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Agatha Christie

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If Lucille Anderson was asked to name her favourite book, she would always say the Bible. She would have had no problem if she had been told she could only read one book for the rest of her life in happily accepting that would be the Bible. But she would also admit her guilty secret was her enjoyment of Agatha Christie books. She went to the local library every week and was always pleased to find on the shelf a book she hadn’t already read.

One afternoon, having been to the library, she was sitting on her bed totally engrossed.

“Nurse Anderson. Nurse Anderson!” Phyllis Crane’s voice was raised. “Could you tear yourself aware from Miss Marple for a moment, please?”

Lucille looked up. “It’s Hercule Poirot, but yes, sorry.”

“Well, I’m sure M. Poirot will spare you for a little while since it is tea time.”

“Oops, I hadn’t realised.” She picked up her bookmark and started to put it inside the book but paused to read a few more lines.

“Nurse Anderson,” Phyllis sighed.

Lucille regretfully marked her place and put her book down, before standing up and going downstairs with Phyllis.

They entered the kitchen and Phyllis said, “Sorry we’re late, Nurse Anderson had unfortunately been abducted by a French detective.”

“He’s Belgian!” Lucille protested.

The others laughed.

Sister Julienne opened the cake tin. “That’s funny,” she said. “I’m sure there were ten currant buns in here earlier. Now there are only eight.”

Val turned to Lucille. “Now’s your big moment to put the little grey cells into action.”

Phyllis looked at Sister Monica Joan and said, “I don’t think we need a detective to solve that mystery.”

Sister Monica Joan smiled happily. “It reminds me of my favourite Agatha Christie story.”

“Which one is that?” Lucille asked.

“And then there were none.”