Humor Thriller

Two weeks before his twenty-first birthday, Las Vegas native Bobby Ingersoll finds out he’s inherited a crushing gambling debt from his scumbag father. The debt is owed to an even scummier bag named Fraser Ruphart who oversees his bottom-rung criminal empire from the classy-adjacent Trump International Hotel. Bobby’s prospects of paying off the note, which comes due the day he turns twenty-one, are about as dim as the sign on the tower’s façade.

In The Case of the Ghost of Christmas Morning, Wodehousian clubman, flaneur, idler, and sleuth Anty Boisjoly pits his sardonic wits against another pair of impossible murders. This time, Anty Boisjoly’s Aunty Boisjoly is the only possible suspect when a murder victim stands his old friends a farewell drink at the local, hours after being murdered.

Everyone in my family has killed someone. Some of us, the high achievers, have killed more than once. I’m not trying to be dramatic, but it is the truth. Some of us are good, others are bad, and some just unfortunate. I’m Ernest Cunningham. Call me Ern or Ernie. I wish I’d killed whoever decided our family reunion should be at a ski resort, but it’s a little more complicated than that.

In 1914 collisions between motor cars and horse-drawn carriages are an everyday occurrence on the streets of Paterson, New Jersey. But when an out-of-control driver smashes into a buggy driven by Constance, Norma, and Fleurette Kopp, their lives change forever. Constance, the oldest, demands payment for the damages but quickly realizes that she is dealing with a madman.

Praising Tim Dorsey’s tongue-in-cheek humor, the Miami Herald wrote, “Nobody, but nobody, writes like this guy.” Here Florida politics take the main stage in a rollicking satire that proves Dorsey’s at the top of his game. When a traumatic experience forever changes Florida gubernatorial race candidate Marlon Conrad’s life, he hits the road in a Winnebago to find the “real” Florida. But his odyssey is plagued with would-be assassins and cutthroat journalists.

I'm not Goth to hide my Drow heritage, I'm Goth because I'm not a quitter. My name is Cheyenne Summerlin, remember that name. Somebody should. The world can't know I'm a Drow halfling. Not yet. I barely have these powers under my control, but time's up. I'm about to take magic for a test drive. Want to come along? The black ops government group believe they can run my life... But I have plans of my own. Watch out magical evil doers - I'm about to crash your party. But will my training be enough?

Sawyer Davis's new life in picturesque Sunset Cove is crumbling around her as fast as the old Victorian house she lives in. She's a chef whose matchmaking mother has left her a puppy, a bevy of single men to choose from, and a bookshop dedicated to whodunnits. Complete with a book club of amateur sleuths who live for death. When one of the members dies just after eating Sawyer's amazing truffle mac and cheese, Sawyer is immersed in an even bigger soup pot of trouble.

Numero Zero is the feverish and delightfully readable tale of a ghostwriter in Milan whose work pulls him into an underworld of media politics and murderous conspiracies (involving the cadaver of Mussolini's double, naturally). This novel is vintage Eco - corrupt newspapers, clandestine plots, imaginary histories - and will appeal to his many readers and earn him legions of new ones.

Fledgling reporter Fletch's first big interview is with a millionaire lawyer with a crooked streak and an itch to give away some of his ill-gotten gains. He ends up dead in the News-Tribune's parking lot before Fletch can ask question number one. So Fletch goes after the murderer instead and ends up learning a thing or two about crime and punishment. At the same time, he's supposed to be covering (or maybe uncovering) a health spa that caters to all its clients' needs and gets hired as a very personal trainer.

My name’s Ernest Cunningham. I used to be a fan of reading Golden Age murder mysteries, until I found myself with a haphazard career getting stuck in the middle of real-life ones. I’d hoped, this Christmas, that any self-respecting murderer would kick their feet up and take it easy over the holidays. I was wrong. So here I am, backstage at the show of world-famous magician Rylan Blaze, whose benefactor has just been murdered. My suspects are all professional tricksters: masters of the art of misdirection.

Internationally best-selling author Tim Dorsey's irreverent and hilarious novels starring evil genius Serge A. Storms, lovable psychiatric hospital escapee, zoom along at breakneck speed, delivering laughs and shocks in droves.

Outside Los Angeles, a driver pulls up to find a young woman sitting on a large black box. She offers him $200,000 cash to transport her and that box across the country, to Washington, DC. But there are rules: He cannot look inside the box. He cannot ask questions. He cannot tell anyone. They must leave immediately. He must leave all trackable devices behind. As these eccentric misfits hit the road, rumors spread on social media that the box is part of a carefully orchestrated terror attack intended to plunge the USA into civil war.

Meet Tommy Martini, the monk with an anger management problem. His meditations are interrupted by a legacy from his uncle, a crooked priest. Arriving in a New Age Arizona town to claim his inheritance, Brother Tommy meets a charismatic, smoking-hot cult leader who claims that women are being impregnated by alien beings while they sleep. Tommy’s own sleep is disturbed - by cartel hitmen, Mafia bill collectors, and women intrigued by his vow of chastity.

Patrick Bateman moves among the young and trendy in 1980s Manhattan. Young, handsome, and well educated, Bateman earns his fortune on Wall Street by day while spending his nights in ways we cannot begin to fathom. Expressing his true self through torture and murder, Bateman prefigures an apocalyptic horror that no society could bear to confront.

As a shaky truce between suburban gangsters starts to unravel, schlubby civilian Scott Clark has other things on his mind: if he can't afford to buy out his ex-father-in-law, Scott's about to lose the only house he's ever called home. In the red-hot urban housing market, he doesn't have a chance - until he and his best friends take the desperate measure of staging a fake drive-by shooting on the property to push down the asking price. But then Scott's mobster-posturing stunt attracts the attention of the real criminals.

It looks like Fletch is finally getting hitched. It's a small affair - just a few friends, the bride's parents, the groom's mother, and, just maybe, his father. Except Fletch's father is supposed to be dead. But somebody delivered the letter, signed "Fletch Senior" and containing an invitation (and a pair of plane tickets) to visit the old man in Nairobi for the honeymoon. No sooner does the couple land in Africa then the search for Fletch's father begins. There's a murder at the airport and reports of the old man's incarceration.

STOP. You should not have touched this flyer with your bare hands. NO, don't put it down. It's too late. They're watching you. My name is David Wong. My best friend is John. Those names are fake. You might want to change yours. You may not want to know about the things you'll read on these pages, about the sauce, about Korrok, about the invasion, and the future. But it's too late. You touched the book. You're in the game. You're under the eye. The only defense is knowledge. You need to read this book, to the end. Even the part with the bratwurst. Why?

In his latest bizarre concoction, Dorsey picks up - sort of - various plot strands from his earlier books, including Florida Roadkill, Hammerhead Ranch Motel, and Orange Crush. There's still the matter, you see, of the briefcase full of cash, and still unresolved are the stories of Serge Storms, the serial killer and history buff; Johnny Vegas, the startlingly handsome virgin; Jethro Maddox, the Hemingway look-alike; and Paul, the Passive-Aggressive Private Eye. Fans of Dorsey's magnificently off-kilter adventures will be thrilled to rejoin these characters....

Ensconced in a lovely tropical villa on idyllic Triggerfish Lane, Jim Davenport anticipates the good life to come. But this isn't living -- it's Florida, and the neighborhood is not quite what it seems. It's got overly aggressive Little League parents, drug-free Rastafarians, homicidal hookers, unnatural sex and casual violence. Oh, yes, and there's a psychopathic serial killer-cum-Sunshine-State folklorist named Serge A. Storms living directly across the street.

Richard is a middle-aged Englishman who runs a B&B in the fictional Val de Follet in the Loire Valley. Nothing ever happens to Richard, and really that’s the way he likes it. One day, however, one of his older guests disappears, leaving behind a bloody handprint on the wallpaper. Another guest, the exotic Valérie, persuades a reluctant Richard to join her in investigating the disappearance. Richard remains a dazed passenger in the case until things become really serious and someone murders Ava Gardner, one of his beloved hen...and you don’t mess with a fellow’s hens!