Washout: A Folly Beach Mystery

About the Author Author of Folly and The Pier, part of the Folly Beach Mystery series, Bill Noel works as a university administrator and fine art photographer. He lives in Louisville, Kentucky, with his wife, Susan. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Missing: A Folly Beach Mystery

About the Author Bill Noel is the author of the popular Folly Beach Mystery series, which includes the titles Folly, The Pier, Washout, The Edge, The Marsh, and Ghosts. He is a fine arts photographer and retired university administrator. He lives in Louisville, Kentucky, with his wife, Susan. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition. Review Fore Word Reviews ClarionReview Missing:A Folly Beach Mystery Bill Noel Five Stars (out ofFive) Solid characters,delightful prose, and well-paced action set Missing apart from otheramateur-detectivenovels. Love, loss, scruples,and power are the scaffolding upon which Bill Noel builds a book that is oneheck of a read.  The book followsretiree and widower Chris Landrum and his friend Charles Fowler. They've donesome private detective work more by chance than design, garnering a reputationfor keen analysis and common sense. Chris is sought outby a teen who thinks he saw a woman being abducted. Chris and Charles agree tolook into the matter, and they open up a can of worms: the new mayor is asoulless shark who plots to turn what he refers to as "my island" into aparadise for the wealthy. Complicating this power play are the discoveries ofthree dead women on or near Folly Beach. Set in South Carolinanear Charleston, Noel deftly soaks Missing with just enough descriptiveterms to make the sensation of clean ocean air and unspoiled beaches lift fromthe page like a mist. More than thesetting, however, it's the characters who are most memorable, thanks to theirsolidity and variety. All the characters are three-dimensional, familiarpersonalities, as Noel has mastered the art of showing more than telling. The cover art and back coversummation work well to snag a reader's attention. Both aresparse but elegant. The textitself is smooth and very easy to read. With its delightful prose styleand well-paced action, Missing sets itself apart from otheramateur-detective novels. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

She Believed She Could So She Did - A Daily Gratitude Journal | Planner

Review GREAT Notebook. Use it as a place to keep your daily to-do list, write your grocery list, keep track of appointments. Not just a journal. With a scored cover, it is handy as an all-purpose notebook for everyday use. "The journals are not only splendid but, as a reference book, nothing is more valuable to a writer than personal journals kept over extended periods of time." --Marguerite Quantaine "The journals are not only splendid but, as a reference book, nothing is more valuable to a writer than personal journals kept over extended periods of time." --Marguerite Quantaine "Yes! I just love these journals! On your nightstand, in your car, beside your computer, near the door for when you sit on the deck, or in the backyard, or at the beach, traveling anywhere. And each time you open the journal or close the journal, you see a message of wisdom, humor, fun, and many more covers. In addition, they make wonderful gifts. Check out the Amazon page for all the great covers - there's a theme for everyone you know." --Kieran York "Yes! I just love these journals! On your nightstand, in your car, beside your computer, near the door for when you sit on the deck, or in the backyard, or at the beach, traveling anywhere. And each time you open the journal or close the journal, you see a message of wisdom, humor, fun, and many more covers. In addition, they make wonderful gifts. Check out the Amazon page for all the great covers - there's a theme for everyone you know." --Kieran York "Beautiful journal, wonderful high quality. The inside pages are lined so nicely. I love the 7 by 10-inch size. It is so pretty to look at! the colors just pop. I will be ordering more, for myself as well as gifts. How could I not at this fantastic price and quality? You can use this for just about anything. List making, note taking in school. There are so many beautiful covers to choose from. I love mine!" --Christine Dupre "Beautiful journal, wonderful high quality. The inside pages are lined so nicely. I love the 7 by 10-inch size. It is so pretty to look at! the colors just pop. I will be ordering more, for myself as well as gifts. How could I not at this fantastic price and quality? You can use this for just about anything. List making, note taking in school. There are so many beautiful covers to choose from. I love mine!" --Christine Dupre "Lovely journals. Can be used as a planner or a notebook. The cover is thick with a nice feel--matte finish. Lined pages. All around nice book to carry with you." --Kay Reads Books "Lovely journals. Can be used as a planner or a notebook. The cover is thick with a nice feel--matte finish. Lined pages. All around nice book to carry with you." --Kay Reads Books

Music

About the Author Andrew Zuckerman is a New York–based photographer, author, and filmmaker. His book Creature (2007), a portrait series of animals, was released to critical acclaim and has reprinted numerous times. Wisdom (2008), a book, film, and traveling exhibition, is an ongoing project made with the support of Archbishop Desmond Tutu.

Harvard Classics, Deluxe Edition, Don Quixote of the Mancha

The Whistler: A Novel

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. 1 The satellite radio was playing soft jazz, a compromise. Lacy, the owner of the Prius and thus the radio, loathed rap almost as much as Hugo, her passenger, loathed contemporary country. They had failed to agree on sports talk, public radio, golden oldies, adult comedy, and the BBC, without getting near bluegrass, CNN, opera, or a hundred other stations. Out of frustration on her part and fatigue on his, they both threw in the towel early and settled on soft jazz. Soft, so Hugo’s deep and lengthy nap would not be disturbed. Soft, because Lacy didn’t care much for jazz either. It was another give-and-take of sorts, one of many that had sustained their teamwork over the years. He slept and she drove and both were content. Before the Great Recession, the Board on Judicial Conduct had access to a small pool of state-owned Hondas, all with four doors and white paint and low mileage. With budget cuts, though, those disappeared. Lacy, Hugo, and countless other public employees in Florida were now expected to use their own vehicles for the state’s work, reimbursed at fifty cents a mile. Hugo, with four kids and a hefty mortgage, drove an ancient Bronco that could barely make it to the office, let alone a road trip. And so he slept. Lacy enjoyed the quiet. She handled most of her cases alone, as did her colleagues. Deeper cuts had decimated the office, and the BJC was down to its last six investigators. Seven, in a state of twenty million people, with a thousand judges sitting in six hundred courtrooms and processing a half a million cases a year. Lacy was forever grateful that almost all judges were honest, hardworking people committed to justice and equality. Otherwise, she would have left long ago. The small number of bad apples kept her busy fifty hours a week. She gently touched the signal switch and slowed on the exit ramp. When the car rolled to a stop, Hugo lurched forward as if wide awake and ready for the day. “Where are we?” he asked. “Almost there. Twenty minutes. Time for you to roll to your right and snore at the window.” “Sorry. Was I snoring?” “You always snore, at least according to your wife.” “Well, in my defense, I was walking the floor at three this morning with her latest child. I think it’s a girl. What’s her name?” “Wife or daughter?” “Ha‑ha.” The lovely and ever-pregnant Verna kept few secrets when it came to her husband. It was her calling to keep his ego in check and it was no small task. In another life, Hugo had been a football star in high school, then the top-rated signee in his class at Florida State, and the first freshman to crack the starting lineup. He’d been a tailback, both bruising and dazzling, for three and a half games anyway, until they carried him off on a stretcher with a jammed vertebra in his upper spine. He vowed to make a comeback. His mother said no. He graduated with honors and went to law school. His glory days were fading fast, but he would always carry some of the swagger possessed by all-Americans. He couldn’t help it. “Twenty minutes, huh?” he grunted. “Sure, or not. If you like, I’ll just leave you in the car with the motor running and you can sleep all day.” He rolled to his right, closed his eyes, and said, “I want a new partner.” “That’s an idea, but the problem is nobody else will have you.” “And one with a bigger car.” “It gets fifty miles a gallon.” He grunted again, grew still, then twitched, jerked, mumbled, and sat straight up. He rubbed his eyes and said, “What are we listening to?” “We had this conversation a long time ago, when we left Tallahassee, just as you were beginning to hibernate.” “I offered to drive, as I recall.” “Yes, with one eye open. It meant so much. How’s Pippin?” “She cries a lot. Usually, and I say this from vast experience, when a newborn cries it’s for a reason. Food, water, diaper, momma--whatever. Not this one. She squawks for the hell of it. You don’t know what you’re missing.” “If you’ll recall, I’ve actually walked the floors with Pippin on two occasions.” “Yes, and God bless you. Can you come over tonight?” “Anytime. She’s number four. You guys thought about birth control?” “We are beginning to have that conversation. And now that we’re on the subject, how’s your sex life?” “Sorry. My mistake.” At thirty-six Lacy was single and attractive, and her sex life was a rich source of whispered curiosity around the office. They were going east toward the Atlantic Ocean. St. Augustine was eight miles ahead. Lacy finally turned off the radio when Hugo asked, “And you’ve been here before?” “Yes, a few years back. Then boyfriend and I spent a week on the beach in a friend’s condo.” “A lot of sex?” “Here we go again. Is your mind always in the gutter?” “Well, come to think of it, the answer has to be yes. Plus, you need to understand that Pippin is now a month old, which means that Verna and I have not had normal relations in at least three months. I still maintain, at least to myself, that she cut me off three weeks too early, but it’s sort of a moot point. Can’t really go back and catch up, you know? So things are fairly ramped up in my corner; not sure she feels the same way. Three rug rats and a newborn do serious damage to that intimacy thing.” “I’ll never know.” He tried to focus on the highway for a mile or two, then his eyelids grew heavy and he began to nod. She glanced at him and smiled. In her nine years with the Board, she and Hugo had worked a dozen cases together. They made a nice team and trusted each other, and both knew that any bad behavior by him, and there had been none to date, would immediately be reported to Verna. Lacy worked with Hugo, but she gossiped and shopped with Verna. St. Augustine was billed as the oldest city in America, the very spot where Ponce de León landed and began exploring. Long on history and heavy on tourism, it was a lovely town with historic buildings and thick Spanish moss dripping from ancient oaks. As they entered its outskirts, the traffic slowed and tour buses stopped. To the right and in the distance, an old cathedral towered above the town. Lacy remembered it all very well. The week with the old boyfriend had been a disaster, but she had fond memories of St. Augustine. One of many disasters. “And who is this mysterious deep throat we are supposed to meet?” Hugo asked, rubbing his eyes once again, now determined to stay awake. “Don’t know yet, but his code name is Randy.” “Okay, and please remind me why we are tag teaming a secret meeting with a man using an alias who has yet to file a formal complaint against one of our esteemed judges.” “I can’t explain. But I’ve talked to him three times on the phone and he sounds, uh, rather earnest.” “Great. When was the last time you talked to a complaining party who didn’t sound, uh, rather earnest?” “Stick with me, okay? Michael said go, and we’re here.” Michael was the director, their boss. “Of course. No clue as to the alleged unethical conduct?” “Oh yes. Randy said it was big.” “Gee, never heard that before.” They turned onto King Street and poked along with the downtown traffic. It was mid-July, still the high season in north Florida, and tourists in shorts and sandals drifted along the sidewalks, apparently going nowhere. Lacy parked on a side street and they joined the tourists. They found a coffee shop and killed half an hour flipping through glossy real estate brochures. At noon, as instructed, they walked into Luca’s Grill and got a table for three. They ordered iced tea and waited. Thirty minutes passed with no sign of Randy, so they ordered sandwiches. Fries on the side for Hugo, fruit for Lacy. Eating as slowly as possible, they kept an eye on the door and waited. As lawyers, they valued their time. As investigators, they had learned patience. The two roles were often in conflict. At 2:00 p.m., they gave up and returned to the car, as smothering as a sauna. As Lacy turned the key, her cell phone rattled. Caller unknown. She grabbed it and said, “Yes.” A male voice said, “I asked you to come alone.” It was Randy. “I suppose you have the right to ask. We were supposed to meet at noon, for lunch.” A pause, then, “I’m at the Municipal Marina, at the end of King Street, three blocks away. Tell your buddy to get lost and we’ll talk.” “Look, Randy, I’m not a cop and I don’t do cloak-and-dagger very well. I’ll meet you, say hello and all that, but if I don’t have your real name within sixty seconds then I’m leaving.” “Fair enough.” She canceled the call and mumbled, “Fair enough.” The marina was busy with pleasure craft and a few fishing boats coming and going. A long pontoon was unloading a gaggle of noisy tourists. A restaurant with a patio at the water’s edge was still doing a brisk business. Crews on charter boats were spraying decks and sprucing things up for tomorrow’s charters. Lacy walked along the central pier, looking for the face of a man she’d never met. Ahead, standing next to a fuel pump, an aging beach bum gave a slight, awkward wave and nodded. She returned the nod and kept walking. He was about sixty, with too much gray hair flowing from under a Panama hat. Shorts, sandals, a gaudy floral-print shirt, the typical bronze, leathery skin of someone who spent far too much time in the sun. His eyes were covered by aviator shades. With a smile he stepped forward and said, “You must be Lacy Stoltz.” She took his hand and said, “Yes, and you are?” “Name’s Ramsey Mix. A pleasure to meet you.” “A pleasure. We were supposed to meet at noon.” “My apologies. Had a bit of boat trouble.” He nodded down the pier to a large powerboat moored at the end of the dock. It wasn’t the longest boat in the harbor at that moment, but it was close. “Can we talk there?” he asked. “On the boat?” “Sure. It’s much more private.” Crawling onto a boat with a complete stranger struck her as a bad idea and she hesitated. Before she could answer, Mix asked, “Who’s the black guy?” He was looking in the direction of King Street. Lacy turned and saw Hugo casually following a pack of tourists nearing the marina. “He’s my colleague,” she said. “Sort of a bodyguard?” “I don’t need a bodyguard, Mr. Mix. We’re not armed, but my friend there could pitch you into the water in about two seconds.” “Let’s hope that won’t be necessary. I come in peace.” “That’s good to hear. I’ll get on the boat only if it stays where it is. If the engines start, then our meeting is over.” “Fair enough.” She followed him along the pier, past a row of sailboats that looked as though they had not seen the open sea in months, and to his boat, cleverly named Conspirator. He stepped on board and offered a hand to help her. On the deck, under a canvas awning, there was a small wooden table with four folding chairs. He waved at it and said, “Welcome aboard. Have a seat.” Lacy took quick stock of her surroundings. Without sitting, she said, “Are we alone?” “Well, not entirely. I have a friend who enjoys boating with me. Name is Carlita. Would you like to meet her?” “Only if she’s important to your story.” “She is not.” Mix was looking at the marina, where Hugo was leaning on a rail. Hugo waved, as if to say, “I’m watching everything.” Mix waved back and said, “Can I ask you something?” “Sure,” Lacy said. “Is it safe to assume that whatever I’m about to tell you will be rehashed with Mr. Hatch in short order?” “He’s my colleague. We work together on some cases, maybe this one. How do you know his name?” “I happen to own a computer. Checked out the website. BJC really should update it.” “I know. Budget cuts.” “His name vaguely rings a bell.” “He had a brief career as a football player at Florida State.” “Maybe that’s it. I’m a Gator fan myself.” Lacy refused to respond to this. It was so typical of the South, where folks attached themselves to college football teams with a fanaticism she’d always found irksome. Mix said, “So he’ll know everything?” “Yes.” “Call him over. I’ll get us something to drink.” 2 Carlita served drinks from a wooden tray--diet sodas for Lacy and Hugo, a bottle of beer for Mix. She was a pretty Hispanic lady, at least twenty years his junior, and she seemed pleased to have guests, especially another woman. Lacy made a note on her legal pad and said, “A quick question. The phone you used fifteen minutes ago had a different number than the phone you used last week.” “Is that a question?” Mix replied. “It’s close enough.” “Okay. I use a lot of prepaid phones. And I move around all the time. I’m assuming the number I have for you is a cell phone issued by your employer, correct?” “That’s right. We don’t use personal phones for state business, so my number is not likely to change.” “That’ll make it simpler, I guess. My phones change by the month, sometimes by the week.” So far, in their first five minutes together, everything Mix said had only opened the door for more questions. Lacy was still miffed at being stood up for lunch, and she didn’t like the first impression he made. She said, “Okay, Mr. Mix, at this point Hugo and I go silent. You start talking. Tell us your story, and if it has huge gaps that require us to fish around and stumble in the dark, then we’ll get bored and go home. You were coy enough on the phone to lure me here. Start talking.” Mix looked at Hugo with a smile and asked, “She always this blunt?” Hugo, unsmiling, nodded yes. He folded his hands on the table and waited. Lacy put down her pen. Mix swallowed a mouthful of beer and began: “I practiced law for thirty years in Pensacola. Small firm--we usually had five or six lawyers. Back in the day we did well and life was good. One of my early clients was a developer, a real high roller who built condos, subdivisions, hotels, strip malls, the typical Florida stuff that goes up overnight. I never trusted the guy but he was making so much money I finally took the bait. He got me in some deals, small slices here and there, and for a while it all worked. I started dreaming of getting rich, which, in Florida anyway, can lead to serious trouble. My friend was cooking the books and taking on way too much debt, stuff I didn’t know about. Turns out there were some bogus loans, bogus everything, really, and the FBI came in with one of its patented RICO cluster bombs and indicted half of Pensacola, me included. A lot of folks got burned--developers, bankers, realtors, lawyers, and other shysters. You probably didn’t hear about it because you investigate judges, not lawyers. Anyway, I flipped, sang like a choirboy, got a deal, pled to one count of mail fraud, and spent sixteen months in a federal camp. Lost my license and made a lot of enemies. Now I lie low. I applied for reinstatement and got my license back. I have one client these days, and he’s the guy we’ll talk about from now on. Questions?” From the empty chair, he retrieved an unmarked file and handed it to Lacy. “Here’s the scoop on me. Newspaper articles, my plea agreement, all the stuff you might need. I’m legit, or as legit an any ex-con can be, and every word I’m saying is true.” --This text refers to the paperback edition. Review “Riveting…finely drawn… The Whistler centers on an elaborate conspiracy involving an Indian reservation, an organized crime syndicate and a crooked judge skimming a small fortune from the tribal casino’s monthly haul.” --The New York Times Book Review “A main character who’s a seriously appealing woman...a whistle-blower who secretly calls attention to corruption...a strong and frightening sense of place...Grisham’s on his game.” —Janet Maslin, The New York Times “A fascinating look at judicial corruption…an entirely convincing story and one of Grisham’s best.  I can’t think of another major American novelist since Sinclair Lewis who has so effectively targeted social and political ills in our society. In Grisham’s case, it is time at least to recognize that at his best he is not simply the author of entertaining legal thrillers but an important novelistic critic of our society. In more than 30 novels, he has often used his exceptional storytelling skills to take a hard look at injustice and corruption in the legal world and in our society as a whole.” --Patrick Anderson, The Washington Post “Grisham's latest involves the rich and powerful and an abuse of the justice system.  Grisham novels are crowd-pleasers because he knows how to satisfy readers who want to see injustice crushed, and justice truly prevails for those who cannot buy influence.” -- Associated Press “Grisham has become an institution. For more than 25 years now he’s been our guide to the byways and backwaters of our legal system, superb in particular at ferreting out its vulnerabilities and dramatizing their abuse in gripping style. He excels at describing injustice and corruption.  Grisham’s legal knowledge is impressive, and his ability to convey it unparalleled in popular fiction.” -- USA Today --This text refers to the paperback edition. About the Author John Grisham is the author of twenty-nine novels, one work of nonfiction, a collection of stories, and five novels for young readers. From the Hardcover edition. --This text refers to the paperback edition. Read more

The Wright Brothers

Review “A story of timeless importance, told with uncommon empathy and fluency. . . . A story, well told, about what might be the most astonishing feat mankind has ever accomplished. . . . The Wright Brothers soars.” -- Daniel Okrent ― The New York Times Book Review “David McCullough has etched a brisk, admiring portrait of the modest, hardworking Ohioans who designed an airplane in their bicycle shop and solved the mystery of flight on the sands of Kitty Hawk, N.C. He captures the marvel of what the Wrights accomplished and, just as important, the wonder felt by their contemporaries. . . . Mr. McCullough is in his element writing about seemingly ordinary folk steeped in the cardinal American virtues—self-reliance and can-do resourcefulness.” -- Roger Lowenstein ― The Wall Street Journal “[McCullough] takes the Wrights’ story aloft. . . . Concise, exciting, and fact-packed. . . . Mr. McCullough presents all this with dignified panache, and with detail so granular you may wonder how it was all collected.” -- Janet Maslin ― The New York Times "McCullough’s magical account of [the Wright Brothers'] early adventures — enhanced by volumes of family correspondence, written records, and his own deep understanding of the country and the era — shows as never before how two Ohio boys from a remarkable family taught the world to fly." -- Reeve Lindbergh ― The Washington Post “David McCullough’s The Wright Brothers is a story about two brothers and one incredible moment in American history. But it’s also a story that resonates with anyone who believes deeply in the power of technology to change lives – and the resistance some have to new innovations.” -- Sundar Pichai, CEO of Google"An outstanding saga of the lives of two men who left such a giant footprint on our modern age." ― Booklist (starred review) “[An] enjoyable, fast-paced tale. . . . A fun, fast ride.” ― The Economist "[A] fluently rendered, skillfully focused study. . . . An educational and inspiring biography of seminal American innovators." ― Kirkus Reviews "McCullough's usual warm, evocative prose makes for an absorbing narrative; he conveys both the drama of the birth of flight and the homespun genius of America's golden age of innovation." ― Publishers Weekly About the Author David McCullough (1933–2022) twice received the Pulitzer Prize, for Truman and John Adams , and twice received the National Book Award, for The Path Between the Seas and Mornings on Horseback . His other acclaimed books include The Johnstown Flood , The Great Bridge , Brave Companions , 1776 , The Greater Journey , The American Spirit , The Wright Brothers , and The Pioneers . He was the recipient of numerous honors and awards, including the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the nation’s highest civilian award. Visit DavidMcCullough.com. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The Wright Brothers Read more

Missing Isaac

The Ultimate Brain Health Puzzle Book for Adults: Crosswords, Sudoku, Cryptograms, Word Searches, and More! (Ultimate Brain Health Puzzle Books)

Review “The variety of puzzles makes you exercise all your problem solving "muscles," and it's why I love this book. If you're looking to expand your puzzle-solving skills at the hands of a puzzle-making master, then this is the book for you. The puzzle explanations and solving strategy tips are especially helpful. I can't wait for the sequel!” —Patrick Min, PhD, creator of www.calcudoku.org and author of numerous Calcudoku and Killer Sudoku puzzle books “With most puzzle books, I would go straight to solving the puzzles. However, I was curious about the other content and took the time to read the instructions on solving types of puzzles that I'd not been interested in before. Working through them (from easy to more difficult) was a great way to be introduced to puzzles other than crosswords. The quality of the book, from the feel of the cover to the thickness of the pages, shows the publishers understood that this book would be handled often.” —Charles Hutchinson, Technology Director and Digital Platform Consultant “I was excited to receive my copy of The Ultimate Brain Health Puzzle Book for Adults . As a fan of logic puzzles, I dove straight into the Difficult section, and enjoyed the challenge of several well-crafted Sudoku, Calcudoku, Cryptograms, and Logic Grids . I look forward to having Phil's collection of excellent puzzles as an enjoyable mental diversion for days to come.” —Steven Clontz, Author of Tricky Logic Puzzles for Adults , Assistant Professor of Mathematics, University of South Alabama “From old favorites like the crossword to fresh takes on new trends (Calcudoku, anyone?), Phil Fraas' collection of puzzles will keep you occupied—and possibly keep you up late trying to solve them! This is the perfect book for anyone who has ever wished for a greater assortment of brain-teasers all in one book.” —Jennifer Martin-Romme, Former Editor at Zenith City News About the Author Phil Fraas is a longtime constructor of crossword puzzles, who started in the early 1980s when he had several of his first efforts published in the New York Times. He now oversees and constructs puzzles for a free crossword, sudoku, and word search puzzle website, https://yourpuzzlesource.com.

Vampire$: A Novel

Amazon.com Review Vampire$ (the title does end with a dollar sign) is about a tightly knit group of professional vampire killers. They may say they're in it for the money, but their death-defying bravado and warm male friendships are as intense as those in any soldier-hero epic. The irrepressible, foul-mouthed, hard-drinkin' Jack Crow--decked out in high-tech chain mail and wielding a fearsome crossbow--is the leader of the bunch. He's the sort of man who screams obscenities at the pope, and then (after a lot of booze) weeps in the pontiff's lap over the horrors he's witnessed. Author John Steakley is the son of a Chevrolet dealer from Cleburne, Texas, and he uses his roots to good effect. Not only does much of the action take place in the Lone Star state, but when we first meet the major character named Felix, he's an apparition out of the Old West--living in an abandoned boxcar on the Rio Grande with a Mexican whore, an endless supply of tequila, and a tacky bleeding Jesus on the wall. Vampire$ is one gaudy, action-packed novel. The men are men, the women are vulnerable, and the vampires are mean, ugly monsters. Unless you don't like that sort of thing, you'll love it. Review Gives a closer, longer look at violent vampire-hunting than anything else to date, often at a breath-taking pace. -- The Vampire's Closet

A Line to Kill: A Novel (A Hawthorne and Horowitz Mystery Book 3)

About the Author ANTHONY HOROWITZ is the author of the US bestselling Magpie Murders and The Word is Murder , and one of the most prolific and successful writers in the English language; he may have committed more (fictional) murders than any other living author. His novel Trigger Mortis features original material from Ian Fleming. His most recent Sherlock Holmes novel, Moriarty , is a reader favorite; and his bestselling Alex Rider series for young adults has sold more than 19 million copies worldwide. As a TV screenwriter, he created both Midsomer Murders and the BAFTA-winning Foyle’s War on PBS. Horowitz regularly contributes to a wide variety of national newspapers and magazines, and in January 2014 was awarded an OBE. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition. Review "The most conventional of Horowitz’s mysteries to date still reads like a golden-age whodunit on steroids." -- Kirkus Reviews “[D]eliciously shifty . . . brilliant.”  -- Toronto Star“ A Line to Kill is utterly entertaining and a magnificent pleasure.” -- Winnipeg Free Press --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.