The Christie Caper - Carolyn Hart [57]
“Oh, Griswold was a man without character. He destroyed letters of Poe’s which would have contradicted his calumnies. He added sentences in letters to put Poe in a bad light.” Laurel’s eyes widened. “But worst of all, his biography was considered the authorized biography of Poe. For many years it was included as a preface in all editions of Poe’s work. So when Poe’s friends—and he had many—claimed Griswold’s attack was untrue, they were ignored. Griswold achieved his revenge. Even today many teachers believe all those dreadful accusations. Oh, Griswold was a scoundrel.”
“That’s really too bad.” Annie commiserated. It was certainly a shame. But it was a long time ago and she suspected Poe would care more that his work was still revered, especially by the European literati, and care less that his personal reputation was stained by Griswold’s machinations. Evil, after all, would come as no surprise to Edgar Allan Poe.
“Poe’s friends came to his succor too late. But Christie’s admirers shall speak now!” Laurel snatched up the folded sheets of paper and thrust one at Annie.
Annie’s slowly mounting sense of well-being, a product of the excellent coffee and a conscious decision to go with the flow (i.e., indulge Laurel), evaporated faster than Lady Frankie Derwent driving her large green Bentley down country lanes in The Boomerang Clue.
Annie stared at the yellow flyer.
behind the
FALSE FACE
DISCOVER THE TRUTH ABOUT
AGATHA CHRISTIE
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Find out Christie’s relationship with the well-known novelist Eden Philipotts. Christie’s first love affair. The truth behind her disappearance: who was driving the car, the ultimate plan, how it came undone. How well did she know Sir Leonard Woolley before that first trip to the Middle East? The real reason why she used Katharine Woolley as the victim in Murder in Mesopotamia. Who really came up with the plot idea behind The Murder of Roger Ackroyd?
LOVE • BETRAYAL • FURY • HEARTBREAK • SERENDIPITY • A SECOND SPRING
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behind the
FALSE FACE
by Neil C. Bledsoe
Annie was on her feet, brandishing the sheet and heading for the door when it swung in.
Max reached out and caught her. “Annie?” He looked beyond her at Laurel, who was smiling encouragingly at her daughter-in-law.
“So nice to see young people with so much spirit. I, for one, have not lost hope in the younger generation. There is indeed passion in—”
Annie was struggling to get to the door. “I’ll false-face him. Wait until I get my hands on him. I’m going to obliterate that man.”
Understandably startled, his hands full with an enraged Annie, Max left the hall door open.
“My dears, forgive me for intruding at such an early hour.” The light, sweet voice spilled from the doorway. Lady Gwendolyn, in a baggy gray tweed suit and sturdy oxfords, looked like an academic out for an early morning stroll, except that her vivid blue eyes crackled with determination. She flung a crumpled yellow sheet to the floor with finality. “This is absolutely reprehensible. We cannot—we will not—permit such vile muck to be circulated. We must act immediately.”
Annie stood beside the pool and seethed.
It wasn’t quite ten o’clock on Tuesday morning, and the Palmetto Court resembled the ground floor of the R. H. Haymaker Department Store when silk stockings went on sale in File for Record by Phoebe Atwood Taylor writing as Alice Tilton. The only difference was one of tone. Rather than battling, as did the war-deprived women, these were good-natured, orderly line-standers, bathed in the warm September sunlight and fortified by the conference-provided hearty English buffet breakfast of eggs, bacon, kippers, cold grouse, and York ham. Those who