Page 1 of My Darling Clementine

Chapter one

Boston

Clem took a deep breath, squared both shoulders, and set her jaw. Twisting the fancy glass knob, she thrust open the door with James Burdock, Esq. painted on the frosted glass.

A clerk sitting at a large desk looked up at the ting-a-ling sound of a small bell over the door, his automatic smile of greeting fading fast.

Striding into the office, she deepened her voice and said, “The name’s Dennison…”

“I know you, Mr. Dennison!” He jumped to his feet, darting back and forth. “Oh, help! A ghost! Help, help, Mr. Burdock,” he cried in panic. The color drained from his face.

As Clem watched, astonished, he slumped in a faint to the floor.

A door banged open, and a middle-aged man with a neat mustache raced into the room. He took one look at his clerk on the floor, then fixed Clem with a stare. “What did you do to him?”

She stared right back. “He saw me and grew hysterical.”

He crossed to the door behind her and turned the key, locking it. “You’re Tom’s heir, there’s no denying that. You’re the spitting image of your father.” He held out his hand. “Hello, Clementine,” he said, as she shook it. “It’s nice to meet you, although I regret the circumstances.”

“Dad’s dead.” It was not a question. She watched her father’s attorney pour a glass of water from a pitcher and kneel beside his downed assistant. “How long ago did he die?”

Mr. Burdock pulled the young man’s pocket handkerchief, wet it, and sponged his temples. He answered her as the clerk started to rouse. “We buried him beside your mother a week ago, last Tuesday. He knew I sent for you, and held on as long as he could.” He helped his assistant rise, then grabbed him as he saw Clem and started to panic again.

His boss shook him. “That’s enough, Henry. Tom Dennison is dead; God rest his soul. Ghosts don’t exist; this is his heir. Show some respect. Let me introduce you to Clem Dennison.”

The young man swallowed hard and turned beet red. “Oh, of course. I’m so embarrassed.” He looked at Clem, sheepish. “You look just like him,” he said, voice a whisper. Then his eyebrows creased. “He had only one heir, a daughter, Clementine.” His eyes grew round, and he looked shocked all over again, taking in Clem’s appearance.

“Ahem,” said his employer, handing him the glass of water. “Drink it all before you speak again, Henry,” he advised.

This was it, the moment she’d been expecting for the last three months. She crossed her arms, damned if she’d turn back into the woman she’d been when she left Boston. I’m Clem Dennison, not Tom’s unappreciated, disappointing daughter, Clementine. She watched the young man drink the water, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

Henry finished the last of the water, swallowed, and took a breath. “It’s very nice to make your acquaintance…” he waited.

“Mister…” supplied his boss.

“Mr. Dennison,” finished Henry, the clerk. He held out his hand, which Mr. Burdock filled with his damp handkerchief. “My condolences on your loss.” He looked at his boss. “Shall I locate Mr. Dennison’s files, sir?”

Burdock smiled and clapped his assistant on the shoulder. “Tomorrow will be soon enough, Henry.” He looked at the grandfather clock standing against the wall. “You’ve had a fright, and I need to spend time with Mr. Dennison, so we’ll push our workload back. Close and lock up out here, then go home to your new bride. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at nine.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, Mr. Burdock.” The young man unlocked the door. “I do apologize, Mr. Dennison. Please forgive my lapse of reason.”

She uncrossed her arms and sighed, “I’m sorry I startled you…” She waited.

“Henry Philpot,” supplied his boss.

“I’m sorry I gave you a fright, Mr. Philpot,” Clem said, “and since congratulations are in order, please give my best to your bride.”

“Thank you, Mr. Dennison.” He paused long enough to smile. “I will.” Then he began closing up shop.

“Won’t you join me in my office?” asked the attorney, locking the door after them. “Tell me, how did you know Tom is dead?”

“There are many things for which I can fault my father, Mr. Burdock.” Clem Dennison took a deep breath and sighed. “Being late to pick me up at the railway station is not one of them.”

She bit her lower lip. “Yesterday was the first time I’ve ever arrived in Boston and not seen him standing there, pocket watch in hand to see if the train arrived on time.” She took a deep breath. “That told me all I needed to know, at least for that moment.”

Mr. Burdock gazed at her from across his desk, compassionate eyes examining the bruise blooming on her swollen cheek. “Why didn’t you come here then?”

“I needed a drink, and went looking for a fight.” Clem left it at that, noting the attorney’s raised and lowered eyebrow. She shrugged.