I just watched a PBS show about Agatha Christie, the best selling ever murder mystery writer and I remembered the first time I read one of her books. It was 1967 and the friend I rented a house with during my first year of teaching and I decided to take a driving trip out west. We borrowed a tent and other camping gear from my then boyfriend, later husband and spent three weeks exploring the west. We saw Yellowstone and Carlsbad and the Grand Canyon and much more. We were driving her beautiful red mustang and we had fun. During the long stretches of driving between sites we took turns reading to each other while the other one drove. The book we had brought along, I'm not sure if it was hers or mine, was Agatha Christie's "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd." We had lots of lively debates between chapters about who the murderer might be. I remember that we weren't even close to the truth until the second to last chapter and then we were shocked. It couldn't be! But it was. This was the beginning of much reading aloud on many trips over the years to come with my family. It was also on that trip that I got my first ever speeding ticket, but that's another story.
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