Mystery Author Marsh Novels & Stories

He was drawn to the woman that was walking down the beach without her boots and she was wearing a white cotton gown and a shawl around her shoulders. Her brunette, long hair was whipping around her head as she bent down to take something on the sand. Without thinking, Marsh was getting down from the horse before he tied it to a tree and panted on the nose. The horse snorted. “I will be back. I think I have found what I need,” Marsh said as he was walking down the path as he was keeping his stealth with him. Being an agent on the field meant that he was trained to be unseen. And he thought that it would be best to keep hidden until he knew who was this woman and what was she doing on this sid

The Marshal Sergeant was taken aback, but an order was an order. The vessels sped down the marshes as fast as they could, bellowing black smoke and arcane discharge as they whipped the engines into a frenzy. The Frontier Marshals had their weapons drawn as they neared their charge. They went deeper into the waterways as the crack of blastfire and the guttural howls of the Birchmen could be heard. As well the stench of blood. It had only been a few days, but the Marshals had gotten accustomed to the stench, emptied boats and bleeding wounded had drifted onto Richardson at an alarming rate. But this was fresh, the smell was unnerving.

It connected solidly, but the sheriff got one off too, before Dustin backed up, eyeing his opponent cautiously. ‘I don’t think he exists, except in the mind of your housekeeper. She’s bought herself a pretty secure position, with everybody worrying about the baby getting snatched.’ ‘Not too damn secure after the visit Maxine paid me today,’ Dustin growled. Marsh relaxed his arms slightly. ‘What the hell are you mouthing off about now?’ He relaxed his stance a little too, though he didn’t completely release the fisted position of his hands. Marsh was known to get a thrill out of a sucker punch every once in a while. Not that he’d ever pulled it on Dustin, but he would never have bet Marsh wou

"While it's suspicious that all the assassins have vanished, the majority of them have most likely died of poison and turned into pus. There's no need to worry too much, Master. But I didn't expect that Jennings kid would be so difficult to deal with!" Marshawn's face darkened. "I understand! But why would Chad want to kill my son and grandson? Or is someone else doing this deliberately, trying to get me to deal with him?" Meryl's hand twitched slightly, indicating nervousness. "I don't know—" But before she could finish speaking, Marshawn grabbed her neck. "I suspect you're causing trouble behind my back!"

She had been in such a rush to find her sister that she hadn't thought about the state of the apartment. Emma began to search the apartment, room by room, looking for any sign of Sarah or a clue to her disappearance. She checked under the bed, in the closet, and even in the kitchen drawers. As she was about to give up, Emma noticed a small piece of paper stuck between the couch cushions. She pulled it out and examined it. It was a receipt from a local coffee shop, but there was a handwritten note on the back: "Meet me at the old warehouse at midnight. -J." Emma's heart skipped a beat. The old warehouse? What was Sarah doing there? And who was J? Emma knew she had to go to the warehouse and s

The marsh hugs it, creating what I can only describe as a small island, the murky water surrounding the headstones shimmering in the sunlight. I lift my coffee to my lips to finally take a sip but catch movement out of the corner of my eye. A tall, dark haired man is walking through the marsh, his back to me. His outfit is… strange. Old and out of place. He looks like he just stepped out of one of the BBC dramas my mom loves to watch.

He lived in Milwaukee, ran a small accounting firm on the west side of the city, had a LinkedIn profile with a professional photograph that showed a man in his early forties who looked like someone who had settled into a life he had worked to build and was not going to let anything dislodge. He had no public connection to Olivia Hart. No mention of a first marriage anywhere accessible. If you did not know to look for him specifically, you would not find him. If you did know — if a Tribune journalist had found a thread in the course of researching a story and pulled it carefully — you arrived at Tyler Marsh within an afternoon. She called David Reyes back first.

She gave him specific instructions on the information that she needed about the Marshalls and asked for any incriminating photos that John could find. One thing she knew about the rich is that, there will always be incriminating photos and these are among the best ammo that she needs in order to thwart any plans the Marshalls have over Arthur. Next, she called up another private investigator, Jane Smith. This time she wanted information of any public or secret relationships the Marshalls may have over the past few years. She suspects that the enemy might have someone working within A. K. Media and she needed to uncover the identity of the mole, pronto.

Ó Detective Sparks was barely listening while her body hummed with renewed excitement at the words embossed on the little card in her hand. Don Wilson, Attorney at Law. She hid her feelings well as she thanked Amber for her help and made a hasty exit. Though it was late in the evening, she took a chance and drove by the address listed on the card that happened to be a mere few streets away from the club.

She grinned. “Which one?” Maribell asked, certain that she wrote under a pseudonym. “Marcus Howitzer.” Margo said, grinning. “You’re Marcus Howitzer?” She asked wide eyed. “The Marcus Howitzer?” “Yes and you can’t tell a soul!” Margo hissed, looking around the room. “It’s just Marcus is one of the most celebrated authors around! And you’re Marcus?!” Maribell said, nearly squealing. “That’s the true purpose of the NDA.”