Obsessive Detective Short Stories & Novels

At 11:00 AM, my husband, Silas Vexille, slowly drowned in our indoor thermal pool. At the time, I was having my usual morning tea with the other mafia wives in the estate's back garden. The pool room was directly above the garden, barely a dozen feet away. Originally, if I had gone back to the main house at 11:00 as usual, I would have had plenty of time to save him. But as fate would have it, Victoria Harrison insisted on inviting us over to her nearby home to see her new pink diamond. At 11:20 AM, my daughter April and I pushed open the doors to the pool room. By then, Silas was already gone. At the lavish funeral, I was devastated, fainting several times. The mourners murmured in sympathy. "Don Vexille and his wife always had such a beautiful marriage..." "Yeah, what is she going to do now that the Don is dead?" Silas's mother, Martha—a tough woman who ran a Texas farm alone after her divorce—flew in overnight. Under the watchful eyes of everyone present, she walked straight up to me. Her expression was stone-cold, and she spat out every word: "You are the one who murdered my son."

My roommate, Claire Lane, hadn't come home in three days. Then our landlady blocked my doorway with Claire's suitcase in her arms. She said Claire had already moved out and told me to sign Claire's move-out confirmation for her. Just as I picked up the pen, rows of red text suddenly appeared before my eyes, floating like real-time comments on a livestream. [Don't sign! She never left!] [That isn't Claire's suitcase. There's evidence inside.] [The moment you sign, that paper will prove she left of her own free will.] [When the police get to the basement storage room, she'll say the key was in your hands the whole time.] The landlady pushed the pen into my hand. "It's only one signature. You're roommates, aren't you? Sign for her so I can refund her security deposit." I put the pen back on the table. "Linda, I can't copy someone else's signature. I'm not signing this."

My mother kept calling me while I was on a stakeout. I had been hiding inside a van, watching the suspects for six hours. Then my phone screen suddenly lit up. The ringtone shattered the silence. I panicked and tried to put it on silent, but I accidentally hit the speaker button. A faint sound came from the phone. I felt terribly guilty and embarrassed. If we alerted the suspect, our entire operation tonight would be ruined. Captain Derek glanced over and saw that it was my mother calling. He lowered his voice and said, "Don't panic. Go take the call. Ethan and I will keep watch." Ethan frowned and quietly warned me, "Be careful. Don't give away our position." I gave them a grateful look before quietly getting out of the van and hiding in a nearby corner. I lowered my voice and asked with a hint of irritation, "Mom, I already told you I had an important operation today. Why are you calling me?"

When I finally met my online boyfriend in person, he asked what I wanted in a future husband. I didn't even have to think. "He can't be named Jamie Bloom." He looked completely lost, but I didn't explain. Because a fortune-teller once told me I'd die at the hands of a man named Jamie Bloom. That evening, he went to take a shower, and a message popped up on his phone. One glance, and my blood ran cold. "Jamie, sweetie, you got there and didn't even text Mom to say you made it safe?"