Château le Gull shook to its foundation as if struck by a titanic bulldozer. A cry erupted from one of the rooms, harsh and haunting, like a chorus of tormented voices from the depths of hell. The echoes rippling in Winny Cutbush's ears, unlike anything he'd ever heard.

The sun was barely up when the police barged into Les Joseph's studio apartment. The shock almost stopped his heart. “Les Joseph? You are under arrest for the murder of Meredith Orleans!” A bulky policeman thundered, pointing his service pistol at Les.

I can't imagine what it's like to battle sexism as a woman in the 19th century. I read books and watch movies where the trials and tribulations of those women are depicted and it's aggravating to say the least. So a friend who enjoys murder mysteries and knows I do too, recommended this British series, Miss Scarlet And The Duke and it's like I found a gem!

those cryptic amber eyes hide so much from me their thoughts a mystery behind that stone-cold gazeare they windows into our souls or a prison that holds me tightly in a cold cagei want to look away but everywhere else possess not such cold beauty as this amber glow

No one ever thought much of Amy Brown. It aggravated her so that on her sixteenth birthday spent in the basement, she knelt on the damp concrete floor and prayed to her fairy godmother to make someone truly see her, and love her.

My kooky great-aunt grinned, displaying gaps where a few teeth used to be, as though she just won the jackpot. I groaned and nearly rolled my eyes but restrained myself in time. Otherwise, a good smack on the back of my head would set my brain right. She was elderly but packed a mean punch that could make a grown man cry like a baby.