Showing results for "Modern Englishes" in Hard-Boiled

“Evocative, nostalgic, haunting, twisty, and true, Weizmann’s fast paced and smartly written CINNAMON GIRL is everything there is to love about a classic PI novel and more … much more." — Reed Farrel Coleman, NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author of SLEEPLESS CITY From the author of the...

Freelance writer Emerson Ward is minding his own business one sweltering July day when Larry Forrester shows up at the door of his Chicago brownstone, accuses him of seducing his teenage daughter, Ellen, and tries to kill him. A week later, when Larry's ex-wife tells Emerson that Ellen has gone missing and asks him to find her, Emerson also learns that his girlfriend, Nell, is pregnant. While Nell and Emerson confront the difficult decision of whether or not to keep their baby, Emerson discovers that Ellen may have been facing the same dilemma.

Travis McGee is too busy with his houseboat to pay attention to the little old man with the missing postage stamps. Except these are no ordinary stamps. They are rare stamps. Four hundred thousand dollars worth of rare. And if McGee doesn't recognize their value, perhaps Mary Alice McDermit, a six-foot knockout who knows all the ways to a boat bum's heart, will. Only it's not McGee's heart that's in danger. Because a syndicate killer has put a contract on McGee.

A lovely young girl steps in front of Travis McGee's headlights. McGee misses the girl but lands in 10 feet of swamp water. As he's limping along the deserted road, someone in an old truck takes a few shots at him. And, when he goes to the local sheriff to complain, the intrepid Travis McGee finds himself arrested and charged with murder. And he can't help but ask himself, "is this what they call southern hospitality?"

“The strait jacket’s canvas held my arms tight. My six-two was horizontal on a stretcher and the two bruisers carried it and my 205 pounds easily down the long corridor. I was confused as modern art, and being in this stupid asylum didn’t help. I was dumped onto a bed, yelling like a fiend. A needle, a stinging sensation in my neck and it was lights out for me. I awoke with a light beaming upon my face. A blade moved upward through the beam of light. And suddenly I was wide awake, thinking: This idiot is about to stab me! Me? I’m Shell Scott private eye and I’m in a lot of trouble...”