Novel & Cerita Short Mystery Books

Something sinister lay in the silence and Dan turned to scan the way. He wouldn't be caught off guard again. A shadow shifted in his periphery, and he turned as a man stepped from between two cars. Medium heights. Medium build. Well-dressed and carrying a briefcase. Not someone Betty would normally have noticed. Not someone she would normally have thought of as a threat. But these weren't normal circumstances, and everyone was a threat until proven otherwise. "Hey!" the man called out, offering a quick wave and a brief smile. "I've locked myself out of my car, and my cell phone is in it. Can you give me a hand?"

I sat beside her, and she immediately stretched her legs back out, her feet landing in my lap. "What are you reading?" She held up the book without looking away from the page. "A mystery novel. A detective in Victorian London." I caught sight of the cover. A woman in a low-cut dress leaned against a man in a top hat, their faces inches apart in the fog. The Scarlet Letter Murders. I grabbed the book from her hands. "Hey!" She sat up, reaching for it. I flipped through a few pages. My eyes landed on a passage. His mouth found the hollow of her throat as his fingers worked the laces of her corset…

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.

But nothing seemed to match the symbol on my door. Frustrated, I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. There had to be something here, some clue that I was missing. I glanced at the stack of books beside me, my eyes landing on one that looked older and more worn than the others. Its leather cover was cracked and faded, the title barely legible: *The Mysteries of Silverwood.* I pulled the book closer and opened it carefully. The pages were brittle, the text handwritten in an elegant script. As I flipped through the pages, a passage caught my eye:

It looked very ancient as it was torn at some edges. “I picked this up during one of my research trips.” She said as she handed the book to Annabelle. “ It has some information on Luke but it doesn’t state his weakness. Although it did leave some clues. Difficult clues.” Annabelle opened the book. The words were written as if from a feather dipped in ink which signified the age of the book. Annabelle read it out:

I did my best to take care not to scratch the leather, but when it fell into my arms, I noticed what looked like a fresh dig. Books were not as common in that era as they were in the future so I felt bad about causing damage to it. My lamenting lasted only briefly. An intense curiosity took over just as soon as I realized that it was a journal. It was not just any journal, either. This journal belonged to the late Elsbeth Sleuth. Could the deep, dark family secret be discovered within its pages? I simply had to find out. Lowering myself into a comfy nearby chair, I opened to the first page and focused on the elaborate handwriting. It took some time to familiarize myself with her dramat

she continued. I didn’t wait for further directions and headed that way. Sara was right. The library was crammed with books so rare that I didn’t even think they existed. I ran my fingers over them and stopped at the supernatural section. Werewolves. The variety of these books was astonishing. A Hidden History or Under the Full Moon. But the one that caught my attention was The Grim Howl.

He thought that was what made it fun, not knowing what you were going to read for the day, and he reveled in that surprise. Some days he could be reading an action novel and another day he could be reading a cookbook. As Dmitri looked at the cover of his book, he smiled. It was a mystery thriller novel. He was excited to read it because it had been a while since he had last read a novel like this one. Just as Dmitri was getting cozy, he heard the bell above the entrance door jingle. He didn't think anything of it. It wasn't like he was the only one who knew this place.

He took the tome in his hand and looked at the title carefully: The Petit Albert. The name prompted the mind of the paranormal detective, he had read about that before or at least heard it, he knew that it was a popular book of the past century thanks to the french trying to sell books when the printed press swept Europe. Thomas decided to take it with him and show it to Elizabeth, she would know what to do with it and probably have more information about it…the clue that he might ignore she could solve. As he moved to place it in his bag something dropped from the middle of the book: a picture of two women, the picture must have had more than 10 years.

Drew's gasp cut through Rex's thoughts, causing him to stiffen. To stop. His shoulders tensed as he turned to face his little guy. Looking him straight in the eyes, he was left confused by what he saw . Fear. But why? He took a step forward but noticed Drew took one back. He paused, knitting his brows together and observing Drew's eyes. They had slowly dropped to his hands . And as if on cue, Rex felt something on his hands—a burning sensation along with something trickling down . Something that smelled exactly like… Blood?