Gardner Mystery Writer Novels & Stories

One that led to the gardener’s… unfortunate death. *** It was a mysterious incident that even the police couldn’t seem to solve. For some reason, the gardener — whose name was Winston Berkley — walked into the nearby woods of the small town where he and Pamela were staying. He then apparently killed himself by falling down a ravine and drowning in the lake. The investigators in charge of the case did a thorough background check and learned some details about Winston Berkley.

“Let’s not do anything rash.” I didn’t move. I was trembling inside and concerned that Sir Gerard Seymour Hornby shouldn’t see it. I’d had guns pointed at me before. A long time ago. “It was easy to work out, really.” I squared up to him. This was my Agatha Christie moment: my drawing room soliloquy. “According to you, your ex-wife ran off with the gardener. What was his name?” “I can’t remember,” Sir Gerard snapped, the gun still pointing in my direction.

I feel like an enemy right now. But I am not going to tell on them. Their secret is safe with me. But..... It is sickening. They are cousins. They have to stop. ***************** A FEW MINUTES LATER...... THE KITCHEN...... With some plates in my hands, I walked towards the sink but I saw the gardener again through the windows. He is dressed in the same outfit as yesterday and is working in the garden. I placed the plates in the sink slowly as I kept staring at him.

She said sharply. "Nicholas. What's yours?" The guy mumbled, walking towards the bed. "Tyler." Gianna quickly said as she shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "Okay. You are the new gardener that replaced the dead man?" The guy asked as she carelessly sat beside Gianna and mistakenly brushed her lap with his finger. Gianna shifted again but her attention was caught by what Nicholas was saying. "What dead man?" "The dead gardener. Was murdered mysteriously." Nicholas mumbled, suddenly looking very serious.

Sloan answers like she was Rodney in person . “ Do well to deliver my message to him ” Detective Kennedy said giving her one of the white envelope to her . He turned and walked away heading to the gardener's . Was he going to question the gardener too Sloan thought before closing the door after her . She knew Detective Kennedy was close to the answer and nothin must go the wrong way . “ Excuse me Mr gardener ” Detective Kennedy says politely . He pulls out his Identity card introducing himself shortly . “ I will be pleased if you honour this invitation, it will be of contribution to the success of the case. Thank you .” Detective Kennedy said handing him the second white envelope which he to

Not wanting to be pedantic, I gave them a moment to come up with the answer on their own. Fawna furrowed her brow, and Adara shook her head. I hoped that one day I might look down on that head from above, as she kneeled before me with my cock in her mouth . . . . Neither knew the answer, so I said, a bit uncertainly, although I was very certain: “Agatha Christie, wasn’t it?” “That’s it,” said Fawna. “At her home in Devon?” asked Adara. I nodded. “At Greenway. Strange name for a house with a poison garden. Greenway.”

“Not that I saw… but the gardener was near the garage for a while yesterday morning.” Harris made a note. “What was he doing there?” “Sweeping leaves, I think,” the driver replied nervously. Next came the gardener—old Mr. Fred. His wrinkled hands trembled slightly as he sat down. “Mr. Fred,” the detective began calmly, “we have a report that you were near the garage before the accident. What were you doing there?” Fred swallowed hard. “I… I was just cleaning, sir. That’s all.”

Jiro warned as Raine took a deep breath before grabbing her gun as she reloaded it with her mana. "I know... I will fulfill my mission while taking my revenge on them," Raine spoke darkly as she aims her gun at Lyndell. *Bathump! *Bathump! Lyndell's hands start shaking, and her heart's beating sound is ringing in her ears. Blurry memories seem to keep appearing and disappearing in her mind, making her head throb painfully. Taking a step back, she didn't notice that Raine has already pulled the trigger of her gun and fired straight at her.

“Arthur! You’re writing a murder mystery?” “The gardener did it,” he said with a mock-serious whisper. “With the fertilizer.” He tucked the notebook back into his pocket, his eyes twinkling. “It’s terrible, of course. But it’s fun. And it keeps my mind sharp.” We started walking again, our laughter fading into smiles. The sun was beginning its descent, painting the sky in shades of rose and gold. I looked at this man, my husband of over half a century. We had survived wars, both public and private. We had built empires and then willingly walked away from them. We had faced down ghosts and, in the end, made peace with them.

But my pace slowed when I realized one of the voices sounded oddly familiar. I hesitated, stepping back into the shadows. Slowly, carefully, I peered around the corner. The sight before me made my breath hitch. Lila. She stood near the back alley, talking to someone. A man. Wait… Not just any man. It was the dismissed gardener! My heart pounded in my chest. What were they doing here together? It looked like they were conspiring in some way. The gardener wasn’t the same cowering, hesitant worker I remembered from the day we caught him burying that watch. Gone was the nervous demeanor, the stammering excuses.