Short Mystery Novel Mga Nobela at Kwento

Estelle couldn’t see anything and only felt his hot breath on her. “Estelle, have you seen my tie?” He asked. “Yes, I put it in my wallet.” “Could you give it back to me?” “Okay,” Estelle said, reaching out and groping for her wallet in the darkness. Then she gently removed the silver-gray tie from the wallet and put it into Mr. Mysterious’ hand. Holding the tie, Mr. Mysterious breathed a sigh of relief as if he had regained a treasure that he had lost. “Fortunately, I didn’t lose it.”

The bookstore smells like it always has—old paper, lavender sachets tucked between shelves, the faint metallic tang of the ancient radiator that clanks every twelve minutes. Elena's already in our corner when I arrive. Second floor. Mystery section. The window seat we claimed sophomore year when we discovered this place and decided civilized people read mysteries in natural light. She's got coffee. Two cups. Mine's still steaming. I take it without speaking. Sip. Perfect. "Ten minutes late." Elena doesn't look up from the window. "Parallel parking a moving truck on Seventh?"

Whatever ghost was haunting him belonged to him alone. I moved across the room to the built-in bookshelves. I ran my fingers along the spines, noticing folded corners where a previous reader had stopped mid-page. The titles weren't random; they were classics. I spotted a Dostoevsky novel I had read twice back home. My breath caught, a cold sweat breaking out on my neck. A coincidence, I told myself, shoving it back into place. It has to be. My eyes traveled down to the bottom shelf. A small, hidden drawer was tucked beneath the final row of books, its wood blending seamlessly with the wall paneling. I only noticed the faint seam because the light from the window hit it at a strange angle.

I left the house and rode straight to Triumph Hotel. I booked a room directly across from 701. We had plenty of cameras at home. I brought a small one with me. I was going to catch them together. Ten o'clock. No one. Eleven. Midnight. Nothing was going the way I expected. I stayed up until dawn, my eyes burning. The door across the hall never opened. Chloe never showed up. Had I been wrong? Did she really not betray me? Were those messages and photos all in my head?

The blonde beauty sipped on her morning coffee while reading Seattle Daily, Downing the rest of her liquid drug in one huge gulp, she tied up her long blonde curls into a bun at the top off her head while sighing, two missing billionaires tofind and a murder case to solve, just another day at the office. It has been exactly 24 hours since Grayson and James Hudson have been missing and a dead body has been found in their pent house. The circumstances around their suspicious suddendisappearance makes it even more of a challenge to work on finding their spoiled asses, keeping all information on the down low has been the biggest challenge thus far. The media are like hungry lions waiting to poun

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…

See? This was such a beautifully yet tear-jerking novel I have ever successfully crafted an idea with, a few months ago. But after I have encountered all the horrible occurrences for the past months, I came back to work and turned this sad and romantic novel into a mystery and horror novel, which made all my work colleagues and supervisor absolutely petrified. They have no idea that I was even more shocked and horrified when I have suddenly realized that my novel had suddenly become so dark and twisted. It was beautifully written, like a psychopath has written a novel for the very first time.

Maybe I can read something to pass the time and occupy my mind for a bit. 0 I read through their titles and they definitely have a favorite genre. ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’, ‘Murder on the Orient Express’, ‘The Woman in White’, ‘The Maltese Falcon’. I sense a mystery theme here and I wonder if it’s Stefan or his wife that’s the fan. I keep looking when I see a book that is quite out of place. ‘What To Expect: A Mother’s Guide To Her First Pup’ 0

On a moonlit night in the small town of Ravenwood, a peculiar mystery unfolded. Whispers of a ghostly figure haunting the abandoned mansion at the edge of town had piqued the curiosity of the locals. Emma, an adventurous soul with an insatiable appetite for mysteries, decided to unravel the enigma. Armed with a flashlight and a map she obtained from the town's archives, she ventured into the dark corridors of the dilapidated mansion.

________________ Author's Note: Hello my dearest readers, Welcome to the enthralling world of Shadows in the Night: Secrets of the Howling Heart🌙✨ As an author, crafting this tale has been a journey through the captivating city of Bucharest, where the ordinary and the supernatural converge, and destinies entwine amidst the enchanting allure of mystery and love. Get ready to dive into a world where mystery and the unexpected walk hand in hand. This story unfolds in the captivating streets of Bucharest, where every corner holds secrets, every alley whispers untold tales, and every character is a puzzle waiting to be solved.