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Twenty-five years later, in , and more than miles away, a young woman vanishes without a trace and another is found dead from what appears to be an overdose. In , street-smart Lieutenant Kate Gazzara is suddenly transferred to the Cold Case Squad and assigned her first case. But as she painstakingly goes over the file she discovers a connection to all three incidents. Is there a serial killer on the loose, one who has been killing for almost three decades? Poppy Fields, Hollywood IT girl extraordinaire, agreed to a week at the newest, most luxurious resort in Cabo.

After all, what's better than the beach when a girl is feeling blue? When Poppy is abducted, she'll need all her smarts, all her charm, and a killer Chihuahua, to save herself in this new series from the USA Today bestselling author of The Country Club Murders. Sherlock Holmes und sein Bruder Mycroft waren der Erpressung eines hohen Staatsmannes bis nach London nachgegangen, die dort ihren grausigen Ausgang nahm.

Three full-length cozy mysteries in one Westwick Witches paranormal omnibus box set! Witch You Well : Be careful what you wish for Dead billionaires are not good for business! Especially at Cendrine's wedding rehearsal and the witches' cozy family inn grand opening. Rags to Witches : Win, lose, or draw Witch and Famous: Can Cen keep her family in check and unmask the killer before he strikes again? Welcome to the wild, wild Wests! An evil stalks London, blown in from the tropics. Stories of cursed giant rats and malign spirits haunt the garrets of Limehouse. A group of merchants are, one by one, dying.

The elementary choice to investigate these mysterious deaths is, of course, Holmes and Dr Watson. Yet the unique gifts of their housekeeper, Mrs Hudson, and her orphaned assistant Flotsam, will be needed to solve the case. But can she do it all under the nose of Sherlock himself? When a devastating flood takes out several homes in a small town, residents are shocked by the news of also a possible poison spill that kills many of the fish and neighbor's pets. Julia, the town's newest reporter, begins her investigation but realizes the story is much bigger and more dangerous than she thought!

Julia and her husband find themselves on the run trying to save their lives while finishing the story of a lifetime! She never realized that being a reporter could be so dangerous. Samantha "Sam" Cache fought the war on terror as a white hat hacker out to prove she could succeed in the male-dominated world of computer security, until her NSA superiors scapegoated her for failing to prevent the North Korean cyberattack on Sony Pictures. Forced to exit the National Security Apparatus, Sam is reduced to sniffing out penny-ante computer scams as a freelance IT gumshoe, until former boss Corman Leery re-enters her life with an irresistible mystery - who hacked Mary Poppins?


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Jim Hardman was an Atlanta cop until he was wrongly accused of corruption and thrown off the force. Now he works as an unlicensed PI, trouble-shooter, and bodyguard A small-town farmer hires Hardman to find his teenage daughter who ran off to Atlanta to become a model There's never a good time for a ghost crisis. However, it's particularly inconvenient while I'm trying to tackle my first wedding season.

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Between hour days, an assistant with a case of butterfingers not the chocolate kind , and the flood of tourists in town, I'm struggling to keep a grip on my sanity. All I want is three months of peace from the spirit world. But when local ghosts start going missing, I have to do something. Joe Leaphorn may have retired from the Tribal Police, but he finds himself knee-deep in a perplexing case involving a priceless artifact - a reminder of a dark time in Navajo history.

His investigation takes a sinister turn when the leading suspect dies under mysterious circumstances and Leaphorn himself receives anonymous warnings to beware - witchcraft is afoot. Sarah knew starting over would be messy.


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  8. It was not till they reached the dessert stage that his lordship indulged in any very informative comment, and then he recounted to Stephen the details of a recent case in which he considered that the presiding judge had, by an unprecedented paralogy, misinterpreted the law of evidence.

    Stephen listened with absorbed attention. He took two cob-nuts from the silver dish, and turned them over meditatively, without cracking them. When his lordship had completely stated his opinion and peeled a pear, Stephen mumbled:. Even in my own field of—limited observation—the opinion of an outsider, you may say—so often it happens—the trouble caused by an affirmation without sufficiently established data. I have seen lives lost, ruin brought about, endless suffering.

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    Only last week, a young man—a brilliant career—almost shattered. People make statements without—". He put the nuts back on the dish, and then, in an apparently irrelevant manner, he said abruptly:. Stephen adjusted his glasses and carefully examined the plan. He took a long time to do this, and when he had finished his hand instinctively went towards a breast pocket where he kept a note-book with little squared pages.

    Then he stopped and sighed. After all, why argue with the law? The law was like that—an excellent thing, not infallible, of course even the plan of the Lord Chief justice was a quarter of a mile out , but still an excellent, a wonderful thing.

    He examined the bony knuckles of his hands and yawned slightly. This was the first communication that had come from her aunt in Rachel's lifetime. Rachel looked first at the signature. It seemed strange to see her own name there. It was as if her individuality, her very identity, was impugned by the fact that there should be two Rachel Deanes. Moreover there was a likeness between her aunt's autograph and her own, a characteristic turn in the looping of the letters, a hint of the same decisiveness and precision.

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    Austin Mystery Writers | Page 4

    If Rachel had been educated fifty years earlier, she might have written her name in just that manner. Rachel's eyelids drooped and her expression indicated a faint, suppressed intolerance of her father's remark.

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    He said the same things so often, and in so precisely the same tone, that she had formed a habit of automatically rejecting the truth of certain of his statements. He had always appeared to her as senile. He had been over fifty when she was born, and ever since she could remember she had doubted the correctness of his information.

    She was, she had often told herself, "a born sceptic; an ultra-modern. She had long since condemned alike the ethic and the aesthetic of the nineteenth century as represented by her father's opinions; so, that, even now, when his familiar comment coincided so queerly with her own thought, she instinctively disbelieved him. Yet, as always, she was gentle in her answer. She condescended from the heights of her youth and vigour to pity him.

    Rachel always prided herself on being so modern. She read Huxley and Darwin and things like that. Altogether beyond me, I admit. Still, it seems to me that the old truths have endured, and will—in spite of all—in spite of all. Rachel straightened her shoulders and lifted her head; there was disdain in her face, but none in her voice as she replied:. She was excited at the thought of meeting this traditional, this almost mythical aunt whom she had so often heard about.

    Sometimes she had wondered if the personality of this remarkable relative had not been a figment of her father's imagination, long pondered, and reconstructed out of half-forgotten material. But this letter of hers that now lay on the breakfast table was admirable in character. There was something of condescension and intolerance expressed in the very restraint of its tone.

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    She had written a kindly letter, but the kindliness had an air of pity. It was all consistent enough with what her father had told her. She—she is rich, almost wealthy; and I, as you know, have practically nothing to leave you—practically nothing. If she took a fancy to you He sighed again, and Rachel knew that for the hundredth time he was regretting his own past weakness. He had been so foolish in money matters, frittering away his once considerable capital in aimless speculations. He and his sister had shared equally under their father's will, but while he had been at last compelled to sink the greater part of what was left to him in an annuity, she had probably increased her original inheritance.

    By the way, how old is she? Deane said, "so she must be,—dear me, yes;—she must be seventy-three. Dear, dear. Fancy Rachel being seventy-three! I always think of her as being about your age. It seems so absurd to think of her as old He continued his reflections, but Rachel was not listening.

    He was asking for the understanding of the young; quite unaware of his senility, reaching out over half a century to try to touch the comprehension and sympathy of his daughter. But she was already bent on her own adventure, looking forward eagerly to a visit to London that promised delights other than the inspection of the mysterious, traditional aunt whom she had so long known by report.

    For this invitation had come very aptly. Rachel pondered that, later in the morning, with a glow of ecstatic resignation to her charming fate. She found the guiding hand of a romantic inevitability in the fact that she and Adrian Flemming were to meet so soon.