Mystery Fiction Books Novels & Stories

The rest of the day seems boring so, I decided to read a book. "Let's see what I got here? I started looking for a storybook that will get my attention. Nope. Not this one. Yes finally found you " Sherlock Holmes. My favorite detective of all time. This book always inspired me to write a mystery novel. I tried many times, but nothing came to my mind. So I decided to give a break and concentrate on other things. I was a very very big fan of mystery and detective novels than romance and action. "If I started reading now, then I can finish this entire book by evening. The stories looked really interesting." I thought while flipping the pages.

The lady at the cashier recognized me immediately when I came in and gave me a small smile before assisting the next customer lining up in front of her. They were told to pretend that they don't know me and I'm glad that mom told them to because I don't want to grab everyone's attention and curiosity. I just want to shop and be out of the house in peace. I hurriedly went to where the fantasy books are. I've been reading mystery books for the past month and I want to try something different. I don't know why, but I'm really engrossed in reading mystery books especially when I could always figure out who the suspect is before the detective could even tell who it was in the end.

It’s the first real smell in the entire place. And books. Hundreds of them. Not decorator books arranged by color. Real books. Worn spines. Dog-eared pages. I run my fingers along the shelves. Financial theory. Biographies of Carnegie and Rockefeller. Philosophy. History. And fiction. I pull out a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. The spine creaks. Pages are yellowed, soft as cloth. I flip through and stop at the margin notes inked in neat, sharp handwriting. "Revenge consumes the avenger," written next to a passage about Edmond Dantès.

I walked downstairs to my boutique with a mug of coffee in my hand and a book which I'm currently reading. It was still raining outside making a puddle of water in different places on the street. I sat down in front of my counter and took a sip of my coffee. "Um, heavenly." I said and put the mug on the counter in front of me as I opened my book and started to read. I was reading a criminal novel. I only read three genres and that is romantic, criminal and fantasy.

Detective Sean opened the door of the underground basement, he cringed, seeing the sight before him. Making him retreats his footsteps. The twenty years he had been working as a detective and the the thirty five years he had spent in this town. He hadn’t seen a thing as this. Blood was was all over the wall. There was a writing in blood as well. ‘Don’t look for me, look for me you die.’ It did give him chills. The forensic department were there, running a test on the items on basement. But he couldn’t see them at the moment, the only thing he saw was the blood on the wall. He couldn’t seem to get his eyes off it.

He returned his attention to the bookshelf at the rear of his office, the one he’d been browsing when he’d first heard the strange sounds outside, only being made by the cats, after all. The top shelf held purely “literary works.” Poetry collections of Blake, Yeats, Robert Frost, and Shakespeare. Prose collections of Zora Neal Hurston, Hemingway, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Flannery O’Connor, and folktales collected by the Brothers Grimm. Novels, from The Man in the Iron Mask to Madame Bovary, to Villette and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, to A Passage to India by E. M. Forster.

I sighed in annoyance as I pulled away from him and quickly walked into the room Nicoli just walked out of. “Bambi wait!” Nicoli spoke out as I opened the door. I let my eyes adjust to the darkroom I had just entered. After a few minutes, I could see a man and a woman. She was Pantherean. Her cat-like ears stood up in an alert form. There was a fire in her eyes and she was clearly in discomfort. Her hands were tied together and she hung from the ceiling of the room. She was in a black bra and a set of matching panties. There were cuts all along her body and many bruises covered her skin. She stared at the man to her side as if he were some kind of monster.

Toby asked with an etched eyebrow, watching Yara pull out a big sized novel from the shelf and Barnes smile proudly. "Thatweird_author." she replied, holding the novel up to his eye level. A bestseller mystery- thriller, crime fiction novel with the name written boldly on it 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 -𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍. "Barnes books?" Toby asked, a smile rested on his face as Yara looked at him in perplexity.

And I treat many people to coffee and tea for free - no need to worry about this. The coffee machine rattled noisily, grinding beans. —Where is your section with horror literature? Thrillers? “Everywhere,” Yuna looked around at all the shelves in her field of vision. — We have a shop with a narrow specialization, there is practically no popular literature, especially sentimental prose, women’s fantasy and ironic detective stories. But there is a variety of alternatives, horror, mysticism, thrillers, dystopias. In general, we buy everything that other stores take for testing sales. With second-hand books, things are similar.

Innocent victims put through suffering at the hands of the perpetuators who were currently free men and a menace to the city because of the numerous unsolved cases that were now piled up. That was why she felt so passionately about her job which was making sure those sick bastards were eventually locked up behind bars and their victims set free or at least their families got some closure in the case of murder. The crime rate had recently reached an all time high and the office of the FBI was flooded with unsolved cases and deep dark mysteries. Charlie Brown knew what was going through everyone’s minds - the sudden rise in crime in this city had to have something to do with one or all of the