Mr Darcy is the most honest man in London, I am perfectly convinced. So much so that even civility has no claim upon him.

ELIZABETH BENNET and her sister Jane have come to London in the autumn at the invitation of their uncle. Mr Gardiner’s fortunes, happily, have risen so greatly as to admit him and his relations into the company of earls, admirals, and other such worthies. Elizabeth is initially delighted by the novelty of new acquaintances and experiences in London, although she cannot like the proud, conceited, unfairly handsome Mr Darcy who renders a grievous insult to her at one of their first meetings. Alas, the social downfall of this insult is rapid and severe for Elizabeth. Still worse is the fact that Jane Bennet’s romantic inclinations cause Elizabeth to be thrown into company with the haughty Mr Darcy far too often.

Now in one volume, two novels in “one of the best-written detective series in the genre’s history,” from a New York Times–bestselling and three-time Edgar Award–winning author (The Washington Post).

The Veiled One: “Why on earth?” wonders London’s chief inspector Reginald Wexford when a sixtyish housewife is found garroted in a shopping mall garage, her body concealed under a velvet shroud. Before he can find the answer, he’s nearly killed himself—by a politically motivated car bombing targeting his activist daughter. With the inspector in the hospital, the case falls to his partner, Mike Burden. But when a strange mother and son are suspected, Burdon’s trail leads him down a very twisted road.

An Unkindness of Ravens: When a neighbor’s husband vanishes, Chief Inspector Wexford suspects the cad most likely ran off with one of his girlfriends.

Could anything make visiting my sister on a tropical island better?

Actually, yes. I wish I could say my ex-boyfriend is an ex-con, but more like a current con-man. I’d rather not be hiding out, but I can’t think of a better location than this forgotten Florida Key.

I’m not complaining because my sis and I are besties. When she’s not working at a law firm, bonus, she’s side hustling a bookstore-café. I’m all about the beach reads until I do my sibling a solid and stand in for her to read a will—thankfully, not my own. At least not yet.

It’s rather mysterious, containing riddles and puzzles. Plus, the McGregor brothers aren’t bad to look at—I mean the scenery. It’s beautiful. Especially the second oldest—I mean the clear sky and turquoise sea. All this sunshine must be scrambling my brain.

One moment my beautiful daughter, her face flushed from the sun, her curls still wet from splashing in the ocean, was waiting in line for a strawberry ice cream, the next she was gone…

As I sit in her dimly lit bedroom, surrounded by flickering candles, I feel the crushing weight of my daughter’s absence. It’s been two years since Layla was murdered. The police have searched tirelessly for her killer, but they’ve found nothing – it’s like whoever did it vanished into thin air.

My once-perfect marriage is falling apart, we can hardly look at each other anymore. Our ten-year-old son Gale is struggling. He’s changed since she died. He’s more secretive and also… I can’t quite put my finger on it. They were so close, is this Gale coming to terms with her death? Still, unease creeps over me as I watch him. He just stares past me at something I can’t see.

Then one day, as I butter his toast for breakfast, my son tells me something that stops me in my tracks. “I know who killed Layla.”

Can you keep a secret? … I’m in love with my best friend.

There are three things you should know about me.
I hate running. No, really. I only run when someone’s chasing me, and thankfully that’s never happened.
My ideal Friday night includes pizza, The Princess Bride, and dancing with abandon.
And, I’m madly in love with my best friend.
That right there, that’s my secret.

Trevor, and I grew up next door to one another. Yes. He’s the boy next door. Even now, we rent opposite sides of a duplex, and we work across the aisle from one another at the Corn Corners Tribune. Basically, there isn’t a part of my life Trevor hasn’t touched. I take that back. Me. He hasn’t touched me.

He’s made it clear we’re in the friend zone and whatever feelings he had for me were a passing thing for him, while mine keep growing like a Chia pet on a humid summer day in the midwest. Unruly, and apparently pointless.