By Agatha Christie
While Cora Lansquenet is savagely murdered with a hatchet, the extreme comment she made the day gone by at her brother Richard’s funeral all at once takes on a chilling value. on the studying of Richard’s will, Cora was once sincerely heard to assert, “It’s been hushed up very properly, hasn’t it.… yet he used to be murdered, wasn’t he?”
In desperation, the relations solicitor turns to Hercule Poirot to solve the mystery.…
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Extra info for After the Funeral (Hercule Poirot, Book 29)
Yeah, come on, you know,” Parker said. “The one with the really good six-pack. Whathisname. ” Mark asked. ” Parker bobbed his head like those dogs you see on car dashboards. “Him. ” “Soooo . ” Robert, who was the most serious of the three, gave Parker a speculative look. ” Parker was offended. “I’m just saying. ” “No way. You’re crazy,” I said. ” Parker did an all-purpose shrug. ” “Don’t know about my dad. I kind of doubt it. Not much upsets him. ” Mark brayed. ” “Thanks,” I said. Parker clapped a hand on my shoulder.
Bad idea. “I’m honestly not sure,” I said and turned it around. “What about you? ” “I hope so. Maybe. It’s not just the money. ” Jimmy was suddenly very intent on fitting cups. ” “What do you want to be? ” I did a double take. “Really? Like . . ” “Shut up. You mean, like a real photographer? ” Jimmy looked both embarrassed and kind of like he was about to bust a gut, he wanted to let out this secret so much— and, all of a sudden, this huge wash of relief swept through me, too: this sense of so that’s it; phew, no big deal; dodged that bullet.
Sort of,” I said. Maybe if I kept my responses brief, we’d just get past this. ” “Oh . ” I dipped a cow’s teats in iodine. “You know . ” Just as soon as the words tumbled from my mouth, I wanted to scoop them back. Why I went that far—admitted that out loud to somebody else—I don’t know. In a way, it was like I was picking up where Jimmy left off. Only now it was me daring me to lay all my secrets in the sun where everyone could see—and me, most of all. Because once said, it couldn’t be unsaid.
After the Funeral (Hercule Poirot, Book 29) by Agatha Christie