Crime Mystery Novels & Stories

Owens voice breaks the silence that they had fallen into and she turns to face him. “See for yourself.” She gestures behind him at the notebook and typewriter on the desk. “I am writing a thriller, mystery, crime book. I want to try my hand at being a writer like Agitha Christie or Ruth Rendell. Mostly Agitha Christie. My Pops and Grams used to read her books aloud to each other each night after dinner. I would lay on the couch and listen, falling in love with them just as much. Pops and I use to try to one up the other by guessing the killer first. But it was almost always Gram that was right.” Owen chuckles, as he looks over the idea and rough book concept that she scribbled down. “So, you

he muttered, Matteo just nodded without saying anything else. "Do you think this Frederick killed Liam"? Matteo pursed his lips, thinking about the possibility of it, it sounded plausible but at the same time, he couldn't be sure and they wouldn't just act on assumptions. "I don't know" he muttered "but I know that everything that has happened from the night of the shooting is not a coincidence, it has to have something to do with our mystery but what that is, I don't know" Spade paced the room, both of them waiting for when Bernie would walk back in and let them know that it was time for the meeting.

His hands shake, and his eyes blur for no reason. He closed his eyes to give them a quick rest, then held the bridge of his nose, "In every mystery, there’s a puzzle waiting to be pieced together. But this puzzle seems to have other pieces that belong somewhere else but where?" Gertrude's brow rose, then asked in a curious tone, "Why do you think that?" "In a normal murder case, what are the basic things to consider?" He asks. "The victim. The suspect. The motive." She responds

Whoever was behind it knew exactly how to get under his skin, and it was working. He took a cigar from his pocket and lit it, taking a long drag exhaling slowly as smoke curled around him like fog. He stared out of the window until the cigarette burned down to the filter. Somewhere in that city, someone was playing games with him using ghosts from his past as bait. And if that was the case, he’d play along. But this time, he’d be the one setting the trap. Nikolai turned from the window and walked to the table. He grabbed his coat, a gun and car keys from the desk.

Then black. Is Malachi dead? I scrambled for my purse that was on the nightstand. I dump everything on my bed. Lipstick, compact, and Phone. No wallet. I didn’t bring it. My phone is dead. Of course it is. I jam the charger in with shaking hands and wait for the screen to light up. No texts. No missed calls. Nothing from Amelia. Nothing from anyone who should be losing their mind that I disappeared from a crime scene. I was about to set the phone down when it vibrates in my hand. Someone was calling but it was a private Number.

My mother, Samantha, believed I was born a liar. Because she was deceived by my father's sweet words in her youth and abandoned after giving birth to me and my sister, Mia, she harbored a deep, bitter hatred for lies. She begged a witch for two magic rings. The rule was simple: if the wearer lied, the ring would glow red and burn them with magic. Mia's ring never hurt her, even when she broke a vase and blamed it on me. But if I simply said, "I'm thirsty," my ring would sear my flesh until I screamed. At first, I tried to defend myself, but Mom would just say, "The ring doesn't lie. Only through repeated punishment can your wicked soul be cleansed." After thousands of burns, even I started t

It was as if he was standing in front of a closed door, aware of the secret it guarded. ‘But why would you think that way?’ protested the sub-inspector defiantly. ‘I know this is a high-profile case, and that the grim and strange facts lend it a character of its own. But every case does not require us to employ higher powers of observation and intricate analysis of the criminal mind. Sometimes, it boils downs to that one simple question. What was the motive? And from all the statements that I have collected, I am confident that this was a murder that had to be done. It was urgent. Type one in your nomenclature. The victim was murdered and then some clues were scrambled here and there to misl

"Officer, my boyfriend doesn't like causing trouble, but this isn't something that only concerns the two of us. What if the thief breaks into someone else's home and kills someone?" Milton was sweating profusely now, his eyes darting around, trying to signal me. But I acted as though I didn't see. "Doesn't this have fingerprints and DNA on it? You can test it!"

Her English accent was also very prominent, due "Wow murder mystery, that sounds interesting. Tell us a little bit more about it. "Okay, so this story is about Marissa Evans, who is a young college student in her second year of study. She gets into a relationship with her course-mate Isaac, a footballer, but then during a birthday party on campus, her best friend Trisha is murdered and all evidence points to Isaac alongside her friends as the suspects. Now Marissa, being a member of the mystery club has to work with the young and handsome Detective Roger, to crack the case. Shocking secrets are revealed and just who could the culprit be in her circle of unsuspicious friends, could it be her