Broken Voices (Paperback)

It was on a sweltering summer night that Rishal strolled into our bedroom, stopping short as he saw me lying lazily on the bed in my favorite worn gray lounge pants and a black v-necked cotton t-shirt. I was reading Elephants Can Remember by Agatha Christie, one of my favorite authors. "You're not ready?" Rishal furrowed his brow.
"Ready for what?" I didn't look up from the book. It was just getting to the good bit, as all Christie novels do, where the millions of pieces cleverly scattered all over the pages were slowly gathered together by either of Christie's famous sleuths, Jane Marple, or, as in this case, Hercule Poirot.
"Haven't you read that one already?" Rishal looked suspicious. I sighed. Nobody understood the pleasure in reading the same books more than once except for avid readers themselves.