The Dying of the Light: A Mystery Read Online Free Page B

you to try and avoid making too much mess. Judging by what I found floating in the loo this morning it’s Letitia’s time of the month, and you know how touchy she can get, particularly after a stressful day like this. Bye-eee!’
    With a cheery salute, Anderson walked out. One by one, the residents got up from their chairs and formed a silent huddle around the tea trolley, where Belinda Scott took possession of the pot.
    ‘Right!’ she barked. ‘From the front, in alphabetical order! Ayres?’
    There was an awkward silence.
    ‘Isn’t he dead?’ muttered Grace Lebon eventually.
    ‘Miss Scott to you!’ rapped Belinda.
    Leaving Dorothy slumped in her chair, her head tilted to one side as though to hear better, Rosemary walked over to the trolley.
    ‘Roland and Hilary are both dead,’ she said. ‘Mr Channing is confined to his room, so Dorothy is next. As she’s feeling poorly, I’ll take it to her.’
    ‘No you won’t!’ snapped Belinda Scott. ‘You’ll bloody well wait your turn like everyone else.’
    She started to fill the thick, chipped cups with tea, adding a splash of milk to each and placing a sachet of sugar in the saucer. When her own turn finally came, Rosemary took a cup for herself and one for Dorothy and walked back to where her friend sat staring down at the faded floral design of the red linoleum.
    Rosemary broke open the paper sachets and poured the contents into the grey liquid, its surface filmy with whorls of grease.
    ‘This would be a good way to kill someone,’ she murmured.
    The silence was broken only by the clink of crockery and the sound of Mr Purvey sucking tea through his dentures.
    ‘How many is it now?’ Dorothy asked suddenly.
    Rosemary gave her a cautious glance.
    ‘How many what?’
    ‘And no one ever investigates, do they?’ Dorothy went on. ‘After all, it’s the most natural thing in the world for old people to die.’
    Rosemary sipped her tea.
    ‘It’s not a question of common or garden death,’ she remarked dismissively. ‘It’s a question of murder .’
    Dorothy gave a wan smile.
    ‘Oh well, that’s different, of course.’
    Rosemary picked up one of the empty sachets.
    ‘All the killer would need to do is steam one of these open carefully, so as not to tear the paper. Then he …’
    She paused, eyeing her friend expectantly.
    ‘Or she,’ Dorothy murmured at length.
    Rosemary nodded.
    ‘… would refill the sachet with poison …’
    ‘… from the potting shed in the kitchen garden …’
    ‘… where everyone has been at some time or another …’
    ‘… on some more or less feeble pretext,’ concluded Dorothy. ‘Yes, but how would you make sure that the intended victim was given the poisoned sachet?’
    Rosemary frowned.
    ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
    Dorothy sipped her tea.
    ‘Cocoa would be better,’ she said.
    ‘But that’s already sugared,’ objected Rosemary.
    Dorothy’s needles clacked assiduously.
    ‘Yes, but it tastes so strong that you could add poison without the victim noticing.’
    Rosemary shook her head.
    ‘You’ve still got the same problem, Dot. The mugs of cocoa are just left out on a tray in the hall. There’s no way of making sure that the poison reaches the right person.’
    Dorothy set down her knitting. She cradled the tea cup in her hands, as though to warm them.
    ‘I always take the blue one. Most people use the same mug every night. Yours is the brown one with the broken handle glued back on. Charles likes the dark green one, while Grace prefers the pale pink. Weatherby always uses that hideous coronation mug, and Mrs Hargreaves …’
    ‘You haven’t really changed your will, have you Dot?’ Rosemary interrupted.
    Dorothy picked up her knitting without answering. Rosemary looked at her friend with a preoccupied expression.
    ‘It’s none of my business, of course,’ she went on, ‘but I must say that I would personally consider it most unwise to put any faith in promises which may have been