My husband and I have been on the road so much for the past few months. We have made trips to Virginia (twice), Florida, Colorado, Massachusetts and Mississippi. Whew! People did say we would have more time when the nest was truly empty! Well, of all of those destinations, only two didn’t involve kids ;).
Our audiobook listening didn’t start up again until this past weekend. We made the rounds of Mississippi, visiting friends and family and celebrating with our youngest son and his fiancée. Accompanying our road trip was Hercule Poirot. We have been systematically listening to Agatha Christie’s series in order of publication, but got a bit out of order on this trip. We listened to Cards on The Table set in the mid-1930s and The Third Girl set in the early 1960s. In the first novel, Poirot is in his prime and a well-known detective; the other novel features a Poirot confronted with the assertion that he is too old. In both novels, Poirot rules the day and exposes the bad guys. We really enjoyed Cards on The Table. The Third Girl — not so much. It was just too far-fetched with much of the evidence withheld from the reader until the very end. As always, Hugh Fraser did a wonderful job of bringing Poirot to life. A recurring character, Ariadne Oliver, also brought a good dose of levity.
While we enjoy traveling with Poirot, we would not recommend The Third Girl. However, Cards on The Table was one of our most enjoyable reads.
Mr. Shaitana is famous as a flamboyant party host. Nevertheless, he is a man of whom everybody is a little afraid. So when he boasts to Hercule Poirot that he considers murder an art form, the detective has some reservations about accepting a party invitation to view Shaitana’s private collection. Indeed, what begins as an absorbing evening of bridge will turn into a more dangerous game altogether.
A perplexed girl thinks she might have killed someone . . . . Three single girls shared the same London flat. The first worked as a secretary; the second was an artist; the third who came to Poirot for help, disappeared convinced she was a murderer. Now there were rumours of revolvers, flick-knives and blood stains. But, without hard evidence, it would take all Poirot’s tenacity to establish whether the third girl was guilty innocent or insane . . . .