Agatha Christie Edition
Loki leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Ah, finally. A woman after my own heart. Murder, deception, and the occasional poisoning—truly, Agatha Christie understood the finer things in life.”
Rumple cracked his knuckles. “Seven of her books are public domain in the U.S. now. Seven fresh playgrounds for us to dive into. The question is… which one?”
Alice, now safely restored to her full power—meaning she had a steaming cup of tea in hand—took a long, luxurious sip before answering. “Oh, it’s obvious. We start with The Murder on the Links.”
A pause.
Loki blinked. “The one where Poirot gets called to France for a case, only to find the victim already dead—murdered on a golf course?”
Alice nodded. “Naturally.”
Rumple tilted his head. “So… we’re talking elite French murder, a rich dude stabbed on a golf course, and Poirot being brilliant while everyone else stumbles around?”
“Essentially.”
Loki’s smirk widened. “Excellent. Let’s begin.”
A Murder, A Golf Course, and a Detective with an Unnatural Love of Order
The scene: Northern France, a luxurious villa near a golf course. A wealthy businessman, Paul Renauld, sends an urgent plea to Hercule Poirot, begging for help because he believes his life is in danger. Poirot, intrigued and never one to ignore a dramatic summons, hops over to France with his companion, Captain Hastings.
Rumple rubbed his hands together. “And guess what? By the time they arrive—Renauld’s already dead.”
Loki sighed with satisfaction. “Classic. Summon the detective and then immediately get murdered. It’s practically tradition at this point.”
Alice sipped her tea. “And where do they find the body?”
Rumple grinned. “Oh, you know. Stabbed in the back, dumped in a shallow grave… ON THE GOLF COURSE.”
Loki nodded approvingly. “Golf is already a miserable sport. Now it has murder? I might actually be interested.”
Alice, ignoring him, continued. “The crime scene is odd. Renauld is wearing a coat way too big for him, his hands are tied, and the whole thing screams staged.”
Rumple wagged a finger. “And the wife? Suspicious as hell. She claims two masked men broke in, tied her up, dragged her husband away, and killed him. But nothing about her story adds up.”
Loki smirked. “It rarely does.”
Alice nodded. “And then we get one of the most entertaining parts of any Poirot story—the French police fighting Poirot at every turn.”
Rumple snorted. “Oh, they hate him. The lead investigator, Giraud, is especially irritated because Poirot refuses to roll around in the dirt looking for clues and instead just uses his brain. It’s hilarious.”
Loki chuckled. “Giraud is all about physical evidence, but Poirot is like, ‘Ah, but mon ami, the little grey cells will reveal all.’”
Alice sighed dramatically. “And they do.”
Twists, Turns, and—Oh, Look! Another Murder.
As the investigation unfolds, everything gets messier. The dead man’s son shows up—an arrogant, reckless young man named Jack. He had a secret lover, Marthe Daubreuil, but Renauld forbade the marriage, which gives Jack a very good reason to want his father dead.
Rumple waggled his eyebrows. “But wait! There’s more! Another woman is lurking in the background—one Madame Daubreuil, who is way too interested in this case.”
Alice leaned forward. “And then—we get a second attack. Another attempt at murder, staged in exactly the same way as Renauld’s.”
Loki’s grin sharpened. “Copycat crime? Or something far more devious?”
The Big Reveal—And Poirot’s Smug Victory Lap
Alice, swirling her tea, smiled. “And this is where Poirot shines. Because while the police chase all the wrong leads, Poirot pieces everything together—because, as usual, the truth is more complicated than it seems.”
Rumple snapped his fingers. “Turns out, Renauld wasn’t really Renauld. His real identity? A conman named Georges Conneau, who faked his own death years ago to escape justice.”
Loki grinned. “And Madame Daubreuil? Oh, she knew who he was. Because he ruined her life years ago. And her daughter, Marthe? Just as ruthless.”
Alice nodded. “Marthe was prepared to murder to secure a future with Jack. And Madame Daubreuil? She did kill Renauld—she stabbed him because she never forgot what he did to her.”
Rumple smirked. “And just when Marthe tries to get away with it—BAM! Poirot stops her. Because nobody outsmarts the little grey cells.”
Loki leaned back, looking satisfied. “So, in summary: Rich men lying about their pasts, vengeful women, murder on a golf course, and Poirot making the French police look like idiots. A perfect Christie novel.”
Alice took a final sip of her tea, smiling. “And the moral of the story?”
Rumple grinned. “If you’re going to fake your death, maybe don’t annoy a woman who has nothing to lose.”
Loki chuckled. “And never, ever underestimate Poirot.”
Reader #1: "Okay, I’m convinced. I need to read this book immediately."
Reader #2: "Murder AND golf? Sign me up."
Reader #3: "Wait… did Alice finish her tea?"
Alice smirked at the camera, holding up her empty cup. “Yes. Balance has been restored.”
And with that, The Murder on the Links officially earned its place in the Immortal Gazette’s archives.
