Mystery New Releases

The mystery genre is a genre of fiction that follows a crime (like a murder or a disappearance) from the moment it is committed to the moment it is solved. Mystery novels are often called “whodunnits” because they turn the reader into a detective trying to figure out the who, what, when, and how of a particular crime. Most mysteries feature a detective or private eye solving a case as the central character.

New Releases Tagged "Mystery"

If You're Seeing This, It's Meant for You

Just Another Dead Author (Berit Gardner #2)

Gone in the Night (Detective Annalisa Vega, #5)

A Beautiful and Terrible Murder (Irene Adler, #1)

A Silence in Belgrave Square (A Below Stairs Mystery, #8)

The Mango Murders (Key West Food Critic Mystery #15)

Murder at Cape Costumers (Cozy Capers Book Group Mystery, #7)

A Moment's Shadow (Verity Kent Mysteries, #8)

The Hex Girls: A Rogue Thorn (Scooby-Doo and Friends)

Laying Down the Latte (A Bakeshop Mystery, #21)

Murder at Arleigh (Gilded Newport Mysteries #13)

The Nefarious Nights of Willowweep Manor (Willowweep Manor #2)

Trebled Waters: A Songwriter Sleuth Mystery (Songwriter Sleuth Mysteries Book 1)

A Likely Story (Mysteries of Blackberry Valley book 4)

The Apothecary's Apprentice (The Wolves of Highfell #1)

Beattie Cavendish and the White Pearl Club

The World's Greatest Detective and Her Just Okay Assistant (Merritt & Blunt Mysteries, #1)

Savvy Summers and the Sweet Potato Crimes

Infinite Archive (The Midsolar Murders, #3)

Icing on the Murder (Baker Street Mystery, #4)

Solid Gold Murder (A Golden Motel Mystery, #2)

Seven Secret Spellcasters (Kitchen Witch Mysteries, #7)

Shadowed Witness (The Secrets of Kincaid, #2)

Enemy of My Enemy: A Daredevil Marvel Crime Novel

Something Whiskered (Cat in the Stacks #17)

Tea with Jam & Dread (Tea by the Sea Mysteries Book 6)

Death and the Librarian (Blue Ridge Library Mysteries #9)

A Deadly Inheritance (DI Caius Beauchamp, #3)

Death at Rock Bottom (Reluctantly Psychic Murder Mystery Book 2)

Murder on the Books (A Cozy Bookshop mystery)

Lavender Lies Bleeding (A Spice Shop Mystery, #9)

Edam and Weep (Grilled Cheese Mysteries #6)

Murder at Castle Vyne (An English Village Mystery #4)

Related Genres

Fiction
Thriller
Crime
Suspense
Cozy Mystery
Detective
Murder Mystery
Historical Mystery
Noir

Paranormal Mystery
Whodunit
Amateur Sleuth
Hard Boiled
Golden Age Mystery
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Quotes Tagged “Mystery”

“ The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existence. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery each day. —"Old Man's Advice to Youth: 'Never Lose a Holy Curiosity.'" LIFE Magazine (2 May 1955) p. 64 ...more ”
― Albert Einstein

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“ Snake Street is an area I should avoid. Yet that night I was drawn there as surely as if I had an appointment. The Snake House is shabby on the outside to hide the wealth within. Everyone knows of the wealth, but facades, like the park’s wall, must be maintained. A lantern hung from the porch eaves. A sign, written in Utte, read ‘Kinship of the Serpent’. I stared at that sign, at that porch, at the door with its twisted handle, and wondered what the people inside would do if I entered. Would t Snake Street is an area I should avoid. Yet that night I was drawn there as surely as if I had an appointment. The Snake House is shabby on the outside to hide the wealth within. Everyone knows of the wealth, but facades, like the park’s wall, must be maintained. A lantern hung from the porch eaves. A sign, written in Utte, read ‘Kinship of the Serpent’. I stared at that sign, at that porch, at the door with its twisted handle, and wondered what the people inside would do if I entered. Would they remember me? Greet me as Kin? Or drive me out and curse me for faking my death? Worse, would they expect me to redon the life I’ve shed? Staring at that sign, I pissed in the street like the Mearan savage I’ve become. As I started to leave, I saw a woman sitting in the gutter. Her lamp attracted me. A memsa’s lamp, three tiny flames to signify the Holy Trinity of Faith, Purity, and Knowledge. The woman wasn’t a memsa. Her young face was bruised and a gash on her throat had bloodied her clothing. Had she not been calmly assessing me, I would have believed the wound to be mortal. I offered her a copper. She refused, “I take naught for naught,” and began to remove trinkets from a cloth bag, displaying them for sale. Her Utte accent had been enough to earn my coin. But to assuage her pride I commented on each of her worthless treasures, fighting the urge to speak Utte. (I spoke Universal with the accent of an upper class Mearan though I wondered if she had seen me wetting the cobblestones like a shameless commoner.) After she had arranged her wares, she looked up at me. “What do you desire, O Noble Born?” I laughed, certain now that she had seen my act in front of the Snake House and, letting my accent match the coarseness of my dress, I again offered the copper. “Nay, Noble One. You must choose.” She lifted a strand of red beads. “These to adorn your lady’s bosom?” I shook my head. I wanted her lamp. But to steal the light from this woman ... I couldn’t ask for it. She reached into her bag once more and withdrew a book, leather-bound, the pages gilded on the edges. “Be this worthy of desire, Noble Born?” I stood stunned a moment, then touched the crescent stamped into the leather and asked if she’d stolen the book. She denied it. I’ve had the Training; she spoke truth. Yet how could she have come by a book bearing the Royal Seal of the Haesyl Line? I opened it. The pages were blank. “Take it,” she urged. “Record your deeds for study. Lo, the steps of your life mark the journey of your soul.” I told her I couldn’t afford the book, but she smiled as if poverty were a blessing and said, “The price be one copper. Tis a wee price for salvation, Noble One.” So I bought this journal. I hide it under my mattress. When I lie awake at night, I feel the journal beneath my back and think of the woman who sold it to me. Damn her. She plagues my soul. I promised to return the next night, but I didn’t. I promised to record my deeds. But I can’t. The price is too high. ...more ”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

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