Woman Author Mystery Novels & Stories

Tia noticed the knitting basket placed on the table and she could tell that the woman had been knitting or trying to before she had come here. “That is because I am the detective assigned to this case and I do want to get to the bottom of this as soon as I can. Having a mad killer on the loose is not a good thing.” She explained but the woman only hummed and picked up her knitting. Tia did not sit down immediately but took her time in observed her, the woman was weak and she was tired and she looked like she had not been getting much sleep in a while, Tia took her time to look around the house, it was not as tidy as it had been the last time she was here, the fact that she remembered these s

Of course, the woman immediately notified the police. The murdered woman was Martha Jones, a slim blonde of medium height, at the age of 25, according to witnesses, she had lived in this district for several months after she graduated with honors and her parents bought her a house as a reward. She worked in downtown Cardiff as a secretary in her father's law office and was generally liked, sometimes only her female colleges, jealous of her beauty, spread rumors about the girl's countless love affairs. At least that's what girl's closest friend - the woman who found her - thought. The rest of the neighbors mentioned that she was often visited by various men, and quite wealthy at that, many al

She had been engrossed in the book that she did not know when he went out of the room. "Everything is strange." She muttered as she took the cup of coffee from his stretched hand. "Thank you" Damien nodded and sat down again. He did not know how many strange she meant by everything so, he waited for her to speak. "This journal, it's exactly the same as my mother's. Well, technically the same," She said and shrugged. "Only the writing and photo on the front cover are different." Damien thought for a while and asked, "Did you ever hear of a Mirabella Wilson?"

This woman was Gracia. She was a renowned female entrepreneur, philanthropist, and writer of the Southwest region. She had published five books and had thousands of fans. Her books were about the story of a heroine who was as brave as a man. The female lead of her book was named Cora Thompson and she was a soldier at the frontier. Wyvern Peak’s members who read Gracia’s books knew that the inspiration for the main character of these books was Gloria. Perhaps Gracia had missed her sister in her heart all this time.

Elena Winters met them at the entrance—a petite woman with close-cropped silver hair and keen eyes that immediately identified all three of them for what they were. "The Luna's Triad," she said, echoing Dr. Vasquez's greeting. "I never thought I'd see the prophecy fulfilled in my lifetime." "Just Detectives Blackwood and O'Connor," Casie corrected again, already tired of the title. "And our consultant, Mr. Thornwood. We're investigating a homicide." Elena's expression sobered immediately. "Nathaniel mentioned a young Fae girl. Please, come to my office where we can speak privately."

Curious and slightly wary, and entirely unaware that the woman standing ten feet away from her had once counted her fingers in a hospital room and memorised every one. "Mama," Luna said softly. She was looking at Isabella. I felt a sharp pain pierce my heart. Isabella held her closer and turned away without looking at me again, and Elias followed, and the man by the laptop pulled the drive and pocketed it, and within two minutes the warehouse was emptying of everyone except me and the still, silent figure in the wheelchair by the far wall. The door closed. I stood completely motionless until I heard the cars outside start and pull away.

I opened my eyes. I wasn't in the ink sea anymore. I was standing in a room that made the Archive look like a masterpiece. This room was small, cluttered, and vibrantly, messy. There were half-empty mugs of cold coffee, piles of crumpled bills, and a window showing a mundane street where a cat sat on a fence under a grey, drizzling sky. In the center of the room sat the woman in the sweater. But she was frozen, her hand suspended over her notebook, her eyes wide and glassy. She wasn't the Author. She was just the first layer.

She writes about book men like a woman full and wild with experience which is quite the opposite of this dear author for she has never actually experienced life quite yet! In real life, our famous author is quiet, withdrawn, and far more comfortable inside her imagination than in anyone’s arms. That’s until her fiction starts watching her back. When a mysterious reader begins sending her deeply personal gifts and unsettlingly precise notes, Alessia is forced to confront the possibility that someone out there sees her far too clearly. Someone who doesn’t just read her stories but understands her.

Lord Jeremy commented but even he was having a hard time grasping the concept to be false. "You're right, Lord Jeremy." I breathed out. "We can't just jump in to assumptions. I need to hear this from the person who wrote it herself." Closing the book, I stood up, grabbed a thick cloth and walked out of the chambers. No one stopped me as I made my way to the large library. Lady Waina wrote the book herself, surly she would know what the missing piece was. *** Did I thing it would be easy to ask Waina about the missing papers? Yes.

I smile at her. "Miss Long, I suggest you just put her name down as Bunny Wild and stop!" the woman snaps. "Mr Holloway is getting increasingly angry at the delay in her arrival!" She turns and walks away. I turn and smile at Miss Long. "Bunny Wild, please follow." The other woman shouts out to me, and I turn, following her up. She looks at me in disgust. I guess I'm hated. I can't help but smile at that; I don't care to be fair.