Northwest Mansion Mystery Novels & Stories

A passing maid, young, nervous, always hurrying, paused when I asked. “Have you seen the don?” She glanced around like she might get in trouble just for answering. “He’s… out back. There’s a small warehouse behind the east wing. You’ll find him there.” I nodded. “Thanks.” I hadn’t been to that side of the property before. The mansion sprawled in every direction, wings and courtyards and hidden corners I’d never explored. I followed the corridor past the staff stairs, down a narrow service passage, and out a side door I rarely used.

He murmured as soon as he hung up the phone. “What?” “I forgot to do something…I’ll be back after a few hours” He rushed toward his car, leaving me speechless. I knew Nico would do such a thing! But I couldn’t complain about it to be honest; because it was a great opportunity to discover the place to come up with a plan in case things got worse. I started to walk around the mansion. I didn’t know why I felt like the gate wasn’t the only way out of this mansion. I narrowed my eyes when I glimpsed the van I had watched entering a few minutes ago, parked outside the mansion, right in front of what looked like an open basement door…

"How is that okay? We should always consider the hostage in our operations." Anthony turned his head to look at him with a deadly gaze. It was hard to ignore, even in the dark. Marco felt goosebumps on his back and then pretended to look somewhere else. A shadow flashed upstairs, and the people downstairs immediately pursued. The shadow knew every corner of the mansion. It turned over a corner, entered a room, and shut the door firmly, bolt locked it. Someone said on the mic, "Inspector York, someone entered the room in the west." "One person?"

She walked all the way to the shore and saw a window that looked onto the other side of the road, but nothing interesting. Mirawadee shook her shoulders and prepared to walk back out. But at one point, she saw a staircase going down, like a basement. It wasn’t surprising at all because it looked like it was a hundred-year-old mansion. And the mystery is so inviting that she can’t take her eyes off it. ‘Come, come to me’ “What are you looking for?” Mirawadee was startled and turned to look at the butler in shock. Her expression looked panicked because, in the blink of an eye, she looked down as if something was calling her to come in.

Alexander nodded at him and tried looking for other clues, evidence that would solidify who took Alexi and where they were headed. Nicolas and Alexi's brothers get back into their vehicle and head north towards the field where Alexi's phone signal was last traced. They travelled about ½ an hour before they turned right on a dirt road that led to an empty field. In the distance were a cliff that overlooked the ocean. What they didn't realize was the Mansion was invisible to the naked eye because it sat between two realms. Vlad's witches kept the mansion hidden out of sight. The Witch also made certain that everyone in the mansion could not use their magic powers nor call upon their wolf if th

The first floor of the Meyer mansion sprawled around her—ornate halls, crystal wall sconces, and rooms dressed in opulence—but she wasn’t admiring the architecture. She’d swept this entire floor already, walking the length of both wings—the west where Calix’s childhood room lay, and the east where Josephine had been staying. She’d bumped into guards, lingered near staff quarters, hovered outside the guest room where the duffel bag trap had been laid. But there was no sign of Nathan. He was a ghost. Not even a trace of presence left behind. No misplaced breath. No sound. No mistake. Her hand hovered near the comm at her ear, fingers tense. Then—

**** In the Grand Mansion of the Westwoods. The grand Westwood mansion, once a beacon of elegance and laughter, now stood shrouded in the heavy silence of despair. The setting sun cast long shadows across the opulent facade, turning the vibrant garden into a landscape of sorrow. Inside, the atmosphere was suffocating, the walls themselves seeming to weep for the loss they contained. Celestine Westwood was gone.

What I did know was that the mansion had spent days feeding my curiosity. And tonight, curiosity was winning. The hallway beyond my room stood empty. Silent. Dark. I moved carefully. The west wing slept beneath soft pools of artificial light. Each step seemed louder than it should have been. Yet nobody appeared. No servants. No guards. No interruptions. The deeper I moved into the mansion, the stronger an uncomfortable sensation became. The feeling that something was watching. Not a person. Something older. The same awareness I had felt earlier near the west wing corridor.

he said, voice suddenly sharp. “Why—” Then I saw it. The front door of the mansion stood open, splintered at the frame. Two of his security men were already moving toward the entrance, guns drawn, and the porch light flickered against broken glass scattered across the marble steps. Romanov was out of the car before I could stop him. Against every instinct screaming at me to stay put, I followed, my heels sinking into gravel as I ran after him into the house. The foyer was in disarray—a shattered vase, an overturned table—but it was the note pinned to the wall with a knife that made my blood run cold.

She cautiously found her way out of the dining room and into some sort of entrance hall. There were lots of stairs, and everything seemed like a maze to her. She found herself standing on the eastern side of what seemed to be a large, Victorian mansion. Stairs and corridors led to so many places unknown, she got confused. How do people even find their way around, she thought as she looked at the assortment of doors and passageways. There were some leading to an upper level, while some led to a lower level. The main staircase led to the reception hall with a large double door. Must be the way out, she thought. She quietly made her way to the door and tried to push it open, only to find it loc