Mystery Books For Teenagers の小説・ストーリー

That’s what saved you from ending up like those other poor guys. I just grinned and tapped my nose. Sitting alone at the kitchen table, I popped open a pack of ramen and flicked on the TV. "Today, our city was rocked by a spree of break-ins and murders, all targeting rich single men. The cops cracked the case wide open, rounding up a whole gang of suspects.” As I listened to the news anchor's report, I could not help but think there was some truth to the saying that after the storm is when the flowers bloomed.

I protested to my parents in either skipping the school or transferring to another school but they forced me to be here as this is the only school which is best. I reserved a place in one of the seats available though nobody was there. I kept my bag and went in search of a nice book. I went to the thriller books section and searched for a book, perfect for reading at this moment. ‘The black coffee’ by Agatha Christie, the great author, caught my eyes as I wanted to read this book for a very long time but I didn’t get to.

“No doubt.” “What about those two small FedEx boxes?” “Most recent novels from Samhain Horror.” “Awesome. Those books I bought at the Webb County Library sale last week?” “Sorted into general and mystery fiction. Struck the mother lode with all those Mary Higgins Clark novels.” “We cater to all tastes, miss. Unless you like Twilight, 50 Shades of Gray or James Patterson. Folks want drivel, they can drive to Utica.” “Hey. I actually liked Twilight. It wasn’t all bad.”

Lixue nodded. “It’s fine. What is it you want to ask?” Lixue replied. “Do you know our other boss? Since you’re close to boss Raiden and one of the first agents of the company,” Agent Eighteen said as they walked down the hallway. Lixue didn’t respond to the question. “You don’t know?” exclaimed Agent Eighteen, holding an iPad. They were handling the investigation involving the father and son, Ardyn and Nyre. Lixue had also asked her father for help, trying to find out why they had approached Raiden even though they didn’t know him.

" Do you think it’s true?” “We have to look into it. It might be the piece of the puzzle we were looking for.” “We’ve been looking for stories of ten-year-old girls being kidnapped, and we always came up empty. Maybe we should investigate Celine, her family background, to see if she has any siblings. Maybe she plays an integral part in all this.” ‘Fuck, I just met her, and we’re already entangled in this stupid mess. I want to be selfish and hope that Clara, for once, is wrong about something. But I want her to have closure at the same time. This is going to be difficult.’

, Rachel grunts. I want to say "Why", but I don't want to risk sounding like a creep so I whatever her and go back to going through the rest of the shelf even though I'd done that a thousand times before. I drag my hands across the spines of the books; Kara Taylor's Prep School Confidential, Carol Wyer's The Secret Admirer, and Megan Goldin's The Night Swim. You would be subtle to call Rachel a crime-thriller addict - she's more of a crime freak. The Night Swim. There is a piece of paper sticking out of it. I pull it out of the book. Something is scribbled across it in Rachel's handwriting.

She gave me two books, and she asked me to read them if I had challenges concerning any of my teen problems. I was happy she showed that concern. At least, she was feeling guilty. One way or the other, it also shows she cares, "Andrew paused for a while, as he glanced slightly at both of them. "Books? Did they help you in any way?" Miguel asked "Trust me when I say it was probably the best set of books I ever had in my possession. It talked about various challenges and problems in both teenagers and youth. The title of the book is YOUNG PEOPLE ASK VOLUME 1. It also has a volume 2.

His mouth found the hollow of her throat as his fingers worked the laces of her corset… "Absolutely not." I snapped the book shut. "Dad, come on. It's not even that bad." "Not that bad?" I held the book up. "This is soft-core disguised as mystery." "It's a subplot. The main plot is the murder investigation." "I don't care if it's a footnote." I set the book on the coffee table, out of her reach. "You're fifteen. Too young for this garbage." She crossed her arms, leaning back against the cushions. "I'm almost sixteen. Not six."

"Do you also read it?" "Not me, but my younger son," Susan replied. "Lately, he's been really into mystery and detective novels. He's been devouring 'Seven Days,' and he recently bought some other books by the same author, like 'Murder Weapon' and 'The Deserted School'... She continued, "Oh, and he even reads that author's young adult fiction. The other day, when I went to drop off his lunch, I saw it on his desk and flipped through it a bit. My goodness, it was so cheesy, I almost couldn't take it!"

Another door; old timber; a key that needed persuasion. The room beyond was smaller than Gabe remembered and bigger once you saw the shelves. Books wall-to-wall, spines the colour of wet leaves and old bruise, gold letters rubbed faint. A crucifix above the desk. A kettle, a bottle of Power’s Irish hidden behind it like a bad habit, two mismatched mugs. The air had that mildewed sweetness of paper that had outlived its authors. “I said drink,” Frank said, catching Gabe clock the bottle. He lifted it, then set it down. “Coffee.”