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Wrenching the handbrake, Ted pulled up outside the house of his favourite customer. He always looked forward to this delivery slot — it put a grin on his face as wide as his windscreen. No other customers would offer him tea on his rounds, there just wasn’t time. But Sarah Brown of 64 Stourview Way was from the frugal make-do-and-mend generation. She’d make a flask of tea first thing in the morning, so she only had to boil the kettle once to save on electricity. As soon as she heard his van pull up, she’d have a hot, steaming cuppa waiting for him on the kitchen counter.
Ted licked his lips at the prospect of refreshment. He lifted the crates of shopping out of the truck and made the short but careful walk down her front garden path, made back in the day when crazy paving was a thing. Today it would be deemed a trip hazard. Goodness knows how Sarah traversed this low-slung obstacle course with her walking frame.
He rested the crates on her front step and knocked on the door. It didn’t open straight away but that was to be expected. Not being too good on her feet, it would take a while for her to get there.
“It’s okay, Sarah. Don’t rush,” he called out. “I’m ahead of schedule.”
He waited. The door didn’t open.
Maybe she was upstairs, in which case, the stairlift would be taking its sweet time sliding her round the tight bends of her staircase like the world’s most sedate fairground ride.
Still the door didn’t open.
“Sarah, would you like me to start putting the shopping in the kitchen?” Sometimes she’d leave the door unlocked to save him waiting for her.
No response. Maybe he should give the door a try. The clock was ticking, and tea-drinking time was a-wasting. He twisted the handle. The latch clicked open.
Bending over, he picked up the crates and nudged the door wide with one elbow. Then he dropped them all, spilling shopping over the front step.
Sarah Brown was in her hallway face down. Ted swore and rushed in, assuming she’d had a fall.
In a second, he was by her side. “Sarah! Sarah! Can you hear me?” Her lack of response led him to believe that she must have hit her head and knocked herself out.
Ted flinched, panicked, not knowing what to do. He felt her neck for a pulse. He’d seen it a million times on the TV. That was what they did first, wasn’t it? Fumbling with two fingers, he sought out Sarah’s carotid artery.
All he found was cold skin. Then he noticed the damp, dark patch below one shoulder blade. In its centre, a deep narrow wound, wet with blood.
His breath caught in his throat. Hands shaking, he reached for his phone. As he fumbled to dial for an ambulance, something made him jump.
A small, dark object slid out of her left hand.
A domino with a name scratched onto it.