Quotes About Intrigue

E. C. FERGINS

I had opened a book that could not be closed, started a story that had no obvious conclusion. It was a tale in which I wanted to play no part.

She couldn't take her eyes off the boxers. Mostly, she had a view of the back, but he turned halfway when he looked over. She commanded herself not to look at the front flap, which, of course, was exactly what she honed in on. He spit and put his mouth under the tap to get some water. All while just wearing underwear. All while she just stared at the crucial spot of the Action Pants.

The locker at the end of her bed had no lock, and one of the hinges was busted. She opened it up. There was a thing in it. The thing might have been a sandwich at some point, or an animal, or a human hand...but what it was now was fuzzy and putrid. A minute later, Ginny was down the stairs, out the door, and gone.

I could envision it all to clearly: Stuart or Debbie finding the dented door off its hinges, lying in the snow. She came in, ravaged the boy, stole plastic bags, and ripped off the door in her escape, the police would say in the APB. Probably making her way to bust her parents out of jail.

It was as if the news itself wanted to reassure me. Even Jack the Ripper himself had reappeared as part of the greeting committee.

For anyone who has ever dreamed of finding a body in the library. - Dedication of Truly Devious

I dumped out the bag and found what had been inside was a bunched-up police uniform, complete with the vest. Where did you get this? Boo asked. It's Callum's, he said. What's he wearing? At the moment, not much of anything. Put it on. I noticed Book perk up a bit at this piece of information.

What tinfoil? he asked.

No one hid their interest when I walked into the room. I'm not sure if it was the news about Boo or my general appearance. At home, people would have asked. People would have been crawling all over me for information. At Wexford, they seemed to extract what they wanted to know by covert staring.

I've got a murder mansion, a house full of suspects, a pile of evidence, and nothing.

It was a deathtrap, a meandering thread of madness. It suggested that there was something about English people that she may never understand.

Yeah. She said that there was weird shit in the walls at Ellingham. Things and hollow spaces. Stuff. She'd found things. Shit in the walls.

Like what?" he said, giving me a sideways glance, slipping in the process. "Saying that they're lucky.

David had a way of walking - a way that suggested that he belonged anywhere he went. In this, he had his father's manner, which was gross and horrific. But there was something else, something of the rake in a casino movie, who has come in to knock the place over, or an entertainer who might at any point somersault into the center of the room. Or maybe he was just walking in and her brain chemistry was telling her stories.

The bones were on the table, naked and chalky. The eye sockets hollow, the mouth in a loose grimace, as if to say. Yep, it's me. Bet you're wondering how I ended up here. It's a funny story actually....

There is an insatiable appetite for things about the wives of Henry the Eighth. Everyone loves them. Sex and murder.

The property was crisscrossed with pathways that made no real sense. The rumor was that Ellingham followed one of his cats and had a stone path made along any route it preferred to take because he felt "cats know best." The rumor wasn't true, but Ellingham enjoyed it so much that there was another rumor that he started the first rumor himself.

I found out so many things about so many people that I didn't want to know

Just a moment, she said, Murphy, yes? How did she know that? Keith asked as the woman walked to the phone. How do you have all of these strange connections inside Harrods? Who are you?

on Ellingham's face, forcing him to look down and shield his eyes. He half crawled out of the boat onto the ground. "Open the door," the voice said. Ellingham pulled his keys from his

There I was, creeping down the sweet garbage alley to break into the restaurant….

She could have sworn the little blue eye of Edward King's security camera in the cupola ceiling winked at her. It saw all.

David Eastman....was a shade under six feet, his build wiry, like he had been made of bundles of snapping electrical cables that had wound themselves together into a person, sparks still coming from the ends.......Everything on his face was too narrow, too fine. The lines sharp. His eyes always looked half closed, but they had more life behind them than most. It's the creature that pretends to be asleep that you need to watch out for.