Cozy Mystery Short Stories

A Frosting of Doubt

By Leaf Richards

The wind outside David's living room window was a steady, insistent groan, a low thrumming against the eaves that spoke of bitter cold and the deep, unyielding hush of a Canadian winter. Inside, the ancient cast-iron radiator hissed, its warmth a fragile bulwark against the invading chill. Dust motes, stirred by the radiator's convection, danced in the scant light filtering through the heavy, velvet curtains, remnants of a forgotten afternoon sun. The air smelled of old wood, faint tea, and the indefinable scent of decades lived in one place. David sat, fingers steepled, watching the patterns the frost etched onto the outer pane, each delicate filament a miniature, silent scream against the glass.

Rustbloom and Hardwired Hues

By Jamie F. Bell

The persistent, fine drizzle of Neo-Montreal clung to everything, an oily sheen on the ferrocrete, a greasy film on the flickering holo-ads that promised eternal youth or instant credit. Rust-coloured leaves, long past their vibrant autumn prime, plastered themselves to chrome-plated street corners, bleeding chemical dyes into the perpetually damp ground. The air, thick with the smell of wet exhaust, synth-spice, and something vaguely metallic, carried a low, throbbing hum – the city's ceaseless metabolism. Inside Sammie Taylor's cramped, overheated apartment, the only light came from the glow of outdated screens and the rhythmic blink of a dozen charging indicator lights, painting his face in shifting greens and blues.

A Bitter Thaw

By Jamie F. Bell

The persistent April rain, a dull grey curtain against the window, seemed to mirror the grey landscape inside. Dust motes, usually vibrant in the infrequent sun, lay dormant on the polished surfaces. The apartment felt too still, too heavy, burdened by unspoken recollections and the quiet hum of an old refrigerator in the kitchen.