My Mystery Lover Novels & Stories

I say. "Blue and silver. What is yours?" He asks. "Green and white. What is your favourite person in the world?" I ask. "My Mom. Yours?" He asks. "Your Dad. And other than from family?" I ask. "My best friends Vance and Kathy. What is your guilty pleasure?" He asks. "I would have said chocolate but also I love spending time in bathtub with a good romantic novels. What is yours?" I ask as I look away to hide my blush.

he added. “Uhm, it’s okay.” Actually, everything has been alright for the past few weeks, but when I found out about the mysteries here in this apartment, I started feeling something I can’t name. I am scared, and at the same time, I’m curious to seek the truth behind this one. The mysteries are waiting for me to solve them, but I don’t know how to start and where. I didn’t have the leads. Wait. I do. That man.

He wipes his face with a spare hanky. Why can’t he find it? He pulled out his phone from his pocket. He searches about it then. There had to be something. But what’s he gonna search. Mystery girl? Demon? There must be an ancient name for her. Or there isn’t. He was exhausted already. He ruffled his head, if he didn’t get anything, Dixon would end up killing him. He strolled down his phone. Ancient mystery girl. History search. He hunkered down. Since he was tired of standing.

She was indeed taken aback, looking around and whispering as if it were a big secret. A laugh escaped my mouth. “In fact, I have been the one taking care of mother’s bills.” Pamela stopped searching and immediately turned to me, her eyes wide. “With rich clients, too? Why didn't you tell me earlier?” I maintained a brief silence, but she continued anyway. “I have a secret too; I have a lover,” she chuckled. “And unlike you, single girl, mine is tall, handsome; for now, he is ‘Mr. Mysterious.’ He knows how to… make me happy.”

“Are you sure it won’t rain?” “Oh, Elizah, there’s no rain in summer,” Julie replied, now dodging her sister’s silly questions. She kept walking and staying busy—no one was busier than Julie, or perhaps she was just pretending to be. Tomorrow would be the most beautiful day for Julie, and she hoped nothing would ruin it. Yet, deep in her heart, she felt an inexplicable unease, a sense of restlessness. Meanwhile, Mark Robertson was handling his duties elsewhere. After resolving Elizah’s case, he had been assigned a new one: tracking down a drug lord who had disappeared long ago.

I was delighted to uncover new layers beneath this prickly barista's tough exterior. "So mysteries are your favorite books? Any current authors you'd recommend?" I asked, genuinely curious to know more about her tastes. Aria's eyes lit up, clearly passionate about this topic. "Oh yes! I just finished a great atmospheric thriller by Ruth Ware. And Jean Kwok writes amazing psychological suspense." I smiled as she rattled off a whole list of mystery writers and descriptors for why she loved them. Her enthusiasm was captivating. "I may have to check out some of those. I tend toward action thrillers, but I'm open to new things," I said.

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…

I am his best friend who has been in love with him for fifteen years when I should be using this time to get over him. I patted the sofa, dusted the shelves and put my books in a row. I am a bibliophile and a strong one at that. Sherlock Holmes and Augustus Dupin are by far my most favourite ones, me being a fan of mystery thrillers. I am such an addict of criminal profiling that I actually have list and screenshots of wanted criminals or serial killers on my phone. Serial killings were always my favourite ones, as they have something In common and it always piqued my curiosity as to why there are still serial killers like Jack the Ripper or Stripper on lease. I guess not

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.

I hastily unlocked it, knowing undoubtedly that the text would come from the one holding Dashiell. “I trust you found my gift, Nova? Soon, you will meet your lover, in the same state. Until then."