Detektivky, thrillery, horory

The new-look series of Miss Marple books for the 21st century. As Jane Marple sat basking in the Caribbean sunshine she felt mildly discontented with life. True, the warmth eased her rheumatism, but here in paradise nothing ever happened. Eventually, her interest was aroused by an old soldier's yarn about a strange coincidence. Infuriatingly, just as he was about to show her an astonishing photograph, the Major's attention wandered. He never did finished the story...

The Drawing of the Three is the second volume of a long tale called The Dark Tower, a tale inspired by and to some degree dependent upon Robert Browning's narrative poem "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came" (which in its turn owes a debt to King Lear).

This volume sees gunslinger Roland on a roller-coaster mix of exhilarating triumph and aching loss in his unrelenting quest to reach the dark tower. A journey which means he must leave his faithful friends as he closes on the tower. His steps are followed only by Mordred, half-human, half-terrifying creature.

Paul Sheldon is a bestselling novelist who has finally met his biggest fan. Her name is Annie Wilkes and she is more than a rabid reader - she is Paul's nurse, tending his shattered body after an automobile accident. But she is also his captor.

Ten strangers, apparently with little in common, are lured to an island mansion off the coast of Devon by the mysterious U.N.Owen. Over dinner, a record begins to play, and the voice of an unseen host accuses each person of hiding a guilty secret. That evening, former reckless driver Tony Marston is found murdered by a deadly dose of cyanide. The tension escalates as the survivors realise the killer is not only among them but is preparing to strike again… and again…

The Green Mile: those who walk it do not return, because at the end of that walk is the room in which sits Cold Mountain penitentiary's electric chair. In 1932 the newest resident on death row is John Coffey, a giant black man convicted of the brutal murder of two little girls. But nothing is as it seems with John Coffey, and around him unfolds a bizarre and horrifying story. Evil murderer or holy innocent - whichever he is - Coffey has strange powers which may yet offer salvation to others, even if they can do nothing to save him.

First there was the mystery of the film star and the diamond ...then came the 'suicide' that was murder ...the mystery of the absurdly chaep flat ...a suspicious death in a locked gun-room ...a million dollar bond robbery ...the curse of a pharoah's tomb ...a jewel robbery by the sea ...the abduction of a Prime Minister ...the disappearance of a banker ...a phone call from a dying man ...and, finally, the mystery of the missing willl. What links these fascinating cases? Only the brilliant deductive powers of Hercule Poirot.

The house looked right, felt right to Dr Louis Creed. A place where his family could settle, and the children could grow up and explore the rolling hills and meadows. Surely a safe place. Not a place to seep into your dreams, to wake you, sweating with fear and foreboding.

Danny is only five years old, but he is a "shiner", aglow with psychic voltage. When his father becomes caretaker of an old hotel, his visions grow out of control. Cut off by blizzards, the hotel seems to develop an evil force, and who are the mysterious guests in the supposedly empty hotel?

Carrie has the gift of telekinesis. To be invited to prom night by Tommy is a dream - the first step to social acceptance. But events take a turn on that night as Carrie is forced to exercise her terrible gift on the town that mocks and loathes her.

Beautiful Caroline Crale was convicted of poisoning her husband, yet there were five other suspects: Philip Blake (the stockbroker) who went to market; Meredith Blake (the amateur herbalist) who stayed at home; Elsa Greer (the three-time divorcee) who had roast beef; Cecilia Williams (the devoted governess) who had none; and Angela Warren (the disfigured sister) who cried ‘wee wee wee’ all the way home.

It is sixteen years later, but Hercule Poirot just can’t get that nursery rhyme out of his mind…