The studio was buzzing with excitement as the trio of tricksters settled in. Loki, of course, was lounging lazily with a glass of something sinister-looking in hand. Rumplestiltskin was fiddling with some sort of enchanted object, his usual look of mischief painted across his face. Alice, however, was more poised than usual, her eyes glinting behind a steaming cup of tea—probably because she knew what was coming.
"Alright, alright," Alice began, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let’s dive into The Mysterious Affair at Styles. I know what you’re thinking: ‘Oh, another classic mystery story about a rich family, a dead body, and a suspect pool the size of a village.’"
Loki groaned. "Wait, don’t tell me—someone’s poisoned? No way, that’s never happened before."
"Let’s just say, this is where Hercule Poirot got his start," Alice said, flashing a mischievous smile. "And trust me, he does more than just solve the crime—he practically owns it. So, buckle up, because it starts with a bang."
She leaned back, eyes narrowing with the weight of the story’s gravity.
"Picture it," she began, her voice soft but commanding. "You’re in a grand old manor house, surrounded by the kind of luxury that makes your teeth hurt. This is Styles Court, and it’s filled with the rich, the privileged, and the weird."
Loki looked intrigued. "Wait, weird? That’s new. Go on."
Alice took a slow sip of tea, then continued, "Now, the story starts with Emily Inglethorp—the lady of the house. She’s old, rich, and a bit on the... prickly side. One night, after dinner, she’s found dead. And I mean dead—poisoned."
"Poisoned? Classic," Loki quipped. "What else is new?"
Alice ignored him and kept going, her voice picking up speed. "So now, we’ve got a problem. Who did it? And more importantly, how did they do it? Because it turns out, Emily didn’t just drop dead from a casual case of indigestion."
Rumplestiltskin raised an eyebrow. "You don’t say? I’m shocked."
"I’m sure you are," Alice shot back with a sly grin. "The interesting part here is that it wasn’t some random poison, like cyanide or arsenic. No, no, it was strychnine. And that’s where things get a bit messy."
Loki leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. "Go on, what’s the twist?"
"Well," Alice continued, her tone darkening, "the thing about strychnine is, it doesn’t just kill you. It makes you suffer. And Emily’s death is slow, painful, and drawn out. So, we’ve got a family in shambles, and it’s up to none other than Hercule Poirot—retired Belgian detective with a mustache as big as his ego—to crack the case."
Rumplestiltskin snorted. "A mustache, you say? Is that his greatest asset? I mean, I’ve never seen a mustache solve a crime."
"Well, Hercule Poirot can," Alice said, her voice dripping with mock reverence. "See, Poirot’s got this ‘little grey cells’ of his—his mind—that make him practically a genius when it comes to crime solving. But at first, Poirot’s just a guest at Styles, visiting his old friend Captain Hastings. And let me tell you, this story has plenty of twists before Poirot even starts solving things."
Loki stretched, his tone playful. "I bet the family’s all just standing around blaming each other, right? That’s how these things usually go."
"Not exactly," Alice answered with a mischievous glint in her eye. "You see, the family is suspicious, but Poirot starts narrowing it down. It’s not just about motive—it’s about opportunity. And here’s where the real fun begins. Emily’s husband, Alfred, is the obvious first suspect, because he’s young and has an incentive—money. But then, there’s the mysterious servant, the heir to the estate, and even the wife’s own sister... all with motives, all with opportunities. And Poirot is there, watching, listening—thinking."
Rumplestiltskin leaned back, cracking his knuckles. "I’m on the edge of my seat. Who did it? Who killed her?"
Alice set her cup down, leaning forward. "That’s the thing, darling. Poirot unravels the whole thing, bit by bit. Turns out, Emily’s death wasn’t about greed—it was about something deeper. Someone in the family had a grudge, a motive that didn’t show up on the surface. And Poirot? He put it all together. But here’s the kicker—the real twist at the end..."
Loki leaned in. "What’s the twist?"
Alice gave him a cold smile. "It wasn’t just the person you thought it was. Poirot solved the case by picking apart the smallest details—the tiniest pieces of evidence—and when the killer is revealed? It’s a shock, even to me."
Rumplestiltskin sighed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, wow. A twist. How original."
Alice raised an eyebrow. "Trust me, Rumple. You’ll see the genius in it when you read it."
"But why not just say who did it?" Loki asked, his patience running thin. "What’s the point of all this suspense?"
Alice gave him a pointed look. "Because, Loki, where’s the fun in that? People come here for the suspense. For the thrill. For the fact that Hercule Poirot is a genius and will always catch the killer."
Loki smirked. "Fair enough. You make a good point. But maybe next time you could just throw in a fireball or two. Or a dragon?"
Alice shot him a look. "Next time, Loki. But today? Today is Poirot’s day. And trust me, darlings—this mystery is one you won’t want to miss."
The Verdict:
The Mysterious Affair at Styles is where it all began for Hercule Poirot and his little grey cells. It's classic Christie—murder, motive, and mystery, wrapped up in a tight little package of suspense. But what makes this one stand out is Poirot himself. The way he pieces together the smallest clues to uncover the truth makes this story a must-read for any fan of detective fiction.
Sure, it might not have the chaos Loki wants or the grand magic Rumplestiltskin thrives on, but it’s a clever, well-woven mystery. A puzzle where every piece matters, and the reveal? Oh, it’s as satisfying as a cup of tea. If you love a good whodunit—and trust me, this one is a classic—then you’ll find yourself hooked from start to finish.
Just... be careful with strychnine, darling. It’s not your average poison.
