Which New York Times Best Seller Mysteries Feature Amateur Sleuths?

Maya Bennet came to college with one goal: survive. Keep her scholarship. Work enough hours to pay her bills. Graduate. Don’t make mistakes. Especially not the kind that come with a charming smile and a football jersey. The last thing Maya needs is Cole Ryder. The star quarterback has a reputation for breaking hearts, avoiding commitment, and never taking anything too seriously. He’s exactly the kind of guy Maya has spent years avoiding. But somewhere between late-night study sessions, stolen moments, and Cole showing up whenever her world starts falling apart, he becomes impossible to ignore. For Cole, it starts as curiosity. Then concern. Then something much more dangerous. Before he realizes what’s happening, the girl who never believed she’d be chosen becomes the center of his entire world. But falling in love doesn’t magically fix real life. Maya is still carrying the weight of family problems, financial stress, and years of believing she’s only worth what she can accomplish. As old wounds reopen and painful family secrets come to light, she’s forced to decide whether she can finally stop carrying everything alone. Because Cole isn’t the only one falling. The real question is whether Maya can believe she deserves the kind of love that’s willing to stay. Filled with laugh-out-loud banter, found family, emotional healing, college chaos, and a swoon-worthy quarterback who falls first and falls hard, The Rogue Next Door is a heartwarming slow-burn romance about learning that sometimes the strongest thing you can do is let someone love you.

I quit and dipped. City threw a parade. Only Jenna Blake—my oh-so-gifted junior who claimed she could "see through killers' eyes"—lost it. At her celebration banquet, she went full drama queen: "I owe everything to Kate Mercer. Please, bring her back!" I laughed. Cold. Not happening. Last time around, I was the hotshot detective. But every clue I found? She dropped it first like she read my mind. People started saying I was washed. So I went all in—three months, no sleep, cracked a massive trafficking ring. Led the raid myself. She beat me there. Again. Place was cleaned out. Boom. She's the city's golden girl. I'm the clown with no game. Pressure got ugly. My head snapped. I died chasing the last scumbag. Then—bam. I woke up. Same day. Raid morning. Round two.

I'm a half-baked forensic examiner whose only redeeming quality is the ability to understand animals. The crime scene is inside a lavish villa. The lady of the house lies dead on the floor with a blunt-force injury to the back of her head so deep that her bone is visible. The safe has been pried open, and a million dollars in cash has vanished without a trace. Clear shoe prints mark the backyard wall, evidence that someone has climbed over it. "This one's clear as day. This is a textbook robbery-homicide. The suspect is likely a young male, around six feet tall, has a prior theft record, and knows how to cover his tracks. Check the surveillance footage in the area and look into places where he might've moved the stolen cash." The director of the forensic science center, Egbert Woodward, has been in the profession for three decades and is a widely respected authority. The officers at the scene nod in unison and begin taking notes. I'm the only one who stares at the 30 flies circling the ceiling for a full 3 minutes before taking a step forward and piping up, "Dr. Woodward, this isn't a robbery-homicide. It's a crime of passion. The murderer is the victim's husband!"

Meet Esmerelda Sleuth. Sleuth is her name and investigating is her game. (Paranormal Investigating, that is.) Esmerelda makes a good living as an investigator in a rather progressive firm. She lives a stable and sensible life until she meets Lance; an old money "hottie" who works for a real estate firm next to her building. After accepting an invitation for a weekend getaway party, she quickly discovers that Lance has a secret. He is wealthy. That part is true. And, yes, he's procured a job as a realtor in the building next door. His secret is that he belongs to an underground society of humans who didn't abandon their connection to magic centuries ago when religion declared it evil and he has traveled through time specifically to find her and bring her back to his time to marry him. If that isn't enough of a far fetched tale to absorb, he informs her that she was born in his time to a family belonging to that same secret society and was promised in marriage to him as an infant. When enemies who didn't want to see the union of families take place made attempts on her life, her parents sent her into the future and erased her memories of them as a precaution. Possessing virtually no belief in magic, ghosts, psychics, time travel, etc., it takes some doing on Lance's part to convince her to believe his story and go back with him. When she does, the lies, deceit and attempts on her life start all over again. Will she escape emotionally and physically unscathed? "The Other Side Of the Mirror" is a steamy-paranormal-romance- mystery-thriller and book one of the Esmerelda Sleuth series.

There are three things Samara Culkin loves: her father, wearing high heels, and being a detective. But in a world where being a female officer is considered weak, she struggles to find a place where she feels truly belong. Determined to prove The Detective Tag firm that she is worth it, she sets out to solve one of the biggest cases the city of Los Angeles has ever seen. There are three things Clayton Jones likes: his car, detective skills, and the female detective who happens to catch his eye—Samara. As an expert and well-known crime officer, he is given the chance to work with her; a one-time possibility that rarely happens. The only problem is that she hates him. And he does not know why. The Detective Tag is a crime fiction with a twist of romance. Join Samara and Clayton—all the bitterness, dislikes, and romance in between—as they dive into the world of crime cases and murder investigations. Well, maybe a bit of finding love, too.

I am a real estate agent. For the past three years, I have been the top seller in the industry. It is not because I am a smooth talker; it is because I can hear houses speak. The houses will chatter about a hollow wall, a leaking pipe, or a window with a bad seal. During move-out inspections, I point out exactly what tenants try to hide. When showing a place to renters, I warn them about hidden red flags. I have been doing this so long that both sides treat me like family. Then, one Friday, a regular client, Eleanor Wilson, shows up. "Devan, the tenants at the Eastmere place are moving out." Eleanor is in her 60s. Her husband is long gone, and she lives off the rental income. She is a sweet soul. She charges 20% below market rate and even makes cookies for her tenants during the holidays. The couple moving out this time is Henry Johnson and his wife. They run a fruit stand at the local market and have a six-year-old daughter, Lea Johnson. "Lea is missing," Eleanor says, her eyes welling with tears. "She vanished outside the market last month. Just like that, in the blink of an eye. Henry and his wife have been searching for a month. They're worn out and broke. They just can't take it anymore." A heaviness settles in my chest at her words. I grab the keys and head out with her. Eleanor gasps for air with every flight of stairs we climb. I walk ahead of her. The moment I slide the key into the lock of Apartment 602, the doorknob vibrates violently against my palm. A second later, I dial 911. "I want to report a case of murder. There's a hidden body on the sixth floor of 18 Montclair Heights, Eastmere. The victim is their daughter."