Mystery Books For Teens Novels & Stories

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.

"Tell me something that has nothing to do with any of this. One thing." She thought about it for a real moment, leaning against the wall, watching the elevator sit at six. "When I was fourteen I read every Agatha Christie novel in my school library in one summer," she said. "Every single one. I just demolished them. My mother thought I was developing a murder obsession and started leaving pamphlets on my pillow about healthy hobbies." He laughed. Low, sudden, arriving before he could manage it. She stored the sound. "What drew you to them?" he asked.

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.

I beamed. "Crazy, isn't it?" "Fucking crazy, for real." "First, we put THE DA VINCI CODE by DAN BROWN here." He picked out the book and inserted it in the center line of the shelf. He put HOW TO STOP TIME by MATT HAIG, followed by EVERGREEN by NAOMI HIRAHARA. "Then KISS THE GIRLS by JAMES PATTERSON." He put it next to the first book. "I've read that." I went on in a spur of excitement. "It's a thriller and mystery novel about a detective who's trying to track down a serial killer. So many twists and cliffhangers. Total page-turner." I giggled.

Most things are about detectives and all their boring stuff but something tells me to go through it because I might know a thing or two. I've opened almost all the books on the first shelf. Turns out detective books are not so bad. I also passed out my time by checking some of the murder novels on the shelve. One really caught my interest. Dying to call you by Elaine Viet. It's about a girl finding her sister's murderer and all that.

“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.

Stopped. Walked in. A kid, maybe twenty, stood behind the counter, staring at his phone. "Do you have books for teenagers?" He looked up. "Like, Young Adult?" "I don't know. Sixteen-year-olds." "Yeah. YA section's in the back." I walked to the back. Found shelves labeled Young Adult Fiction. Pulled out a book at random. Read the back. Something about dragons. Shoved it back in. Pulled out another. Read the back.

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."

“This one weaves mystery and magic, but underneath, it’s a story about trust and power.” Her face softened. “I’ll take it.” As I wrapped the book, another man stepped in, younger, sharp-eyed, dressed in a rumpled suit. His gaze swept the shelves with a hunger I recognized all too well. “Looking for something… thrilling,” he said, voice low. I leaned forward slightly. “Try The Silent Corner, it’s about secrets that change everything.” He nodded, brows furrowed, then murmured, “Secrets change everything.” The bell jingled again. A teenager, headphones around his neck, glanced nervously at the counter. “Uh, do you have any fantasy? Like with dragons?”

She felt a connection to history as she did, and it made her feel alive. She also couldn’t help feeling, every time she picked up a book, that it held a riddle, some mystery to be solved—and that thrilled her. For some reason, she had always felt that there was a mystery lingering in her consciousness, something she needed to solve. She didn’t know what. It didn’t make sense, and that bothered her. When she worked on a rare book, at least she could solve clues she couldn’t put her fingers on in real life.