Jane Rhodes Murder Novels & Stories

She types in the internet code that is listed on the small brochure inside the room. Within minutes she is browsing many articles on the internet about the Sleepy Oak motel and all the disappearances and murders that happened here years ago. Clicking a news article from a local news website, she reads it quickly. It tells how Nate and Dave Matthews kidnapped, raped, tortured and murdered nearly twenty women over a span of two decades. How they tried to kidnap a woman on Christmas Eve and tried to murder her husband and kids.

To the press, he announced boldly, “We are calling off the manhunt for Cornell Rowling and Edgar Rowling. It appears they attempted to flee the scene of their arrest tonight, and while being chased by police, met with an accident. Their car hit a bridge pylon, exploded, and burned. Alcohol appears to be a contributing factor. Both men were killed instantly. That is all.” Chloe screamed her brother’s name and fainted, collapsing to the ground. Heith barely kept himself upright, gasping for breath like he’d been punched in the gut. However, Colleen had no expression on her face whatsoever as they were loaded into separate SUVs. Jean just shook her head as she got in next to Agent Jim Whitman,

It was a simple little cottage. Raven was just a simple girl working in a company, living in a small house from her earnings to the town. One day, that would change. One day, she'll move from the wretched Domsville, where every second was a risk. Nobody knows her as RD, except for her crew. Nobody knows anything about the murderer except for the fact that a tattoo of the two letters, RD, was permanently on his or her back. She let the police figure it out with a mistake.

I said finally, my voice harsher than I intended. Janie shifted uneasily, her fingers playing with the edge of the silver dagger she always kept close. She wasn’t scared—she rarely was—but she looked torn, like saying the words would unravel something she had no power to sew back together. “She was killed, Nora,” Janie said, meeting my eyes. “But not by rogues. Not in some random raid. She was marked for death. And it wasn’t just because she was your mother—it was because of who she was.”

News Flash. Two days back, the Rosewoods Police Department charged a woman with the murder of her husband of over 27 years. The Police Department dispatched officers to the Sanders estate in response to a well-detailed report of a crime from one of the domestic staff according to department news. After obtaining a search warrant, detectives with the Criminal Investigation Division swung into action, and true to the report, they discovered a decaying body buried in the ground of one of the rooms in the large mansion. It had been covered up with freshly replaced tiles.

The night Elias Rhodes died on a coastal highway, officially intoxicated, officially alone. She typed the date into the password field. The folder unlocked. She sat very still. Then she opened it.

Charlie and Wendy stood behind me, barely able to breathe from the pain. Mark rushed to Jane's bed, hitting her with all his strength. "You killed Mommy! Give her back to me! Give her back!" "Get away from me! Did I kill her? You were the ones who gave me the Miracle Elixir! Your family murdered Viola, not me!" Jane shrieked like a deranged woman. I turned to the officers, my voice hollow but firm. "Arrest her. Charge her with intentional homicide." As we stood there, looking at the empty, lifeless hospital room, my heart felt heavy. We had all played a part in Viola's death.

“After a failed attempt to harm Sylvia Reynolds using hired attackers—resulting instead in the injury of Leah Sanders—Powell reportedly confessed in a handwritten suicide note and took her own life last night inside her cell.” My stomach turned. No. No. This story was too neat. Too pretty. Too wrapped in a bow. There was no way in hell she’d gone down without dragging Ryder into the fire. Not if she was really Josephine. Not if she’d planned every move like a goddamn chess master. Ryder was her partner. Her shadow. Her everything. She would’ve named him. Burned him alive. Unless someone made sure she didn’t. My blood turned cold. A thought itched at the edge of my skull, digging in like a sp

When Levi saw that I had managed to hold on until the third syringe, he panicked and portrayed the Larsons as hypocritical businessmen so that he could reinforce the idea that I had murdered them. However, he had been in too much of a rush. All the memories he had cobbled together were full of loopholes. He had even arranged for someone to come and kill Vivian in order to keep up the act. Levi thought that he had succeeded, but he had never imagined that I would hold out until the fourth syringe. I didn't have any proof, and all the evidence that the police had pointed toward me. No matter how good I was at talking, I wouldn't be able to prove my innocence. The truth about everyone's death w

Signed: CVM There were no explanations, no threats, no promises, just an invitation. There was a photo tucked between the folds. A young woman, probably in her late twenties, wearing a wedding gown. Her veil was crumpled, and her mascara was streaked. She was crying, her full-body sobs were caught mid-motion. On the back of the photograph, someone had written in slanted writing: Amelia Rhodes. Widowed in 2021. No autopsy was done. Genevieve gripped the edge of the sink tightly until her knuckles turned white.