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243 pages, Hardcover
First published November 1, 1972




“Have you done anything?” said Mrs. Oliver.
“I beg your pardon—have I done what?”
“Anything,” said Mrs. Oliver. “What I asked you about yesterday.”
“Yes, certainly. I have put things in motion. I have arranged to make certain enquiries.”
“But you haven’t made them yet,” said Mrs. Oliver, who had a poor view of what the male view was of doing something.

An annoying woman approaches Ariadne Oliver at an author luncheon. Her son wants to marry (one of) Mrs. Oliver’s (many) goddaughter(s), who was orphaned in a terrible event: the murder-suicide of her parents. The mother demands to know: which parent was the murderer?Whoa, this is one of the last Agatha Christie novels, and it read to me like a mystery written by someone who had used up every last bit of enthusiasm she ever had, and was running on fumes. I didn’t realize she could be this utterly boring. And obvious. Even though I didn’t even care who dunnit, I still figured out the general bones of the story long before the Big Reveal.
An intrigued Mrs. Oliver and her friend Hercule Poirot set off to solve a decade-plus-old mystery, with some help from the memories of elephants, who never forget.