Well, this is yet another intriguing entry into the Poirot canon. A wealthy old lady dies on the brink of making a new will (because, duh), then a young woman close to her is poisoned, and the old lady’s niece is arrested for both deaths.
Unusually, this one spends more than a little time in a courtroom, which gives the tale an enjoyable Law and Order vibe. I actually figured out the murderer here, which I wish I could say was due to my general and abiding genius but I am afraid is more likely just because the plotting wasn’t quite as skillful as it usually is.
Nevertheless, this is yet another stellar installment in this continuing delight of a mystery series.
Well, except for all the people who get murdered, of course. That part is less a delight, obviously.
SCORECARD
TBR DAY 291: Sad Cypress (Poirot #21) by Agatha Christie
GENRE: Mystery, Cosy Mystery, Poirot
PUBLISHED: 1940
TIME ON THE TBR: ~6 years.
PURCHASED FROM: Vintage shop.
KEEP: Yes.
One thing that never occurred to me when I read “A Scandal in Bohemia” — the 1891 first Sherlock Holmes short story, coming after the novels A Study in Scarlet and The Sign of the Four — in which Holmes is tasked with tracking down a photograph incriminating to the King of Bohemia is that there was never actually a king of Bohemia. 
I am so mad that I brought this book back with me from London more than a decade ago, and have given it shelf space ever since. WHY did I do that? Why did I not read it as soon as I bought it and learn how unutterably boring it was right away, and discard it with prejudice before allowing it to take up valuable baggage allowance on an across-the-world flight?
Crime Noir is one of those subgenres that I have never particularly taken to, whether on film or in literature. I think it’s because, in its purest form, it’s so very masculine in nature. Now, it’s not that I have an inherent problem with that — I read a lot of Military Science Fiction, after all, and I don’t think stories necessarily have a gender. But are there actually noir novels, especially those written in its heyday of the 1940s and 1950s, in which women are portrayed as anything other than femme fatales, helpmeets or victims?
I love it when genres merge, and here Military Science Fiction meets Mystery as Colonel Carl Butler, no nonsense, competent and honourable (if kind of an alcoholic, in the tradition of many detective types), is sent to investigate the disappearance of a well-connected lieutenant during a battle on a war ravaged occupied planet.
I first encountered Ben H. Winters in his collaboration (I guess…) with Jane Austen in Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters. And while the conceit of that book palled after a while — and the 
When, oh when, are cantankerous and controlling old men, rich beyond reason, going to learn not to advertise an imminent change in their wills when surrounded by their not-so-loving families?
It’s Valentine’s Day, and Charlie D’s guest on his late night talk show is his boss Misty, a former escort who’s rich husband bought her the station as a wedding present. The topic is satisfaction, and there is much discussion of how intimacy goes beyond the physical. But meanwhile, a vicious organization spearheaded by Charlie’s right wing colleague is targeting sex workers, Jack the Ripper-style, and makes sure Charlie D knows all about it.
How do these Poirot books just keep getting better? There were so many twists and turns in this mystery that my head is spinning just trying to put it all together. 
Fran is at the site of yet another death. But this one… well, the conclusion to this one surprised me completely. It’s not often that the eighth novel in a series — especially in a cosy mystery series like this one, which is as light as the confections that adorns its covers– is its best, but such is the case with this one.*