I was running errands today and wanted to finally drop a couple books off (I had an audiobook overdue--to fund our public library systems, of course), but I was just one short story shy of finishing. I couldn't drop it in the box and check it off my list without legitimately finishing it! So I parked in the library lot and wrapped it up.
I'm so glad I did--the last story was by far my favorite, and I think the most interesting. It featured M. Poirot's younger, more naive days as a humble police detective in Belgium. Maybe I just preferred that version of him better than the seasoned vet who knows how valuable his "little gray cells" are. It's called "The Chocolate Box." Seeing as how it dealt with murder, it left me craving more Christie than chocolate... but now I'm back to the Roald Dahl biography and very nearly finished with his younger years. Now onto the good stuff about writing everyone's favorite books! Also, war!
It's been a beautiful summer so far.