How Does Murder On The Orient Express End?

Detective Catharine Maximo whose sister also disappeared, came looking for the mastermind behind this mystery. Every year a girl would be found missing. She's been wanting to solve this and find out the culprit for months. Recently, a corpse was found. It was evident that the victim was brutally murdered. She digs information. But could she ever find her sister alive by then? What is the cost of solving the mystery of-- Eency Weency?

My grandmother is, as far as the law is concerned, a dead woman. She faked her own death so she could go off with the boy she'd grown up beside, and she left evidence behind that made my grandfather her killer. He went away for twenty years. She sold his house and ran to Port Halcyon with the other man. One of them became a famous attorney who talks about justice in courtrooms. The other became a philanthropist who talks about compassion under television lights. My grandfather carried the word wife-killer for the rest of his life. My father grew up on whatever the neighbors could spare. He never spent a day in school, and he wore his hands raw laying brick until he'd put me through college. Two generations, two pairs of ruined hands, lifting me one step at a time out of Pinebarrow. Fifty years after my grandmother's fake death. I sit on the felony bench of the Dunstone Superior Court. In front of me are five young women charged in a murder. The case against the first four is airtight. Against the fifth, there's half a fingerprint at the scene and a witness who accounts for her entire night. Even the police call her the least likely of them. The murder charge won't hold. I go through her file. Under family, there's a name. Evelyn Harrow. My grandmother. I look at how much the two of them resemble each other. And when her lawyer moves to have her released from this courtroom a free woman, I bring the gavel down lightly. "This court denies the defense motion for dismissal. This court further recommends that the district attorney formally charge the defendant with murder."

On her unconscious bed, her husband gave the order to abort her child. Their child. Driven by lust and desperation for power, Killian Powell framed Rose Webster just to divorce her and marry her twin. At what price? To easily buy his way into her family's corporation. Rose had the evidence to expose her husband's true face to the world and tear him down. But of what use was it when her vicious parents threatened to stop the treatment of her sick daughter if she dared release the evidence? Like always, they cared more about what they stood to gain from a traitor who stabbed their daughter—a man they once despised when he was nothing. As much as Rose couldn't trade the life of her daughter, she couldn't bear the internet stigma and mockery. Not to mention her job as a detective was suspended as if she were some criminal. The whole world seemed to close in on Rose until redemption came in the form of a dangerous offer. When solving a risky murder case was the only way to get back at her ex-husband and also keep her child safe, how far would she go to ruin her ex?

The day I learned the truth about my husband, Duke Alistair, and his adopted sister, Liana, I left. I abandoned my title, my home, and returned to my father's palace. A year passed. Then came news of chaos in the duchy. The servant Alistair sent spoke with desperation, “Your Highness, the Duke and your son are lost to reason. If you don’t return, I fear they will burn everything to the ground.” I looked at the blood I'd coughed onto my handkerchief. I nodded. "Fine. I'll go back." The doctor had already given me my diagnosis. Consumption. I had only a month left to live. So I went back. And I played the part of the perfect duchess. I no longer demanded Alistair's loyalty. I even found him three new mistresses who looked just like Liana and sent them to his bed after he had sent her away for me. I no longer made Damian study the arts of statecraft and not forced him to master his courtly duties. Instead, I supported his ridiculous dream of joining the Expeditionary Force. I took the pain they gave me. I wrapped it in the "understanding" they always craved. And I served it back to them cold. But it drove Alistair mad. He threw out the mistresses. He crushed me in his arms. His kiss was a punishment. He bit my lip, drawing blood. "I sent Liana away! What more do you want from me? How can I earn your forgiveness?" Damian cried and clung to my arm. "I'll never call Aunt Liana 'gentle' or 'beautiful' again! Mother, please. Just stop." They didn't understand. I wasn't making a scene. I just wanted to live out my last month in peace. And then, I wanted to die.

The fake heiress, Jean Shore, has left a suicide note prior to taking her own life. In the note, she claims that I'm the one who killed her. In order to make me admit my crime, my parents has sent me to an institution as a human test subject. Every day, I'm forced to endure inhuman torture of all sorts. Needless to say, I'm in so much pain that I choose to secretly take some poison in order to kill myself. But my enraged older brother, Sebastian Shore, saves my life. With bloodshot eyes, he yanks me by the hair while yelling at me. "The pain that you've gone through isn't even a thousandth of the pain Jean had endured! You don't have the right to die!" I can only obey Sebastian numbly. But soon, I get sent to the restricted area. There, my belly swells with life, only for me to lose it some time later. Finally, I've learned my lesson and become docile. No matter what anyone asks me, I keep admitting that I'm a vile woman who has killed Jean. My parents burst into delighted tears. Sebastian can't wait to have me sent to the court, where I will be sentenced for my crime. He tells me, "As long as you admits your crime and go through the punishment, we'll forgive you." I say yes in an obedient manner. I know that my family wants me to be sentenced to death. But what they don't know is that I can't live long enough for the death sentence to be carried out.

The moment I decided to leave Vincent Graves, I did three things. First, I recalled the pregnancy report I had been about to forward to him and replaced it with a scheduled breakup message. Second, I called the bridal boutique and cancelled the custom order for my wedding dress. I had been measured three times for it. I had waited five months. I never wore it. I never would. Third, I called Dr. Helena Shaw and accepted the invitation I had turned down a week ago. An eight-year medical research program. Completely sealed. No contact with the outside world. Before he could spring the proposal he had been planning, I vanished from his life completely. He never noticed that while he let Cora take my place at the wedding rehearsal and stayed out all night, I was quietly erasing every trace of myself, step by step. I became exactly the wife Vincent always said he wanted: reasonable, gracious, unbothered. But after I was gone, he lost control and asked me, "Why aren't you angry? Don't you love me anymore?" I said nothing. I only remembered the flirtatious voice messages Cora had sent him, the ones I had heard from his phone. And I calmly dialed the number that would take me away.