Light-hearted Mystery Books Novels & Stories

"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.

There was this uneasiness in my heart and a burn in my wound. “Erin White?” the receptionist calls my name. I got up from my place and went inside the office. As I open the door, a mixed fragrance of jasmine and woods strike my nostrils. It lightens my mood and anxiety. My gaze meets with a pair of angelic blue orbs that are shining like sun rays in water. “Hello, Erin! I am Light. How are you? Please take a seat.” he gestures to me to sit. “I am physically fine but mentally, a total mess.” I smiled slightly at him.

the Light? I think most of us will agree and love both our light and dark sides, because we, as humans, have both of these elements - Light and Darkness. It is up to us which of them we will let overcome the other in our hearts. And no matter if you believe in God, another higher power or you are an atheist, you certainly feel the influence of these two opposing elements in your life many times, especially when you have to make an important decision such as, for example, whether to help someone in need? Should I stop or pass someone indifferently? Take care only for yourself and your own interests, or maybe for common good? It is a popular concept of right or wrong, where right is Light and

I replied, shaking his hand briefly before pulling it back, a tingle left in its place. “So, Kalia, what’s so captivating in that book of yours that you almost missed the best coffee in town?” He nodded toward my cup. I tilted my head, considering him. “You are assuming I don’t already know that this place has the best coffee.” He raised an eyebrow. “Fair enough. But now I’m curious about the book.” I held it up, the cover facing him. “It’s a mystery novel. Keeps me on my toes.” He leaned in slightly, intrigued. “A mystery, huh? So, you like solving puzzles?”

I sat beside her, and she immediately stretched her legs back out, her feet landing in my lap. "What are you reading?" She held up the book without looking away from the page. "A mystery novel. A detective in Victorian London." I caught sight of the cover. A woman in a low-cut dress leaned against a man in a top hat, their faces inches apart in the fog. The Scarlet Letter Murders. I grabbed the book from her hands. "Hey!" She sat up, reaching for it. I flipped through a few pages. My eyes landed on a passage. His mouth found the hollow of her throat as his fingers worked the laces of her corset…

“Only because it’s an emergency.” Elmo rubbed his eyes, and blinked away fatigue. As his vision cleared he found himself looking at Lucas’ bookshelf, and his heart sank as he surveyed the spines of books his friend loved so much. There were copies of The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, The Three Investigators and The Secret Seven, as well as modern mystery thrillers by authors such as Lee Child and James Patterson. But there were also older novels that Elmo recalled as movies on TCM but had never read. He saw Treasure Island and Ivanhoe, Tom Sawyer and Robinson Crusoe.

I placed my hand on the cold knob, and it creaked open under my push, revealing a library. Dust floated in the amber light coming from a chandelier, the scent of old paper surrounded me like an embrace. Shelves towered on all sides, cracked and faded with a variety of books. My fingers drifted along the titles crested in the rectangular back of the books, then something caught my eye—a red hardback, its cover smooth and untouched. The title was etched in gold: LEGACY OF THE CROSS.

Fuck, she makes me feel everything. "It is indeed a good morning," I say wrapping more of her wild hair around her ear so I can see her face better. "Sorry, I fell asleep," she says. I'm not sorry. I didn't want to get into her Dad's allegations last night and even though she wasn't happy about it she asked me to read her the book she had grabbed off my book shelf. One of my favorites. It's a mystery novel about two mates who find each other while they are both trying to catch the same serial killer that's on the loose.

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

“If this ends with us being mugged in an alley, I’m haunting you.” He just laughs — that low, warm sound that makes me instantly suspicious — and takes my hand. We walk in. It’s… a bookstore. Actually. A real, slightly dusty, barely-lit bookstore that smells like ink and old paper. A little bell chimes overhead and I glance at Liam, confused. “You’re taking me to dinner here?” He raises a brow, then leads me to a narrow corridor tucked between two shelves of hardcovers. I barely notice the door tucked into the wall — until Liam reaches for a spine labeled A Study in Scarlet, presses it like a button, and the whole shelf clicks open.