The Young Widow Read Online Free PDF Page B

with a firm hand. She lifted the tray and brought it to the table where they sat.
    â€œHe had his back to the door, of course,” she continued, pouring out, “but he was sprawled in his chair—half out of it, actually. So I ran over, but as soon as I saw his face, I knew it was no good.”
    She set a mug in front of Gibbons and one in front of Bethancourt. “Help yourself to scones,” she said. “I make them myself.”
    Both men, who had assumed she was preparing the tray for someone else, were rather taken aback.
    â€œIt was very kind of you to go to all this trouble,” said Bethancourt.
    â€œVery kind,” echoed Gibbons. “You really didn’t need to bother.”
    She looked surprised. “Everybody eats in a kitchen,” she said and, taking her own mug of coffee, moved to sit between them, tucking one yellow leg up beside her on the chair. “Where was I? Oh, yes. I tried to feel for a pulse, but, quite frankly, I’ve only the vaguest idea where one is and I mightn’t have found it if it had been there. I couldn’t help thinking he was dead, and it rather unnerved me.” Her matter-of-fact tone faltered for a moment, but in the next instant she had collected herself and continued, “Anyway, I rang 999 and then went up to tell Miss Wellman what had happened. Then I went out front to wait for the ambulance.”
    Finding a corpse had clearly disturbed her, but she showed no emotion about the death itself.
    â€œYou don’t seem very grieved,” said Gibbons carefully.
    Kitty looked surprised. “It’s been over a month,” she pointed out. “I was upset at the time, of course, and sad to see him go, but it’s not as if we were close.”

    â€œThis is delicious coffee,” put in Bethancourt, reaching to butter a scone.
    She grinned, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Naturally,” she replied. “They don’t pay me for nothing, you know.”
    Bethancourt grinned back and took a large bite of scone. “Did Mr. Berowne take it this strong?” he asked around the mouthful.
    â€œYes. Oh, I see what you’re getting at. Well, I don’t know what the poison would have tasted like, but if this would have masked the taste, then it did.”
    â€œDid Miss Wellman seem surprised when you told her?” asked Gibbons.
    â€œQuite,” she answered. “In fact, she thought I must have made a mistake and hurried down to see if she could do anything. Of course, at the time I assumed he’d had a heart attack or something like that. And I forgot to say—” here her tone sharpened, “—there is absolutely no possibility whatsoever that anything but coffee and hot water got into that pot in this kitchen.”
    â€œIt does seem more likely,” answered Gibbons diplomatically, “that the poison was introduced in the study.”
    She nodded and sipped her coffee.
    â€œNow I understand,” continued Gibbons, “that Fatima Sathay, the daily help, was in the kitchen during this period?”
    â€œFatima was our daily help,” said Kitty wryly. “She’s only seventeen, and her parents made her quit when the news came out about the murder. Poor Mrs. Simmons is working herself to the bone to get everything done herself.”
    â€œBut Miss Sathay was here on the day of the murder?”
    â€œThat’s right,” she answered. “Fatima was polishing the silver that morning. She’d brought it all down and was here at this table the entire time. She was at it when I took the tray up and she was still here when I went up and found him. She couldn’t possibly have left without my seeing her.”
    Which also, reflected Gibbons, gave Kitty herself the next best
thing to an alibi. It was barely possible that she had re-entered the study after Annette had left the house, but by Fatima’s account Kitty had been gone for less than five