Turning Over a New Leaf

‘What’s it to be this week, Mrs Dunbar?’ Linda the librarian asked. ‘A shooting? A strangling? Or a poisoning?’

‘No thank you, dear. Not today.’ Mrs Dunbar replied.

Linda was surprised. Every week for the past umpteen years the small, elderly, unassuming, Mrs Dunbar would rush in at midday to collect the latest new crime novels that Linda had put aside for her.

Always a little anxious and flustered, she never had the time to browse and choose for herself, explaining that ‘Mr Dunbar’s outside – he doesn’t like to be kept waiting – he must have his lunch on the table at one o’clock sharp’.

In any case, it was pointless her browsing the shelves as she had read every crime novel the small branch library had, some more than once. ‘I love crime stories,’ she would say ‘the gorier the better.’

‘Can I help you with anything else?’

‘No thank you, dear. I think I’ll just browse.’

Linda was astonished. ‘Mr Dunbar not waiting today, then?’

‘Not today, dear. Mr Dunbar passed away on Monday.’ Her tone was surprisingly calm, her manner unusually relaxed. There was a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. ‘Have you got anything light, amusing, a romance maybe?’

Linda, somewhat flummoxed, directed her towards the romantic fiction.

‘I’m so sorry about Mr Dunbar… What happened? Had he been ill?’

‘No, he'd been fine. It was straight after lunch. He just collapsed. The doctors don’t know why yet – there'll be a post mortem.' Mrs Dunbar paused. 'Maybe it was something he ate.’