Alright, let’s dive into The Smurder of Roger Ackroyd, a wild ride of a tale, because who needs a regular murder mystery when we can have a smurder with twists, turns, and enough surprises to make your head spin? This one’s got everything: a wealthy man with too many secrets, a shady cast of characters, and, of course, Hercule Poirot at his best. But don’t get too comfortable, because this tale doesn’t play by the usual rules. I’ll tell you one thing—this is a mystery where everything matters, and you won’t see the smurderer coming.
“Alright, alright,” Alice began, twirling her teaspoon with a touch of flair. “Grab your teacups and settle in. Today, we’re unpacking a classic—The Smurder of Roger Ackroyd.”
Loki raised an eyebrow. “Did you just say smurder? What is this, a twist on the word ‘murder’?”
“Exactly,” Alice replied with a grin. “But I’m not giving it away. You’ll have to stick around until the end to find out what I’m talking about. Trust me, you’ll get it in time.”
Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes, his mood as unbothered as ever. “You can’t just say ‘smurder’ and leave us hanging. I need to know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Oh, you will,” Alice said, raising a finger for emphasis. “Now, let’s start with our story. Roger Ackroyd—a rich man, living in the quiet village of King’s Abbot, England. Everything seems to be going swimmingly for him, except for one little problem: he’s got secrets. And secrets, darling, have a nasty way of coming out when you least expect them.”
Loki leaned back, his hands behind his head. “Secrets, huh? Sounds like the kind of thing that’ll lead to a dramatic death.”
“Oh, it does, Loki,” Alice replied, her voice thick with intrigue. “But what makes this story stand out isn’t just the smurder, but the who and the why. Roger Ackroyd is found dead in his study, stabbed. The door’s locked. The windows are secure. There’s no sign of a struggle. Nothing seems out of place… except for the fact that someone had to know exactly what was going on in that room.”
“Uh-huh, so who found him?” Rumplestiltskin asked, his voice skeptical.
“Ah, that’s the interesting part,” Alice said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “The person who finds Roger’s body is Dr. James Sheppard—our narrator. He’s a local doctor, and he’s the one who reports the murder, he’s just another concerned citizen caught in a web of deception.”
Loki smirked. “Let me guess, the doctor’s a suspect, too?”
Alice gave him a playful glare. “Not so fast. Dr. Sheppard’s interesting, alright, but not in the way you’re thinking. He’s the one who calls the police, starts asking questions, and digs into the mystery of Ackroyd’s death. But as Poirot always says, pay attention to the details.”
Rumplestiltskin frowned, crossing his arms. "Okay, but who the heck is this Poirot guy?"
Alice gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. "Oh, Rumple, you poor, uncultured soul! Hercule Poirot is only the most brilliant detective to ever grace the pages of a book. A little Belgian man with an ego as sharp as his mind, a mustache that could cut glass, and a knack for solving cases with psychology and precision. He doesn’t just hunt for clues—he unravels people, their motives, their secrets. Every little detail matters to him. He’s like Sherlock Holmes but fancier, with better fashion sense and an obsession with order and method."
Loki smirked. "So, basically, he’s a tiny drama king who solves crimes?"
Alice grinned. "Exactly, and that’s why we love him." But as Poirot always says, pay attention to the details.”
Rumplestiltskin raised an eyebrow. “You’re giving us a lot of background. What’s the big twist?”
“Oh, don’t worry, darling,” Alice purred. “I’m getting to it. Hold your horses. The plot thickens when Poirot—yes, our beloved Belgian detective—gets involved. He’s living in the village, retired from his detective work, and, of course, he’s always ready for one last case. But this time, he has to untangle a story that’s been carefully spun to deceive everyone—including us.”
Loki smirked. “So, the plot thickens, huh? Give me the juicy details already. What’s Poirot’s big revelation?”
Alice tapped her fingers against her teacup, drawing out the suspense. “Oh, you want the juicy details? Fine.
She leaned in, eyes glinting with mischief. “We’ve got plenty of suspects—Flora, the distraught stepdaughter, who swears she saw her uncle alive after he was supposedly dead. Suspicious? Very.
Then there’s Ralph Paton, the missing fiancé, who conveniently vanishes right when things go south. So that was weird timing right!
Oh, and let’s not forget Parker, the butler - because it’s always the butler, isn’t it? And Major Blunt, the stiff-upper-lip hunter who just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Alice leaned in, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Oh, you think that’s all? Darling, we’re just getting started! Let’s talk about some real mysteries. First, there’s Miss Russell—the housekeeper with a little too much to say about drug addiction. Suspicious much? What’s she hiding?”
She paused for effect before continuing, “And then we have Ralph Paton—the missing stepson. Conveniently vanishes just when things take a deadly turn. A guilty conscience or something more? The police certainly think he’s our guy, but Poirot? Oh no, he’s not buying it.”
Alice’s grin widened as she raised a finger. “Now, here’s where things get really interesting. Poirot starts noticing odd little details—like a moved chair in the study. I mean, why would someone bother shifting furniture in a murder scene? And then—oh, this is good—he gets this crazy idea that a dictaphone might have been used to fake the timing of Ackroyd’s death. A recording, playing from beyond the grave? Now that’s next-level deception.”
She let the tension hang in the air before lowering her voice. “And let’s not forget the locked room mystery. No forced entry. No sign of a struggle. So how did the killer get in... or better yet, out? Every suspect has a reason to be guilty, but the truth? The truth is trickier than it seems.”
Alice leaned back with a wicked smirk. She paused, letting the tension simmer. “Every single one of them has could be guilty. Flora wants to protect Ralph. Ralph is running from something. Parker is hiding secrets. And Blunt? Well, he’s just too quiet, don’t you think? But here’s the thing—Poirot? He sees through all of it.”
Alice leaned forward, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “Alright, I won’t keep you in suspense any longer. You see, Poirot starts to realize that the smurder isn’t as simple as it seems. The person who killed Roger Ackroyd is someone who’s been hiding right under our noses all along.”
“Okay, now you’ve got my attention,” Rumplestiltskin said, clearly hooked.
Alice smiled slyly. “Dr. Sheppard—the good doctor himself. But here’s the twist: he’s been lying to us the entire time. He’s not just a narrator. He’s the murderer.”
Loki blinked. “What? You mean to tell me the narrator is the smurderer?”
Alice gave him a wicked grin. “Exactly. Dr. Sheppard, all along, was telling us his side of the story, manipulating the facts, keeping us in the dark. He’s the one who killed Roger Ackroyd—stabbing him in cold blood—and he’s been covering his tracks ever since. But it wasn’t about inheritance. No, no, it was about blackmail. Dr. Sheppard had been extorting money from Mrs. Ferrars, Roger Ackroyd’s secret love, over her past crime of poisoning her husband. When she took her own life, Ackroyd learned the truth and was about to expose him. So Sheppard did what any self-preserving villain would do—he silenced Ackroyd before he could say a word.”
Rumplestiltskin whistled. “Well, that’s a hell of a reveal. But how does Poirot figure it out?”
Alice leaned back, letting the suspense build. “Poirot, being the brilliant detective that he is, picks up on all the tiny inconsistencies in Sheppard’s story. The little things he left out. The way he conveniently glossed over crucial details. Poirot realizes that Sheppard’s written account is too perfect, too carefully constructed. And the final nail in the coffin? A dictation device that proves Sheppard was in the room at the time of the murder.”
“Unbelievable,” Loki said, shaking his head in disbelief. “But I guess that’s why Poirot’s the best. He can unravel all of it.”
“Exactly,” Alice said, grinning. “And the twist? The real twist? The fact that Dr. Sheppard was so deep into the lies that even we, as readers, were fooled by him. A brilliant, yet devious move by Christie.”
The Verdict
The Smurder of Roger Ackroyd is a masterclass in mystery storytelling. The twist? You won’t see it coming. Dr. Sheppard’s manipulation of the narrative is what makes this story one of the most groundbreaking mysteries ever written. It’s a psychological game, a battle of wits between the smurderer and Poirot—and the best part is, you’re part of it. You, the reader, were in on Dr. Sheppard’s lies all along, and yet, you didn’t see it coming. That, my darlings, is what makes a true Christie classic.
And there you have it! The smurder’s been solved, and the real killer revealed. Another case for Poirot in the books, but this one? This one’s unforgettable.
Now, go enjoy your tea, and remember—not everything is what it seems. Keep your eyes open, because you never know who’s hiding in plain sight.
