Agatha Christie's genius for detective fiction isunparalleled. Her worldwide popularity isphenomenal, her characters engaging, her plotsspellbinding. No one knows the human heart-orthe dark passions that can stop it-better thanAgatha Christie. She is truly the one and onlyQueen of Crime.
"Rosemary that's for remembrance" Six people are thinkingabout beautiful Rosemary Barton, who died nearly a yearbefore. There's the loving sister, the long-suffering husband, thedevoted secretary, the lovers, and the betrayed wife. None ofthem can forget Rosemary But did one of them murder her?
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William Morrow Paperbacks
November 22, 2001
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Excerpt from Sparkling Cyanide by Agatha Christie
Iris Marle was thinking about her sister, Rosemary.
For nearly a year she had deliberately tried to put the thought of Rosemary away from her. She hadn't wanted to remember.
It was too painful-too horrible!
The blue cyanosed face, the convulsed, clutching fingers . . .
The contrast between that and the gay lovely Rosemary of the day before . . . Well, perhaps not exactly gay. She had had "flu"-she had been depressed, run down . . . all that had been brought out at the inquest. Iris herself had laid stress on it. It accounted, didn't it, for Rosemary's suicide?
Once the inquest was over, Iris had deliberately tried to put the whole thing out of her mind. Of what good was remembrance? Forget it all! Forget the whole horrible business.
But now, she realized, she had got to remember. She had got to think back into the past . . . to remember carefully every slight unimportant seeming incident . . .
That extraordinary interview with George last night necessitated remembrance.
It had been so unexpected, so frightening. Wait-had it been so unexpected? Hadn't there been indications beforehand? George's growing absorption, his absent-mindedness, his unaccountable actions-his-well, queerness was the only word for it! All leading up to that moment last night when he had called her into the study and had taken the letters from the drawer of the desk.
So now there was no help for it. She had got to think about Rosemary-to remember.
Rosemary her sister . . .
With a shock Iris realized suddenly that it was the first time in her life she had ever thought about Rosemary. Thought about her, that is, objectively, as a person.
She had always accepted Rosemary without thinking about her. You didn't think about your mother or your father or your sister or your aunt. They just existed, unquestioned, in those relationships.
You didn't think about them as people. You didn't ask yourself, even, what they were like.
What had Rosemary been like?
That might be very important now. A lot might depend upon it. Iris cast her mind back into the past. Herself and Rosemary as children . . .