The Avelrow shelf
These books match the feeling and story ingredients you chose. Adjust the mix whenever you like.
Psychological Thriller
Clara Vey
At eight forty-three on Thursday morning, Sive Moran repainted the white line around a parking space reserved for a woman who had not visited the prison in fourteen months. Nobody had asked her to. That was important. If somebody had asked, there would have been a form.
Medical-Legal Thriller
E. L. Doherty
The sea had a way of pretending it was innocent. From the lane above the cliffs it looked almost gentle — slate-grey, flecked with pale foam, breathing in and out like something asleep. The wind did the loud work, flinging rain sideways, rattling the gorse, making a song of the wire fences. Down below, the tide kept its own counsel. Nora Fallon walked that path with her coat pulled tight and her hair half loose, as if she’d forgotten she was meant to be careful.
Missing Person Thriller
Aidan Kerrigan
Emerald Harbour Missing • · Book 1
1989 By half nine the summer carnival had stopped pretending it belonged to children. The toddlers with painted cheeks had been carried home sticky with sugar. The parish raffle had ended in a dispute over a ham nobody admitted wanting. Teenagers had taken possession of the grass behind Saint Brigid’s Hall, the older boys leaning against the railings as if they had personally invented cigarettes, the girls moving in bright packs between the music tent and the harbour road.
Belfast Crime Thriller / Romantic Suspense
Rowan Kincaid
Belfast Night Crimes · Book 1
At that hour Belfast belonged to wind, black water, and the sort of men who mistook darkness for a deed. The cranes loomed over the docks like iron saints gone feral, long arms braced above the shipping lanes while the river shoved oil-dark against the pilings. Rust, salt, diesel, old bad decisions - the whole harbour reeked of them. She should not have answered the phone.
Cozy Mystery
Orla Ashdown
The first scone to cause a death in Emerald Harbour was not, strictly speaking, poisoned. Molly Fenn would later be very firm on that point, because a woman might survive gossip, debt, heartbreak, and one catastrophic fringe cut, but she could not survive a village deciding her almond-and-blackcurrant scones were murder weapons. The scone was innocent. The man beside it was another matter entirely.