Fall Mystery Books Novels & Stories

I bet romance," she smiled sideways. He had a nice smile. Nate wasn't ugly at all, quite the opposite. -And I bet just because I'm a girl you think I like romance. But yes, a little bit. I prefer mystery and horror though. Dark stuff. -I looked at him. Nate was closer now. -Do you like dark things? -He wanted to know, his tone was thick and so manly, it triggered something inside me. His eyes had something in them that left me half-idiotized for a moment. I cleared my throat and came out of my trance, picking up the first book I found. It was thick, blue. It had a rather striking cover. The mysterious death of Max. That was the name of the book. It really caught my attention. -Do you like it

I can’t let go if deep down inside me, they need me for this. I got off the boat when I reached Catagban port where the van that'll take me to the resort was found. I occupied myself by reading a book by Agatha Christi, ABC Murder. One of Hercule Poirot myster. It was a book that Rhisha gave me at our graduation. She said that I might like it since I love reading books. I sighed. Because of thinking deeply, I got lost in what I am currently reading. It was the part where Fraser discovered that Betty died during the interrogation she did with Poirot.

"A... used one?" "A romantic mystery," you said, showing her the front. "It's from the seventies, and is about a female detective who gets involved with the man who hires her to investigate his wife's murder. I'm hoping it's got Castle vibes." She broke into a smile, taking the book from you and turning it over in her hands. Then she kissed you again, on her tiptoes. "Has anyone told you that you're the sweetest?" she asked. "Not today," you smiled.

"I think I will go for the romance novel for now." After breakfast, Jessica tugged into her room. This is my first time in her room. I glanced at the bed; the pillows were propped up against the headboard. A book was face down in the middle of the bed. I grinned and pointed to it "What’s the name of the novel you’re reading?” I asked. "Nightfalls, it’s a mystery novel." "Ohh, I thought you said you only have romance, streamy, and horror." "That novel ain’t mine, I spotted it in the library and decided to spend the night reading it." She admitted

The enormous library stood empty when she slipped inside. Rain tapped quietly against tall windows while thunder rolled faintly outside. At the far end of the room stood an enormous painting of an older Francesco ancestor. Something about it looked wrong. Elena stepped closer slowly. The whispers became louder. Behind. Her pulse quickened. Carefully she reached toward the painting— and nearly jumped when it shifted beneath her touch. A hidden door. Cold air rushed outward immediately. The smell hit her first. Dust. Mold. And something older beneath it.

“No doubt.” “What about those two small FedEx boxes?” “Most recent novels from Samhain Horror.” “Awesome. Those books I bought at the Webb County Library sale last week?” “Sorted into general and mystery fiction. Struck the mother lode with all those Mary Higgins Clark novels.” “We cater to all tastes, miss. Unless you like Twilight, 50 Shades of Gray or James Patterson. Folks want drivel, they can drive to Utica.” “Hey. I actually liked Twilight. It wasn’t all bad.”

Just past the first turn, she realised there was no house, no village in front of her, only a long stretch of whiteness bordered by snow-powdered hedges without a telltale rise in smoke in the distance. She didn't dare look up again for a long while. Time lost all meaning as she walked onward, her cheeks stinging, then without feeling, as hints of eventide crept in behind the melancholy December sky. It was then that Betty murmured an almost forgotten prayer from her childhood……...a little something to her guardian Angel begging an entree to paradise. ………………………….. She awoke stretching contentedly. Staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, it took her a few moments to determine where she was, but

Emma's heart racing, she picked it up and read the words: "Meet me at the old clock tower at midnight. Come alone." The note wasn't signed, but Emma knew instinctively that it was from someone who knew her secrets. Someone who might be able to help her uncover the truth about her sister's disappearance and the sinister forces at play. Emma's mind was a whirlwind of questions. Who was behind the note? What did they want from her? And what did they mean by "come alone"? As the clock struck midnight, Emma stood in front of the old clock tower, her heart pounding in her chest. The building loomed above her, its stone façade shrouded in shadows. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she had ma

"She stole it! Everyone saw it. The necklace was in her bag!" All eyes turned to Emma, who remained calm and composed. She addressed the officers, "I request a fingerprint analysis of the necklace. Let's see how I could have stolen something without leaving my fingerprints on it."

Abigail I didn’t hear the library door open. Curled in the wide armchair by the window, a thick blanket tucked over my legs and a mug of lukewarm tea long forgotten on the little table beside me, I was too deep in the roaring chaos of 1920s London to notice anything else. The novel I’d found, The Blood of Mayfair, was a fever dream of a book with gangsters in bowler hats and singers with too much rouge and too many secrets. I had stumbled across the book purely by chance this afternoon while scanning a high corner shelf. What began as idle curiosity turned into a feverish need to unravel the killer’s identity before the protagonist, a fashion journalist moonlighting as a private investigator