Richard Abernethie died peacefully in his sleep at Enderby Hall. Why then did flighty Aunt Cora call it murder? Cora's own passing, shortly after, was far from peaceful -- and anything but natural.
A slice of wedding cake . . . an arrangement of wax flowers . . . a family with too many secrets to hide. Hercule Poirot is treading softly in the footsteps of an imaginative and deliberate killer. For, as the wily Belgian detective knows all too well, a frightened murderer is . . . deadly!

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