Murder Mystery Fiction Books Novels & Stories

The kind of smile you give when a chess game finally ends, and your opponent has walked straight into the trap you've set from the very first move. "Detective Bell." My voice was calm, almost gentle. "That recording… Doesn't it prove the killer poisoned those four, and then drank his own poison? Doesn't that sound like a guilty man taking himself out? "I don't understand why you all keep looking at me. From start to finish, I never did a thing. Just because Sharon suffered, just because I hated them for it, that makes me guilty? "I told you before. Yes, I hated them. But I'm just one woman. What could I really do?"

"Just Black Rose business. The usual chaos." She didn't look convinced but she didn't push, and I was grateful for that. We sat there in the quiet, the afternoon light streaming through the window and painting everything in shades of gold and amber. She started telling me about the book she'd been reading, some mystery novel that Elias had sworn she'd enjoy, and I found myself listening not to the words but to the sound of her voice, the way it rose and fell with her enthusiasm. "And then the detective realizes the killer has been right there the whole time, hiding in plain sight," she said, her hands moving as she spoke, animated in a way I rarely got to see. "I didn't see it coming at all.

A moment later, a piece of paper slid through the narrow gap beneath my door. The footsteps retreated in haste. I peered through the peephole. The hallway was empty. I didn't touch the note, afraid of smudging fingerprints. Instead, I crouched and read the words on it: I know the truth about Edmund's death. Come to the big banyan tree in Greenfield Residences at 11 p.m. Don't call the police. The note was crafted with meticulous care—letters cut out from newspapers and books, pieced together like a ransom demand, leaving no trace of handwriting.

It’s been a month before their last cases, and now they are taking a new risky adventure. "I like it when you're like this, adventure is waving Jane!" Austine exclaimed, who was eager to end this series of murders, and finding out who is the murderer was one of the best and fun parts, discovering shreds of evidence and making the murderer pay is satisfying, a job where she is dedicated to doing to help others.

Detective Harry Macmillan was in an office at Scotland Yard, who had taken an oath herself, to find the murderer of Willemina Winchester; she was analyzing some papers, they were the notes on how the body had been found, with a couple of holes in the neck, some of the funeral service agents and others said with fear; "It must be a vampire", "or some demonic being", those were the rumors that ran through the streets of the city, in the other bodies that had been found the marks were the same, he had his fountain pen between his lips and his nose, he thoughtfully read each one of those notes.

He is not supposed to be walking around freely and now the reason of our headache. “What if the person died was actually from the other world?” both of us looked when Aina approached and told us that. “You remember what Yana told us? The man that killed her mom vanished together with the body and blood like nothing happened.” She said and I remembered that one. There was a day when she told us what she saw and honestly, I could not believe her the first time I heard the story. That was the most unbelievable story I have ever heard since I started working as a detective. I heard false alibis, that excuse that makes the culprit looks like present when the truth was, he is not the one who was s

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.

I watch as she squints, probably trying to remember her own headline. “They dug up those two murderer blokes from In Cold Blood,” I don’t want to tell her she’s won by kilometres just yet. “Why?” “Something about some murders in Florida,” So I just nod quietly, pretending to turn it over for a moment. I wonder how I managed to let that one slip through the cracks. I’ve only read the novel about a hundred times. “I suppose you win today.”

I take one last look at myself until I strike a pose and say,"Perfect," I hear mom from downstairs telling me to hurry up, so I grab my book bag and put on my glasses and was about to leave my room until I remember my most important thing. I go to my book-shelf and pull out a book that reads, Gone Girl by Giliian Flynn on the front cover. I've always loved mysteries; I can't remember one day where I wasn't watching Criminal Minds or Goosebumps in my room.

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