Posts tagged Murder Mystery
The Letter by Katherine Anderson

I stood at the mailbox, the metal flap hanging open on rusting hinges, and shuffled through the mail. There was the usual, bills and such, a menu from a restaurant I had no intention of trying, and a boating magazine that I hadn’t had the heart to cancel after Arthur passed. I folded the magazine around the rest of it and closed the mailbox as a small, stiff square fluttered to the ground. I looked around, up and down the street to see if there was anyone who had seen it fall, anyone who might see me bend down to retrieve it but there was no one.

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A Rose is a Rose is a Clue Unless its a Red Herring by Phillip T Stephens 

“When I saw the bouquet of 7 roses, I knew exactly who had murdered Mrs. O’Connell.” Bob kneeled next to the octogenarian’s body and jotted notes into his spiral bound pocket book with his Bic pen. One of the Bic pens he ordered 50 at a time from Amazon because (he swears), the other detectives steal them.

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The Rose Slayer by Stephen Bentley

Six murders. Two detectives. More than four million LA residents. “That’s a hell of a lot of suspects,” Bill Pawson said. His partner, Sean Wells shrugged.

Pawson and Wells, Detectives First Class of LAPD Robbery Homicide Squad, had been working this homicide case for the past three years. It was cases rather than a case. It was clear to them, their Captain, the Chief of Detectives, the media, and the public there was a serial killer at large in Los Angeles. What wasn’t clear was the identity of the killer. The cops had no clue as to who it was or why.

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The Seven Roses by Jasmine Lowe

Mrs. O’Connell wore her large twisted snaggle tooth that hung prominently in the front of her rather large gaping mouth proudly. She didn’t mind the fact that everyone stared at the tooth which looked as though it was attempting to rip its own self out of the mouth that was constantly flapping open during the constant conversation. To say Mrs. O’Connell talked a lot was an understatement.

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The Winning Loser by Joan S Peck

I became captivated the first time I saw her step out of the limo, one long, curved leg at a time. I smiled at the way she tilted her head to acknowledge the chauffeur who stood by as she reluctantly reached for his hand to help her out. As she stood tall, she was striking with long blond hair that she’d pulled back into a simple bun, low on her neck.

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