An exclusive golf course with a corpse in a hole, an aristocratic family with a damning downstairs secret, a brilliant doctor with blood on his hands. Suddenly it seemed that the nicest people were doing the nastiest things to each other and to themselves as death, drugs, and seduction plunge a pair of imperiled lovers ever deeper into the depths of a mystery. Beauty has turned beastly, and a master murderer has exercised a most fatal charm.

A far-from-warm welcome greets Hercule Poirot as he arrives for lunch at Lucy Angkatell{u2019}s country house. A man lies dying by the swimming pool, his blood dripping into the water. His wife stands over him, holding a revolver. As Poirot investigates, he begins to realize that beneath the respectable surface lies a tangle of family secrets and everyone becomes a suspect.

The whole thing was fantastic! A dead man whom no one could identify found in a blind woman's sitting room. Four strange clocks all set to the same time -- thirteen minutes past four! Who had brought them there? What did they mean? And who was the dead man? --

"Luke Fitzwilliam does not believe Miss Pinkerton's wild allegation that a multiple murderer is at work in the quiet English village of Wychwood and that her local doctor is next in line. But within hours, Miss Pinkerton has been killed in a hit-and-run car accident. Mere coincidence? Luke is inclined to think so--until he reads in the Times of the unexpected demise of Wychwood's Dr. Humbleby" --Back cover.

"The villagers of Chipping Cleghorn are agog with curiousity when the Gazette advertises 'A murder is announced and will take place on Friday, October 29th, at Little Paddoks at 6.30 p.m.' A childish practical joke? Or a spiteful hoax? Unable to resiste the mysterious invitation, the locals arrive at Little Paddocks at the appointed time when, without warning, the lights go out and a gun is fired. When they come back on, a gruesome scene is revealed....

"For an instant the two trains ran side by side. In that frozen moment, Elspeth McGillicuddy stared helplessly out of her carriage window as a man tightened his grip around a woman's throat. She watched on as the body crumpled. Then the other train drew away. But who, apart from Mrs. McGillicuddy's friend Jane Marple, would take her story seriously? After all, there are no other witnesses, no suspects, and no case. How could there be, with no corpse...

When an elderly priest is murdered, the killer searches the victim so roughly that his already ragged cassock is torn in the process. What was the killer looking for? And what had a dying woman confided to the priest on her deathbed only hours earlier? Mark Easterbrook and his sidekick Ginger Corrigan are determined to find out. Maybe the three women who run The Pale Horse public house and who are rumored to practice the Dark Arts can provide some...

Thirteen guests gather for drinks at actor Charles Cartwright?s seaside escape. Benign Reverend Babbington, who rarely imbibes, takes one sip of his beverage and keels over dead. Soon after Sir Bartholomew Strange convenes the same party and meets his own end after swallowing port. One death could be natural, but two mean murder. Hercule Poirot, who was present at both affairs, stages a third soirée to catch the cocktail killer.

Cheap satin and peroxide blondes were a rare sight in St. Mary Mead, at least before film-man Basil Blake bought a cottage and invited down the London crowd. Then a girl in a garish get-up is found strangled in Colonel Bantry's library, and it appears Basil is involved.

Miss Marple, amateur sleuth, agrees to look into the murder witnessed by a famous film actress.