Quotes About Mystery

Most high school students have hobbies. Some play music. Some play sports. Some write , or draw or make things. Stephanie ( Stevie ) Bell solves CRIME

Stevie packed like someone who just heard that reports of the monster were true, and it was headed toward the city.

Three: Izzy made it sound like Stevie was Wikipedia Holmes, a walking, talking, deducing database that ate true crime and spat out justice.

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.

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....

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.

Yes, she still smelled a bit of night funk, but that was fine. Sometimes detectives smell like night funk.

Must have been the cat." "You don't have a cat," Sooz said. "I have you," Sebastian replied. "That's close enough.

My project . . . is solving the case." "Solving it?" Charles said, cocking his head. "Doing a report on it?" "No," she said. "I mean . . . figuring out what happened." Charles removed his glasses, folded them, and leaned back in his chair. "That's a fairly tall order

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.

What serves on either side, and if you wish to hide, may protect you from your foe, or show him where to go?

This report claims that after the kidnapping and murders, Albert Ellingham rewrote his will, leaving his fortune to anyone who could find his daughter, dead or alive, provided they were not responsible for the crimes.

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.

The sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt has an ominous ring to Stevie, hinting at activities in wild places where protection would be needed, or maybe at night to go raccoon-poking

She never knew where he was, in what city or on what continent, the day after she had seen him. He always came to her unexpectedly—and she liked it, because it made him a continuous presence in her life, like the ray of a hidden light that could hit her at any moment.

From the screen, a huge white face had looked at him, a face with a mouth one wished one could wish to kiss, and eyes that made one wonder—a wonder which was pain—just what it was they were seeing. He felt as if there was something—deep in his brain, behind everything he thought and everything he was—which he did not know, but she knew, and he wished he did, and wondered whether he could ever know it, and should he, if he could, and why he wished

The man who entered was a stranger. He was young, tall, and something about him suggested violence, though she could not say what it was, because the first trait one grasped about him was a quality of self-control that seemed almost arrogant.

It was the only lie she ever told. She did not do it to protect Francisco; she did it because she felt, for some reason which she could not define, that the incident was a secret too precious to share.

You know, there's a thing that stumps me. You're the coldest man I know. And I can't understand why - knowing that you're actually a fiend in your quiet sort of way - why I always feel, when I see you, that you're the most life-giving person I've ever met.

You know me like a book.What kind of book Peter? A dime novel? A love story? A crime thriller? Or just a plagiarized manuscript? No, let's say: like a serial. A good, long, exciting serial—with the last installment missing.