Seventeen
1
“You say somebody has been trying to poison me?”
“You know,” she said, “I can’t really believe it….”
She waited a few moments, her eyes half closed.
Lewis said gently, “I wish I could have spared you this, dearest.”
Almost absently she stretched out a hand to him and he took it.
Miss Marple, sitting close by, shook her head sympathetically.
Carrie Louise opened her eyes.
“Is it really true, Jane?” she asked.
“I’m afraid so, my dear.”
“Then everything—” Carrie Louise broke off.
She went on:
“I’ve always thought I knew what was real and what wasn’t … This
doesn’t seem real—but it is … so I may be wrong everywhere … but who
could want to do such a thing to me? Nobody in this house could want to—
kill me?”
Her voice still held incredulity.
“That’s what I would have thought,” said Lewis. “I was wrong.”
“Explains what?” asked Lewis.
“His manner,” said Carrie Louise. “It was very odd, you know. Not at all
his usual self. He seemed—upset about me—and as though he was want-
ing to say something to me—and then not saying it. And he asked me if my
heart was strong. And if I’d been well lately. Trying to hint to me, perhaps.
But why not say something straight out? It’s so much simpler just to say
straight out.”
“He didn’t want to—cause you pain, Caroline.”
“Pain? But why—Oh I see …” Her eyes widened. “So that’s what you be-
lieve. But you’re wrong, Lewis, quite wrong. I can assure you of that.”
Her husband avoided her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Serrocold after a moment or two. “But I can’t be-
lieve anything of what has happened lately is true. Edgar shooting at you.
Gina and Stephen. That ridiculous box of chocolates. It just isn’t true.”
Caroline Louise Serrocold sighed.
“I suppose,” she said, “that I must have lived outside reality for a long
time … Please, both of you, I think I would like to be alone … I’ve got to try
and understand….”
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