Like many of Agatha Christie’s best puzzles, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd takes us to an English village whose cozy society has been disrupted by death. In King’s Abbot, where Hercule Poirot has retired to garden, the suicide of the widowed Mrs. Ferrars is surrounded by rumors that she had killed her husband a year earlier. When well-off Roger Ackroyd, with whom the widow had been dallying, is found murdered in his locked study, Poirot puts down his gardening tools and begins digging into the criminal intrigue. As always in Christie, there is an abundance of suspects, one seeming more likely than the next, as well as clues hidden in plain sight to all but Poirot, whose “little grey cells”—as he invokes his fabled brainpower—allow no assumptions to cloud his ratiocination. The book—and the case—comes to a stunning conclusion in a plot twist so unusual, it would reverberate throughout the golden age of mystery that Christie’s intricately constructed tales heralded.
Can't say why I loved this book without spoiling it.
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