It's not Christie's best mystery but I love this book so many aspects that aren't connected with the mystery - best of all: Ariadne.
Our favourite mystery writer alter-ego is off to a splendid start in this one.
First we get a joke about the vegetable marrow, whose mere mention will make me crack a smile and remember Poirot's famous spat with one of the very same.
And then we have Ariadne being interviewed by a 13-year-old:
Joyce, a sturdy thirteen-year-old, seized the bowl of apples. Two rolled off it and stopped, as though arrested by a witch’s wand, at Mrs Oliver’s feet.
‘You like apples, don’t you,’ said Joyce. ‘I read you did, or perhaps I heard it on the telly. You’re the one who writes murder stories, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Oliver.
‘We ought to have made you do something connected with murders. Have a murder at the party tonight and make people solve it.’
‘No, thank you,’ said Mrs Oliver. ‘Never again.’
‘What do you mean, never again?’
‘Well, I did once, and it didn’t turn out much of a success,’ said Mrs Oliver.
‘But you’ve written lots of books,’ said Joyce, ‘you make a lot of money out of them, don’t you?’
‘In a way,’ said Mrs Oliver, her thoughts flying to the Inland Revenue.
‘And you’ve got a detective who’s a Finn.’
Mrs Oliver admitted the fact. A small stolid boy not yet, Mrs Oliver would have thought, arrived at the seniority of the eleven-plus, said sternly, ‘Why a Finn?’
‘I’ve often wondered,’ said Mrs Oliver truthfully.
And then, of course, she's locked out of the bathroom at a time of need by a teenage couple.
LoL. I love the opening of this book.