Historical Mystery Quotes

Quotes tagged as "historical-mystery" (showing 1-22 of 22)
Ana Claudia Antunes
“True love is like little roses,
sweet, fragrant in small doses.”
Ana Claudia Antunes, Pierrot & Columbine

Carol K. Carr
“It is amazing what a woman can do if only she ignores what men tell her she can't.”
Carol K. Carr, India Black

Nancy B. Brewer
“Yet, the quest for knowledge will overcome us and we must know. And, at last, we must see where the road ends, even if it be the cliff.”
Nancy B. Brewer, Garnet

“In the wee small hours, California Highway One north of Half Moon Bay is about as desolate as it gets. The narrow, twisting road was etched from sheer cliff faces that towered above me on the right and dropped away a hundred feet to the Pacific Ocean on my left.

A soggy wool blanket of San Francisco's famous fog hung a few feet above the roadway, obscuring the stars and dribbling tiny spots of mist on my windshield. My headlights bored through the gap between road and fog, drilling an endless tunnel through the darkness.

So far as I could tell, there were only two other cars on the entire planet that night—actually, one car and a produce truck. They'd flashed by, one after the other, heading south just past Moss Beach. Their headlights glared in my eyes and made the road seem even narrower, but half an hour later, I was wishing for more signs of life just to help keep my drooping eyelids from slamming shut altogether. It was the wrong thing to wish for.

She appeared suddenly out of the fog on the opposite side of the road. Only, she wasn't in a car. This gal was smack dab in the middle of the southbound lane and running for all she was worth. She wore a white dress and no coat, and that was about all I had time to take in before she was gone and I was alone in the endless tunnel again.”
H.P. Oliver, Goodnight, San Francisco

Nancy B. Brewer
“Like a sparrow in its flitting, like a swallow in its flying, a curse that is causeless does not alight.”
Nancy B. Brewer, Garnet

“They say, you cannot stop the birds of sorrow, but you can prevent them from building a nest in your hair.”
I. J. Parker

Lisa Lieberman
“What kind of person did you say he was, this second cousin of yours?” Gray wanted to know.
"He is the only son of my uncle’s second wife, who disinherited the children of his first wife and passed the entire fortune onto Martin," said Geoffrey." I’m not quite certain what that makes him.”
The faintest trace of a smile came to Gray’s lips. “A sitting duck?” he ventured.”
Lisa Lieberman, All the Wrong Places

Nancy B. Brewer
“My first order of business was to look in the side pocket where I had hidden my garnet and gold necklace.”
Nancy B. Brewer, Garnet

Rita Gard Seedorf
“Hello Readers! I look forward to adding to my author page. I”
Rita Gard Seedorf, Letters from Brackham Wood: A Moira Edwards Mystery

“Excerpted From Chapter One

“Rock of Ages” floated lightly down the first floor corridor of the Hollywood Hotel’s west wing. It was Sunday morning, and Hattie Mae couldn’t go to church because she had to work, so she praised the Lord in her own way, but she praised Him softly out of consideration for the “Do Not Disturb” placards hanging from the doors she passed with her wooden cart full of fresh linens and towels.

Actually Sundays were Hattie Mae’s favorite of the six days she worked each week. For one thing, her shift ended at noon on Sundays. For another, this was the day Miss Lillian always left a “little something” in her room to thank Hattie Mae for such good maid service.

Most of the hotel’s long-term guests left a little change for their room maids, but in Miss Lillian’s case, the tip was usually three crinkly new one dollar bills. It seemed like an awful lot of money to Hattie Mae, whose weekly pay was only nineteen dollars. Still, Miss Lillian Lawrence could afford to be generous because she was a famous actress in the movies. She was also, Hattie Mae thought, a very fine lady.

When Hattie Mae reached the end of the corridor, she knocked quietly on Miss Lillian’s door. It was still too early for most guests to be out of their rooms, but Miss Lillian was always up with the sun, not like some lazy folks who laid around in their beds ‘til noon, often making Hattie Mae late for Sunday dinner because she couldn’t leave until all the rooms along her corridor were made up.

After knocking twice, Hattie Mae tried Miss Lillian’s door. It opened, so after selecting the softest towels from the stacks on her cart, she walked in. With the curtains drawn the room was dark, but Hattie Mae didn’t stop to switch on the overheard light because her arms were full of towels.

The maid’s eyes were on the chest of drawers to her right where Miss Lillian always left her tip, so she didn’t see the handbag on the floor just inside the door. Hattie Mae tripped over the bag and fell headlong to the floor, landing inches from the dead body of Lillian Lawrence. In the dim light Hattie Mae stared into a pale face with a gaping mouth and a trickle of blood from a small red dot above one vacant green eye.

Hattie Mae screamed at the top of her lungs and kept on screaming.”
H.P. Oliver, Silents!

“Excerpted From Chapter Eighteen

Pacific Coast Highway ends with a sharp right turn onto Sepulveda. Approaching that intersection, I saw several cars pulled to the shoulder of the road and two fresh, black skid marks leading straight to the edge of the beach beyond Sepulveda. Halfway between the road and the water, a big red Caddy convertible lay upside down on the sand.

I parked and jogged to the wreckage. The windshield and the cloth top had collapsed, so the car was resting on its hood and trunk lid. A young man in swimming trunks and an older fellow in a suit were pulling at the driver's side door, trying to get it open. The twisted metal was resisting their efforts, but the door finally came loose just as I got there. Through the opening I could see Diana Dean sprawled across the shredded remains of her convertible top. From where I stood, she looked to be in about the same shape as her mangled red Caddy. Maybe worse.”
H.P. Oliver, Revolver

“Excerpted From Chapter One

I decided staying put in the alley was preferable to keeping the dead guy company, so I went outside and lit a Lucky Strike. The night air had gotten damper and chillier during the short time I was in the warehouse, or maybe it was just me.

Wisps of lacy fog were now sinking into the alley, and a skulking cat in search of dinner moved slowly along the opposite wall until he noticed me. He scurried off in a furry blur, eager to be far away from the evil invading his domain. The cat had better sense than me and I wished I could follow his example.”
H.P. Oliver, Pacifica

“Excerpted From Chapter 18

The most famous sign in the world was only a few hundred yards above me, and the sight of it stopped me in my tracks. The light bulbs surrounding the letters must have been controlled by a timer of some kind because they were off now. But what shocked me was the scale. I was used to seeing the sign from a distance. From this perspective there was no sense of the word HOLLYWOODLAND. All I saw were gigantic letters looming dimly above me in the moonlight like ancient monoliths erected in tribute to the gods of some long-extinct tribe.

A primal feeling of foreboding prickled the hairs on the back of my neck. I could imagine the traveler of an earlier age coming across Stonehenge in the dark and experiencing a similar sensation.”
H.P. Oliver, The Truth Be Told

Mikey Campling
“Burlic screamed. He threw back his head and roared a single furious word into the night: “Waeccan.” The name erupted from him in a savage wail that rasped at his throat, over and over until he could shout no more.
His howls echoed along the valley. In the village, the other hunters heard and exchanged glances, shook their heads and said nothing. The women clutched their talismans, told the children to go inside. They had tried to help, but there was nothing they could do for Burlic now.”
Mikey Campling, Trespass

Felicity Snowden
“Sometimes inexplicably the past becomes intermingled with the present”
Felicity Snowden, When Dead Men won't Lie

Ned Hayes
“Stars flicker above, points of bright ice in a dark river. I pull a heavy sheepskin around my legs and stretch my feet toward the fire. Despite the cold, Liam plays his flute, the sound whistling through the night. Soon my eyes are heavy, my head nodding.I open my eyes at the deep melodious baritone of Salvius’s voice telling a tale. Liam’s flute is silent now. I have heard Salvius tell many tales on market days; he is known for his memory of wandering minstrels and mummers who visit us at Whitsunday and through Midsummer. Salvius is a mockingbird: he can give a fair charade of the rhythmic tones of any wandering bard or any noble of the Royal Court.In this darkness, his eyes catch the light like a cat in the night.”
Ned Hayes, Sinful Folk

“Even if one turns away from harmony for just one night, suffering ensues.”
I. J. Parker

Ned Hayes
“Under the sanctuary are the catacombs where the dead wait for resurrection. The living do not venture there. The caverns here underneath the Sanctuary are illuminated only by dim shafts of light from the sanctuary. The walls are etched with flowers of frost, but at least I am out of the wind. Dark bays line the hall in front of me, a vast rabbit warren, each hold filled to the brim with the scent of the past.”
Ned Hayes, Sinful Folk

Leonard Mokos
“My teeth clatter in my mouth as everything ripples and shudders in the storm of shells, whining, whizzing. The kid on the bicycle rolls out of sight. Untouched. A miracle. A dream. The shells abruptly cease and there is only the settling creak of the car seat, a scatter of twittering birds in the shrubs and trees.
I could use some gum. Where do you buy gum so early besides the service station? It seems wrong to go there since we don't need any gasoline. We don't drive enough. A tank of gas lasts us forever.
I get behind the wheel and in the mirror I can see my eyelids fluttering. I sit squeezing the steering wheel until I realize I haven't started the engine. The garage conceals me. I don't want to go out into the open. A horse whinnys – are they bringing up the artillery? It's the farm field where old Wallam tills a little garden, his yard is the biggest and runs alongside the back of ours to the farm where his family has their orchards. What's wrong with me? Sounds of explosions, bullets, voices of men. Volleys. I smell smoke. Burning things, festering ruptured corpses with maggots pulsing under horrible skin and the shells, the horse, it's hit, it shrieks, explodes apart – can we pull the gun by hand? The crew is dead too, bullets are making their bodies jump even after they have broken apart like smashed holiday nuts.
I want to scream. Maybe I am?
I begin breathing rapidly. I don't know how long I am there but I hear the screen door open and I key the ignition.
“Car troubles?” Mr. Kincaid calls out to me from the front porch.
“No troubles,” I say setting my arm out the window and holding the mirror to keep my hand steady. “Lovely day.”
The sun was really rising, taking the temperature up with it, hot shards of searing light coming over the treetops to stab at everything that couldn't find the shade. I couldn't find the shade.”
Leonard Mokos, The Bad Canadian

Jennifer Kincheloe
“Anna Blanc was the most beautiful woman ever to barrel down Long Beach Strand with the severed head of a Chinese man.”
Jennifer Kincheloe, The Woman in the Camphor Trunk: An Anna Blanc Mystery

Jennifer Kincheloe
“Anna lifted her chin, “Forgive my interruption, Mr. President, but I am Assistant Matron Anna Blanc, and I’ve come about the singsong girls.” She remembered herself and bowed. No one bowed back. They simply stared at her. After a moment, Tom Foo Yuen said, in his tar-thick accent, “You are a brave, strange woman, Matron Blanc.” Anna had heard that before.”
Jennifer Kincheloe, The Woman in the Camphor Trunk: An Anna Blanc Mystery

J. New
“Elspeth? Arrested? I’ve never heard anything so preposterous in my life."
- J. New, The Riviera Affair”
J. New