by Public Service Associate Autumn

I love a good mystery novel, though I came to them much later than I should have. As a teen, when I had run out of my own books to read (for the week) and my family could not make it to the library, my grandfather gave me several Agatha Christie novels from his collection.¹ But I didn’t read them that week. In fact, I didn’t read them until after I watched BBC’s wonderful adaptation, Poirot. But then, I was hooked: the twists and turns, the rooting out of each motive and link, fishing through all the red herrings, and perhaps most importantly, the satisfaction of knowing how all the pieces fit together in the end. It warms my order-loving soul.² I immediately went back and read the Agatha Christie originals, then moved on to Arther Conan Doyle, Rex Stout, Stephen Spotswood and many more.