検索キーワード： 著者 "Stephen" すべてのカテゴリー

Who Killed Clive Peterson? Bass guitarist Paul Kingston is happy to take a last-minute job playing with Milwaukee’s greatest jazz band. But when the band’s leader is shot dead in the street, his widow asks Paul to find out why. The police say it was an accident, just another innocent bystander caught in gang war crossfire. But is that really what happened? Could it have been someone in the band? Even a member of the family? The more Paul investigates, the more he finds that things aren’t as they seem. Can he find and stop the killer before more lives are lost, including his own?

When Nicolaus Copernicus discovered the Earth wasn’t the center of the Universe, everything changed. When Isaac Newton figured out the law of gravity from a falling apple, everything changed. When Benjamin Franklin harvested electricity from lightening and Thomas Edison made the first commercial light bulb, everything changed. Today, when quantum physicists realize our physical universe isn’t real, that it’s just a hologram, everything … wait! Nothing’s changed - yet. "Butterflies Are Free To Fly" offers a new and radical approach to spiritual evolution based on the recent scientific...

“Where Were You the Night Billy Reno Died?” Bass guitarist Paul Kingston didn’t kill his old friend Billy, but the cops say he did, and he’s got no alibi. He’s about to start the biggest recording gig he’s landed in years, and now he’s wanted by the law. Hounded by an overzealous police detective, stalked by a crazy homeless girl who claims Billy sent her, and struggling to make the recording sessions that can pull his music career out of limbo, can Paul find the real killer and clear his name before the cops haul him away? Set in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and told through the eyes ...

Unlock the secrets of high-conscious parenting with "From the Ground Up" podcast. Join hosts Author Carey Davidson and Integrative Developmental Pediatrician Dr. Stephen Cowan as they delve into the ancient wisdom and practical tools for seamless parent-child bonding and healthy child development. Their life-altering and interactive podcast is packed with insightful advice and individualized solutions to help you tackle the most baffling parenting problems. Discover how to foster the ideal conditions for your child's growth and development with this valuable resource.

A compilation of popular short stories from American literature narrated by professional voice actor Jake Phillips.

The words of the missionary hymn I had sung as a schoolboy in chapel came to my mind as I stood on the deck of the steamer Redolent, anchored just off the Port of Colombo. They were to prove singularly prescient. Under more usual circumstances, the experience of looking up into the star-studded sky whilst feeling the warm, moist tropical breezes caress one's face is a sensuous joy. Yet on that night, more than twenty years ago now, I had a profound sense of foreboding.

The words of the missionary hymn I had sung as a schoolboy in chapel came to my mind as I stood on the deck of the steamer Redolent, anchored just off the Port of Colombo. They were to prove singularly prescient. Under more usual circumstances, the experience of looking up into the star-studded sky whilst feeling the warm, moist tropical breezes caress one's face is a sensuous joy. Yet on that night, more than twenty years ago now, I had a profound sense of foreboding.

"I was under the impression that you were dead," said Sherlock Holmes to the man who had entered the front room of 221B Baker Street. "I am now inclined to think that you were not murdered after all." The gentleman was of the same age as Holmes and me but sported a full beard, gray-on-its-way-to-white hair, and a short suit jacket that immediately identified him as an American. He grinned and gave his fingers a snap.

"I was under the impression that you were dead," said Sherlock Holmes to the man who had entered the front room of 221B Baker Street. "I am now inclined to think that you were not murdered after all." The gentleman was of the same age as Holmes and me but sported a full beard, gray-on-its-way-to-white hair, and a short suit jacket that immediately identified him as an American. He grinned and gave his fingers a snap.

Hosted by Dave Hill, we take classic films, get top comedy writers to turn them into hilarious audiobooks, narrated by actors and comedians like JK Simmons, Wayne Brady, Ira Glass, Rachel Dratch, Will Forte, Richard Ayoade and dozens more. Plus interviews! This season, we tackle Dirty Dancing. The Novelizers is distributed by Cincinnati Public Radio.

"Ah, Watson, how good of you to join me. I trust I did not disturb your work at the hospital." "Not at all. We younger doctors are not exactly choc-a-block with patients." "Not yet, my dear chap. Not yet. However, I am very grateful that you are here, and I expect that you will quite enjoy recording my meeting with this fellow."

"Ah, Watson, how good of you to join me. I trust I did not disturb your work at the hospital." "Not at all. We younger doctors are not exactly choc-a-block with patients." "Not yet, my dear chap. Not yet. However, I am very grateful that you are here, and I expect that you will quite enjoy recording my meeting with this fellow."

Sherlock Holmes was not happy. "No, Mrs. Hudson, I will not see her now. Send her away and tell her to come back later." It was just past seven in the morning and we were enjoying an early coffee on a pleasant Sunday in the first week of June 1902, when Mrs. Hudson interrupted us. Holmes's longsuffering landlady did not leave.

He was not much more than a child. I estimated his age at fourteen. He was a handsome boy, with the raven-black hair and deeply tanned skin color that marks a person who came from the lands under the Raj. His young body was beginning to show the signs of an emerging well-made sportsman. From his place, lying on his back on the pavement, his dark-brown eyes stared up at the morning sky ... lifeless. Behind his head was a pool of blood, now darkened and congealed.

"To the man who loves intellectual stimulation," remarked Sherlock Holmes, "London in August is the lowliest month on the calendar. Those with the means to do so have departed for the Algarve and the Riviera. Those without are off to Blackpool and Brighton." "And what about those," I asked, "who are left behind? You and I are still here." "You at least have your sensational accounts of my efforts to keep scribbling. I, on the other hand, am losing faith in the enterprising criminal class."

He was not much more than a child. I estimated his age at fourteen. He was a handsome boy, with the raven-black hair and deeply tanned skin color that marks a person who came from the lands under the Raj. His young body was beginning to show the signs of an emerging well-made sportsman. From his place, lying on his back on the pavement, his dark-brown eyes stared up at the morning sky ... lifeless. Behind his head was a pool of blood, now darkened and congealed.

On Easter Sunday of 1919, Lady Lillian Assherton attempted to take her own life, a second time. Her first attempt was in the fall of 1917 when Her Ladyship, recently widowed, received news that both of her sons, officers in the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment, died at Passchendaele.

Royston Giles Tamblyn III paid a visit to 221B Baker Street without a prior appointment on the morning of Saturday, 4 May 1901. He was a handsome young fellow, with flawless pale skin, well-combed hair that was blond-on-its-way-to-brown, and straight, gleaming teeth. He was dressed in a blazer and flannels, a creaseless white shirt, and an expertly tied old-school tie. In his polished boots, I could have seen my reflection had I bent over to inspect them.

Sherlock Holmes was not happy. "No, Mrs. Hudson, I will not see her now. Send her away and tell her to come back later." It was just past seven in the morning and we were enjoying an early coffee on a pleasant Sunday in the first week of June 1902, when Mrs. Hudson interrupted us. Holmes's longsuffering landlady did not leave.

On Easter Sunday of 1919, Lady Lillian Assherton attempted to take her own life, a second time. Her first attempt was in the fall of 1917 when Her Ladyship, recently widowed, received news that both of her sons, officers in the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment, died at Passchendaele.