The best thrillers set in close-knit communities

From the first page of this book, I was there. The drought-ridden farming community of Kiewarra, Australia, is evoked so vividly that the whole story feels as gritty and parched as the landscape. For me, this book has all the ingredients that make a claustrophobic setting even more intense: harsh weather conditions, hostile locals, and a dingy bar where fights break out and people drink away their troubles. For these reasons alone, I was sold! This is a community where everyone knows everyone, but they’re all under so much pressure you just know they’d turn on their neighbors in a heartbeat.

I’m also a sucker for a narrative in which someone who has moved away from their hometown is drawn reluctantly back, and this book has that in spades. The main character, Detective Aaron Falk, left Kiewarra under murky circumstances as a teenager and is forced to return when his former best friend apparently murders his family and then kills himself. Harper weaves the past and present mysteries together brilliantly and cranks the claustrophobic bleakness up to the max.

To be honest, I could have picked multiple books by Lisa Jewell. She’s my favorite thriller writer, and many of her books use close-knit communities to set up mysteries in which I constantly change my mind about who I can trust. Exactly what I love about domestic noir!

In this book, the setting is a picturesque village in the Surrey Hills, where teenage parents Tallulah and Zach head out on a date to the local pub and never come home. There are two aspects of the seemingly idyllic community that really sucked me in: a mysterious mansion just outside the village known as Dark Place and a boarding school with its own long-kept secrets. Jewell uses the setting not only to heighten the sense of mystery–there are secret tunnels, woods where bad things happen, clues in old paintings, all the good stuff!–but also to explore themes of class, sexuality, and belonging.

This is a community in which people know of each other, but there is a sense of separation–between the main village and the set-apart mansion, between the local college and the boarding school–which makes for some gripping tension when people cross the boundaries.

This book is fresh in my mind because I was lucky enough to read an advanced copy (the book will be out in February 2025) and felt myself swept across a stormy sea into one of the most tightly-knit communities I’ve read in a thriller. The Scottish island of Eilean Eadar has around 60 residents, one computer between the whole island, no mobile signal, and a priest who seems to control everything.

It is a perfect set-up for a mystery, as two detectives head over from the mainland to investigate an apparent suicide. The weather is wild, the island’s customs are archaic, and gossip travels faster than the gale-force winds. I love island settings–the sense of being cut off from the rest of the world–and I found this one irresistible.

There is a feeling that everybody is being watched all the time and that their positions in the community are both deeply entrenched and very precarious–one wrong move could see you cast out as a traitor. Add in lots of folklore and Gothic vibes, and I loved this police procedural with a difference.

Continuing with the Gothic theme, I have to mention one of my all-time favorite books. The estate of Manderley is almost another character in this novel, looming large over the story along with the legacy of its dead mistress. And the community poses an immediate threat to the book’s unnamed narrator, the new wife of the estate’s owner, when she comes in as an outsider and gets the cold shoulder from Manderley’s staff. Her desperate attempts to win everybody over lead to some gloriously nail-biting moments.

But what I adore about this novel is how it slowly reveals that the community’s loyalties are not what they seem. Even the significance of rooms and objects in the house–like Rebecca’s writing desk or the sound of the sea from a particular window–changes as the story unfolds.

Most of the other books I’ve recommended have had a dark, gloomy atmosphere or a sense of bleak isolation, but the community in Moriarty’s book is sunny and bright. Set on an affluent peninsula in Sydney’s Northern Beaches, it depicts a world of huge houses, school gate gossip, and competitive parents–the perfect setting for a controversial death at a school trivia night.

In particular, I loved the brilliantly aggravating cliques and the characters who drove me mad but had me caring deeply about them by the end. Moriarty is great at knotty plots, too–by the climax of the story, everybody’s lives have become irreversibly entwined. She dials up the toxicity of the community to murderous levels but then shows us the good underneath it all, and that’s what stayed with me.