Elanor Dymott’s debut, Every Contact Leaves a Trace, was a sophisticated thriller about a man whose wife is murdered when visiting an old advisor at Oxford. In Silver and Salt, Dymott applies her elegant sense of the mysterious to the story of an ill-fated family as two daughters of a famous photographer try to come to terms with his death.

After the 2003 death of renowned British photographer Max Hollingbourne, his daughters convene at a villa in Greece, where they spent many summers as a family. Vinny is the older, more responsible sister, a translator of German drama and poetry and happily married. Three years younger and considerably more volatile, the mordantly unhappy and antisocial Ruthie arrives after the funeral with a list of grievances and demands. Already haunted by memories of an unhappy childhood, a glimpse of the little girl in the neighboring house further destabilizes Ruthie.

The novel interweaves past and present, much of it sad. Max first met his French wife, Sophie, at a photo shoot, and not long after, she gave up her career as an opera singer to be his wife and raise their daughters as he roamed the world, often leaving them alone for months. Even after Sophie began to show signs of mental illness, Max never stopped traveling, but called in his sister Beatrice to help, even asking her to live with the girls when Sophie became too ill to take care of them. When Ruthie tried to share her burgeoning interest in photography with Max, his reaction was often cruel and sometimes violent, leading to an estrangement between father and younger daughter that lasted until his death. Dymott uses a photographer’s ability to alter and manipulate images through the developing process as a metaphor for the tenuous grip Ruthie has on sanity, although there are times when the author’s poetic reach exceeds the novel’s action.

Silver and Salt is an achingly intimate look at grief, and Dymott’s descriptive gifts are amply found in her rich depictions of place from an English flower-filled meadow to the Greek olive groves surrounding the Hollingbourne villa.

In A Twist of the Knife, Becky Masterman ventures into intriguing new terrain with the third installment in her exciting crime series.

Hardheaded FBI agent turned PI Brigid Quinn darkened readers’ doorways previously in Rage Against the Dying (2013) and Fear the Darkness (2015), and she’s back again, barreling through a new investigation as she heads from her Arizona home to Florida to offer support and assistance to her former partner, Laura Coleman. Coleman is volunteering with a legal group that’s trying to prove the innocence of death row inmate Marcus Creighton, convicted of killing his wife and three kids.

You might think that Brigid, newly married and pushing 60, would have lost some of her rough edges to the call of love, but there’s none of that—though she’s happily married to Carlo, who seems downright saint-like at times. As for Brigid, she’s as opinionated as ever and figures that Creighton, given his past criminal record, probably isn’t innocent. She heads off to Laura’s aid, with the added excuse that her father is ill in a Fort Lauderdale hospital, and she can do double duty by spending time with her parents. The story is enhanced by intriguing characters including Shayna Murry, Creighton’s mistress, who hasn’t provided the alibi Creighton needs; fingerprint expert Tracy Mack, who has screwed up some cases in the past; and determined, steely Alison Samuels, a child abuse specialist who’s conducting an intensive search for traces of the Creighton kids, whose bodies were never found. Brigid’s cop brother, Todd, adds another layer to her family scene as he becomes involved in the Creighton case.

Ultimately, A Twist of the Knife is equal parts crime thriller and family drama. Oddly, Brigid projects a very narrow comfort zone for a cop who should know better when it comes to family dysfunction. Food fills the gaps in family togetherness—what else is new? “Mom never said what she meant”—join the club. Brigid, an otherwise strong character, often seems unable to roll with the blows or have much understanding of her own role in the family drama. Her stubbornness looks more like a cover for her own inability to connect.

Masterman’s writing is both satisfying and spare. The dialogue is brisk and realistic, and the story has a roller-coaster quality and a headlong pace, as readers are once again kept in suspense about what the volatile Brigid will get up to next.

There’s plenty that can be said about Brad Parks’ new novel, Say Nothing, and most of it good. From the opening chapter, Say Nothing drops the hammer down on its main character, Federal Judge Scott Sampson, and doesn’t let up until the suspense-filled finish.

Part domestic thriller, part legal thriller, Scott’s story begins when his world is rocked by the discovery that his 6-year-old twins, Sam and Emma, are missing. Scott and his wife, Alison, receive a chilling phone call stating the children have been kidnapped; if they want to see them alive again they’ll do exactly as told and “say nothing.” Any hint of police involvement will result in dire consequences for the children, possibly even death.

As a judge, Scott correctly surmises the kidnapping has something to do with influencing an upcoming case in his court. But with dozens of cases on his docket, determining which case is anyone’s guess. In the meantime, Scott must carry on as if nothing has happened, anxiously awaiting word from the kidnappers that may come at a moment’s notice. And when it does, he is immediately thrust into a moral dilemma concerning a decision that goes against his judicial convictions. As Scott strives to determine who could be behind the kidnapping, no one, not even Alison, is completely above suspicion.

The only author to have won the Shamus, Nero and Lefty Awards—three of crime fiction’s most prestigious prizes—Parks easily pulls readers along for the ride with crisp, sharp prose that puts us firmly in the head of his protagonist. The very real reactions of Scott and his wife to the shock of possibly losing their children are relatable to any parent—or anyone with a heart, for that matter. Merge that with increasing tension and the moral quandary Scott finds himself in, and this book works on numerous levels.