. I promised her mother, God rest her soul, that I would keep my eye on her.”
“You want me to find out who this man is,” Clara elaborated.
“Exactly Clara, you are so good at such things and you are a very good judge of character. If you find out there is nothing sinister about this man then I shall bite my tongue, but until that time I really am concerned.”
Mrs Wilton suddenly looked tearful, which surprised Clara. She gently touched the woman’s arm.
“Are you all right?”
“I was very good friends with Miss Holbein’s mother,” Mrs Wilton sniffed. “We were of the same generation and understood each other so well. I’m out of touch now. I’m a Victorian woman in a modern age. Oh dear, I am being silly.”
Mrs Wilton pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
“I promised my friend I would watch over her daughter and I stick by that,” she said firmly. “I won’t let any harm befall that gi
rl. You will help, won’t you Clara?”
Clara could already feel that she was going to regret her answer, but it slipped out nonetheless.
“Of course.”
“Thank you,” Mrs Wilton squeezed Clara’s arm. “Now, where shall we start? Ah, yes. Come to tea this afternoon and I shall tell you all about it.”
Clara found herself agreeing without protest. Mrs Wilton bid her a cheery farewell as she disappeared to do her shopping. Clara stood on the pavement wondering what she had done.
Chapter Two
Clara returned home early to explain to Annie that she would be absent at tea time. Annie crossed her arms over her chest as she heard this news. Annie disliked anything that interrupted mealtimes and was perpetually concerned that Clara would make herself ill if she skipped meals. Clara had attempted to point out to Annie that she could readily afford to skip a few meals, without success.
“Mrs Wilton again,” Annie snorted after Clara had explained the situation. “That woman seems to assume you are her own personal private detective.”
“The situation does sound important, however,” Clara tried to offset Annie’s annoyance. “If this girl is being manipulated by a money hunter, then a stop must be put to it.”
Annie huffed to herself.
“Well then, Tommy,” she glanced over to where Tommy was sitting in the armchair near the fire. “Looks like it will be just you and me tasting my fresh batch of scones.”
“Actually,” Clara looked uneasy, “I was going to ask Tommy to join me.”
Tommy glanced up in surprise. Before Annie could protest Clara carried on.
“I have been thinking that, with all the work I have on, I could do with an extra pair of hands to help me. And, as you are at a loose end, Tommy, I was going to ask if you would be interested in working for me?”
“Be a partner, in your detective business?” Tommy said in astonishment.
“I hadn’t thought about going that far,” Clara hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “I am the business, you see. But there is always so much to do and some of the cases just need a quick glance over…”
