Short Mystery Novels Novels & Stories

She knew the scent before she even opened the box—it was her mother’s recipe. Her eyes narrowed. There was no way he could’ve known that. Not unless… She stepped into the hallway and glanced down the corridor, heart starting to pound just slightly. Her eyes scanned the flood of bodies—interns in scrubs, gurneys rolling past, a code blue being paged overhead. And then, through the shifting crowd, she saw a mysterious man. He stood halfway down the corridor, half-hidden behind a group of surgical residents chatting near the elevators. His face was obscured by a black KN95, and a baseball cap sat low on his brow, but even through the layers, something about his presence felt… familiar.

Steven was really shocked as to how someone had played the fast one one him, he started to wonder if his little act with Sonia had actually caused her death, even the media made crazy comments about him and changed the story of what had happened, he alone knew he didn't kill Sonia, but he was also not sure of who did.

Ophelia is calm, Ellon is aggressive, and Monais timid: they are grouped to work on their weak points and stabilize their strong points. ”We can’t always expect things to be straight and open; if that criminal were straight, then he would have already been caught when he was murdered for the first time. And the police wouldn’t take so much time and let another nine murders happen; if they can find the clue at first, then there is no need for nine other girls to die; this case may be tricky. But at least we can fight hard and try to get justice for all the girls if we can; this is our main priority also, so let’s move on and work on our best to fight hard” Ophelia knows that this case is a li

“But we’re not leaving them any clues and how can they work out what really happened if we don’t actually know ourselves.” “Look, it’s like Sacheverell Sitwell said . . . ” “Not this old quote again, you got that from Cold Hand in Mine. I read Aickman too you know.” “Good for you, doesn’t mean it doesn’t bear repeating. ‘In the end it is the mystery that lasts and not the explanation.’” “Why can’t we just have a proper ending for once?”

Seventy-five is clearly just the tip of the iceberg. On My Bedside Table Now The Historian, by Elizabeth Kostova, and I am Legend by Richard Matheson. And everyone is telling me I forgot The Vampire Files — some 12 novels by P.N. Elrod. Urban fantasy set in 1930s Chicago, featuring a hardboiled P.I. named Jack Fleming. FacebookTwitterFlipboardEmail Sign Up For The Pop Culture Happy Hour Newsletter Stay pop culture savvy with NPR’s guide to TV, books, movies, music and more, sent weekly.

As I flipped to the next page, I took a sip of coffee and continued reading, almost reaching the end of the page, I heard footsteps coming from the hallway, I gaze at the door and then back to the book. My expression changed after I read a paragraph. The number one thing I love about mystery novels is that they always come with unexpected twists. I was about to flip to the next page when I heard fast footsteps from the hallway. "What is Jess doing?" I whispered, shrugging back to continue reading the book. As I heard my door crack open, I turned around and looked in its direction, it looked like the wind blew. I looked back at the book while taking the last sip of coffee, I marked the page I

Fuck, she makes me feel everything. "It is indeed a good morning," I say wrapping more of her wild hair around her ear so I can see her face better. "Sorry, I fell asleep," she says. I'm not sorry. I didn't want to get into her Dad's allegations last night and even though she wasn't happy about it she asked me to read her the book she had grabbed off my book shelf. One of my favorites. It's a mystery novel about two mates who find each other while they are both trying to catch the same serial killer that's on the loose.

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?"

The cabin was eerily quiet, the rhythmic chugging of the train now replaced by an unsettling silence. "Sarah?" Divine's voice quivered as she called out, her heart pounding in her chest. No response. As the fog of confusion lifted, Divine's eyes fell on a scene of chaos. The impact had been devastating, and Divine's pulse quickened as she searched for any sign of her newfound friend. And then, amid the wreckage, she saw a glimmer. The ring Sarah had given her, now resting on the ground. It was as though fate itself had intervened to preserve the symbol of their bond.

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.