The best cozy mysteries from Next Chapter [March 2023]
Cozy mysteries have long been a favorite genre among readers who enjoy a good puzzle, but prefer to avoid the gore and violence often found in traditional crime fiction. These stories typically feature an amateur sleuth who solves a crime in a quaint and cozy setting, such as a small village, a country estate, or a seaside town. The focus is on the puzzle itself, rather than the grit and grime of real-life crime-solving, and the stories often have a lighthearted, whimsical feel.
One of the hallmarks of the cozy mystery genre is the emphasis on character and relationships. The protagonist is usually a person with a deep connection to the community where the story takes place, and their relationships with family, friends, and neighbors often play a central role in the plot. The amateur sleuth is usually someone who is naturally curious and observant, and who has a knack for noticing things that others might overlook.
Another important aspect of the cozy mystery genre is the use of humor and wit. These stories often include quirky characters, clever dialogue, and humorous situations that help to lighten the mood and make the reader smile. The focus is on providing an enjoyable and entertaining reading experience, rather than on creating a dark and gritty crime drama.
Overall, cozy mysteries are a delightful genre that offers readers a chance to escape into a cozy and charming world, where crime is always solved and justice is always served. They are the perfect choice for those who love a good puzzle, but prefer their crime fiction with a side of whimsy and humor.
On this page, we’ve collected seven of the best cozy mysteries from Next Chapter authors, available from Amazon, Apple Books, Rakuten Kobo, Barnes & Noble and Google Books. If you enjoy the stories by Next Chapter authors, please don’t forget to leave a review :) Don’t agree with our choices? Please leave a comment and let us know your favorite!
Books featured on this page
Murder on Tyneside (Agnes Lockwood Mysteries Book 1) by Eileen Thornton
Killers (The Bax Mysteries Book 1) by Patrick Hodges
The Case Of The Killer Divorce (Jamie Quinn Cozy Mysteries Book 2) by Barbara Venkataraman
The Case Of The Cat Crazy Lady (Buttercup Bend Mysteries Book 1) by Debbie De Louise
Murder on Tyneside (Agnes Lockwood Mysteries Book 1) by Eileen Thornton
Book excerpt
Alan was already in the bar when Agnes arrived. Though she had given him a little longer than an hour, she was rather surprised he had found the time to change from his suit into something a little less formal. Though she had to admit, he still looked very smart in his jacket and casual trousers.
“I explained to my sergeant what I wanted him to do and left him to it,” he said, as Agnes sat down.
“Are you allowed to do that?” Agnes asked. “I mean, is he okay with you shooting off on a date at the beginning of an investigation. According to Angela her stolen necklace is worth a great deal of money.”
“Allegedly stolen, there is a difference.”
“Don’t you believe her? Angela seems very sure it has been stolen.” She thought back to the angry voices earlier that evening. “Yet you think she might simply have mislaid it after all.” Agnes leaned forward, rested her chin on the palm of her hand and screwed up her eyes. It was something she always did when she thought hard about a problem.
Alan shrugged. “That’s what we have to find out.”
Agnes’s eyes widened. “So you think there may be another possibility?”
He shrugged again and then smiled. “But we haven’t met up after all these years simply to talk about Mrs Hargreaves’ necklace.”
“Yes, you’re right. Sorry.” Agnes sat back in her chair. She was slightly disappointed they weren’t going to discuss the case any further. This was the first real life investigation she had been caught up in. It was exciting. It was different. For goodness sake, it was so very different from the dull day to day life she now had to get used to. “Okay, do you remember anyone else from way back yonder – and, are you still in touch with any of them?
“Yes and yes quite a few of them actually. There was a get-together organized by a couple of old class mates just over a year ago.” replied Alan, slowly. “But I gather from your tone, you are more interested in the case I’m working on than talking about the past.” He raised his hand to catch the eye of passing waiter.
“Yes, I am, simply because I enjoy mysteries – Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot that sort of thing. I…” She broke off. Alan was staring at her. Did he think she had something to do with the missing necklace? “Oh my goodness, you don’t think I took the necklace, do you?”
“Good heavens no. Of course not.”
They both laughed and Agnes noticed that, for an instant, the tired lines on his face disappeared.
Death At The Last Chapter by Michael N. Wilton
Book excerpt
‘What have we got so far on the Conway case?’ enquired the new chief constable, Mayfield, as he entered the operations room later at Police Headquarters. ‘Anything to report?’
Inspector Platt sprang to attention, full of self-importance. ‘Nothing to get our teeth into so far, sir, but it looks promising. I’ve taken statements from the family and we’re still checking them out. We’ll have a better idea as to motive once the will is read out on Wednesday.’
‘Hmm. Who’s the chief suspect if we exclude any outside marauders?’
‘Lark!’ the inspector barked, making the chief constable wince at the outburst. ‘Look lively. Where’s the file? Here we are, sir. The nearest relative to the deceased is his sister, Brenda, sixty-eight, ex-schoolteacher, married to one Harold Williams, fifty-two, insurance clerk in the City. The talk is she’s likely to inherit a tidy sum after death duties. Conway must have put by a small fortune over the years, judging by his book sales. If you remember, it came up in the inquest that she was trying to persuade him to buy a holiday house in the south of France and he was digging his heels in about it.’
‘Right, let’s check out her movements during the night in question. What about Harold, the husband? He’s a lot younger, I see. Anything on him?’
‘There is a suggestion in some quarters that he married her for money, sir, on the strength of her brother’s connections. Apparently, he was involved in some minor fraud some years ago, but nothing was proved. He struck me as a very weak character, though. I wouldn’t have thought he had it in him unless he paid someone to do it for him to give him an alibi.’
‘Yes, there is that, I suppose. Well, keep digging. What happened to that wife of his? Sylvia, wasn’t it? Didn’t she run off with his best friend?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought he would have left anything to her in the circumstances, sir. A bit of a long shot. It may take some time to find out where she lives.’
‘Follow it up. And this secretary of his, Jill Gates, I think she’s called.’
‘We don’t appear to have any background information on her, sir. Everyone says she was devoted to the deceased. It seems her boyfriend is hoping to get elected into Parliament at the next by-election.’ He rifled through the brief. ‘Goes by the name of Ronald Chambers, I understand.’
‘And the gardener, how does he fit in?’
‘Another one devoted to the deceased, sir, and well thought of, according to the family. He had special permission to take time off to visit his cousin who was down with the flu at Longbridge, some ten miles away. He came back as soon as he could which, again, was well after the event took place.’
‘So that’s the lot, is it? Seems as if you’ve got a full house there.’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary, sir. All in the day’s work. But there is one individual I would like your advice on.’
‘Really, who’s that?’
‘A young man who calls himself Robert Bruce, a friend of the family, so he says. Keeps interfering with our lines of enquiry, if you know what I mean.’
‘No, I don’t understand what you mean, Inspector. Enlighten me.’
Killers (The Bax Mysteries Book 1) by Patrick Hodges
Book excerpt
Thump.
I rouse from sleep, lifting my head an inch and turning toward my new alarm clock, which reads 10:48 a.m. It takes a full five seconds for me to register that I’m not at Asterly anymore, even though I’d spent hours last night celebrating that fact, an occasion just as joyous as finally turning eighteen. For a minute beyond that, my panicky brain wonders if Carl has tracked me down in order to torture me with another snap inspection. That’s totally something he’d do.
I listen for the sound again. It doesn’t come, so I sigh and lay back onto my awesome pillow—quite possibly the softest thing in the universe—reveling in the quiet.
I had gotten so caught up in the events of yesterday that it wasn’t until I broke in my new shower—I practically squealed in delight when I realized I didn’t have to share a bathroom with another living soul for the first time ever—that it really hit me how much my life had changed in one short day. More specifically, it was when I massaged the rough patch of skin that had been hidden underneath the ankle bracelet for the last eight months. The constant reminder of my innumerable failures was gone. In its place was a new home, a new job, a new path.
After years of moving from one person’s shit-list to another, I was free. Free. No more shakedowns, body searches, or metal detectors. No hostile glances from my pissed-off housemates or baleful sneers from Carl. No gunshots or police sirens that could be right next door or five blocks away. No pounding on my door at sunrise to get my ass out of bed.
Nothing but…silence.
It was beautiful.
And freakin’ terrifying. So terrifying, in fact, that after two hours of tossing and turning, I resorted to playing on the brand-new Galaxy I bought at the store next to Hill O’ Beans. With no TV or gaming system yet, I was up till stupid o’clock last night playing Candy Crush. Blame the app store, it was front and center and my idiot brain just had to see what Austin was talking about. Fair point—that shit is addictive. I’m not sure if I spent six hours playing it or if it was just four and the rest was me having a high-res dream about kicking over pieces of candy while some deep, masculine voice said “Sweet!” every time I knocked a bunch off the board.
I reach for the phone sitting on my new end table, confirming that it’s off and fully charged.
Thump.
What the hell?
I throw on a clean tee and a new pair of jeans, forgoing my Converse for a pair of flip-flops. Wiping the crud from my eyes, I rake a hand through my hair and head for the living room.
I peek through the spyhole thingy in my front door, wondering if I have a visitor. I see nothing.
Shrugging it off, I move to the kitchen. There’s nothing left of the pizza I ordered last night but a few crumbs, so I snag a box of strawberry Pop-Tarts from a cabinet, where it currently occupies a shelf by itself. The pastries fall out as I fumble to remove the foil wrapper. They break apart on the counter, exposing the fruity inside like strawberry veins. I’m too lazy to wait the thirty seconds of microwave cooking time, so I start chowing down.
Thump!
Whoa, that was loud. Sounded like an angry bull attempting to break through my front wall.
Curious and annoyed—mostly annoyed—I step through my front door and nearly get a soccer ball right in the junk. The thing ricochets off my thigh, rolls five feet, then dies on the grass where the sidewalk meets the lawn. I lean down and grab it, then look up to meet the eyes of three girls staring up at me with wide, fearful expressions.
Judging by their height and clothes, I’m guessing they’re around nine or ten. Two of them slowly back away like I’m going to go all wild grizzly bear on them. The one in the middle, the smallest of the group, stands her ground.
I take a moment to study her. Her dark brown hair is tied in a braid that pulls over her right shoulder with a neon orange elastic tie at the end. It’s a lot warmer today than it was yesterday, which explains the bright orange board shorts and the white Wonder Woman tee she’s wearing. And then there are her eyes. I’ve heard of girls having huge, doe eyes before, but these have to be the doe-iest. Starving puppies have nothing on this girl.
Point And Shoot For Your Life by Robin Murphy
Book excerpt
As I drove to meet Harold at his shop, I chuckled at the memory of Mandy and Justin’s eyes when I told them I had a meeting to authenticate the Navaho blanket and that there was a strong possibility it was worth a lot of money. We all saw dollar signs, especially Justin, since I owe him roughly three thousand dollars. I was also surprised Harold was able to meet with me only a few days after we first spoke and I couldn’t wait to get there. I hoped I wouldn’t be disappointed.
I pulled into the Beaver Creek Crossroads Antiques parking lot off the National Pike and found a spot close to the entrance. I grabbed the box and walked through the alarmed doors and scared myself when I spotted an Indian Chief mannequin wearing sunglasses sitting on the hall bench. Who would do something like that? It was creepy.
I went through the second set of doors, and I saw Harold walking toward me with another gentleman who looked to be in his late sixties, wearing a crisp, white, short-sleeved button-down shirt with a flashy 1950s tie and tan khakis that were clearly too long, which caused his knees to bag.
He approached me and stuck out his hand and said, “You must be Hannah Mills. Harold has told me all about you and your blanket. My name is Jasper Collingsworth.”
I shook his outstretched hand and noticed cataracts in his eyes and wondered how the hell he could au-thenticate anything with cataracts and who has a first name like Jasper? “Hello, it’s nice to meet you.”
They directed me past the main desk and back into a little room behind the register and we proceeded to discuss the story behind the blanket. I took it out of the box and laid it flat on the desk as directed by Jasper. I watched him caress the blanket, which was disturbing, and then he pulled out a magnifying glass and slowly gazed over the entire blanket.
After what felt like an eternity, he set the magnifying glass down and carefully lowered himself into a leather office chair. He again touched the blanket and said, “Miss Mills, I’m pleased to tell you that this blanket is indeed a genuine Navaho First Phase Chief’s blanket. First Phase blankets are the earliest and rarest of the Navajo Chief’s style. The smooth, shiny wool is hand-spun from the Churro sheep. Blue indi-go dye from Mexico was used with natural white and brown-black wools. I can hardly believe my eyes. My heart is jumping a little fast right now.”
I, too, needed to sit down and grabbed a stool from against the wall and plopped down before I blacked out. “So, what do you think it’s worth?”
“Hard to say, that usually depends on what happens at auction, but I could see it going for at least a million.” He stared at me with his black and white clouded, beady eyes and then looked over at Harold. “Was there any discussion regarding auctions or donations?”
Harold shook his head and then looked at me. “Hannah, have you given any thought as to what you would like to do?”
I was still numb from hearing the word ‘million’. I tried to keep my knee from jumping and placed my hand on it to steady the nerves climbing up my leg. “I’m really not sure. Where would I take it for auc-tion?”
Harold said, “I would be glad to do business with you at my auction house in Haverford, but only if you’re comfortable with that prospect. I don’t want to rush you into any decision.”
“Okay, yes I think I’d like to take a few days to think about it, if that’s okay with you? I want to be sure it’s what Great Aunt Dorothy would have wanted.”
The Case Of The Killer Divorce (Jamie Quinn Cozy Mysteries Book 2) by Barbara Venkataraman
Book excerpt
I read the letter twice, trying to make the words stick in my brain, but they kept breaking apart. I couldn't seem to wrap my head around the concepts. Things like prison, dead, no happy ending-- they couldn't be true, I didn't want them to be true. All my life, I'd been looking for a man who wasn't there, who didn't even know I existed.
"You look so pale, Jamie. Are you alright?" my aunt asked. "I know it's a lot to--"
"I'm sorry," I said, "I have to go."
She took my hand and squeezed it. "Why don't you stay for dinner? Adam will be home soon with the dogs. I know he'd love to see you."
I shook my head. "I can't, Aunt Peg. I need to be alone right now."
On the short drive to my house on Polk Street, I tried to clear my head and think about nothing. When that didn't work, I did the only meditation exercise I knew, focusing on my breathing while repeating, "I am breathing in, I am breathing out." Before I knew it, I was home. Being home usually makes me feel better, but when I opened the door, there he was, Mr. Paws. Along with inheriting my mom's house, I'd also inherited her cat, a cat that went out of his way to make me feel unwelcome. When I used to visit my mom, he would hiss at me and I'd hiss right back. My mom would just laugh and say, "Can't you two get along?"
Now that I was the person feeding him, he'd stopped hissing, but that didn't mean we liked each other. I'd changed his name to "Mr. Pain in the Ass," to match his personality, which didn't make him like me any less, but only because that wasn't possible.
After I fed the ungrateful creature, I tried to watch TV, but I couldn't focus. I wasn't hungry, so I decided to take a shower and go to bed. Not that I expected to sleep much (sleeping is not my forte), but I was bone-tired and needed a break from the real world.
If this were a movie of my life, the script would read 'cut to dream sequence' and then a bizarre scene would unfold…
I'm in a crowd looking for my father. I know he's there, but I can't find him. Everyone is taller than me and some people have animal faces, which scares me. They push and shove past me like I'm invisible. Someone is yelling, but I can't understand anything. I am starting to panic and then I see a woman who looks familiar. I try to get her attention and, suddenly, she's standing next to me. It's Becca Solomon, but she looks different. Her eyes are black, like fish eyes, and there's blood on her clothes. She says "I warned him, but he wouldn't listen" and then she's gone. The crowd thins out; a man is walking towards me. He doesn't look like my father, but somehow I know it's him. I feel like I can breathe again. He smiles at me and the crowd disappears
I wake up feeling rested and at peace. My left side feels warmer than my right, which seems odd until I realize that the cat has crawled into bed with me and is purring softly. I pet him and he nuzzles my hand. My life just gets stranger every day.
The Case Of The Cat Crazy Lady (Buttercup Bend Mysteries Book 1) by Debbie De Louise
Book excerpt
Cathy rushed to the gate to let in the sheriff.
“Good day, Miss Carter.” He dusted some of the cat hair off his uniform. “Is your grandmother home?”
“She’s in the house making breakfast.”
He glanced at Steve. “What’s he doing here?”
“He’s our gardener. Should I get Gran?”
“Yep.” Miller took a few steps toward the patio. “I’d like to talk to Mr. Jefferson, too.”
Steve turned around. “I’ll be happy to speak with you, Sheriff. What’s this about?”
“I don’t know if Miss Carter filled you in, but Maggie Broom was murdered last night. I have some questions for you and Florence.”
“I heard about the murder. Awful.” Steve grimaced.
“How did you hear about it?”
“I told him,” Cathy blurted out.
It was then that Florence stepped out onto the patio holding a plate of scrambled eggs in one hand and a carafe of coffee in the other. She was fully dressed now if one could differentiate her long floral dress from her nightgown. “Good morning, Leroy.”
“Good day, Flo.” The sheriff tipped his hat at her. “I thought I’d save you the trouble of coming down to the station and pick you up myself, but since Mr. Jefferson is here, he can join us, too.”
She nodded as she placed the eggs and carafe down on the table. “Well, you’re just in time for breakfast. Why don’t we talk here? There’s plenty of food to go around.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I can’t question suspects together.”
Hunting Truffles by Dick Rosano
Book excerpt
By morning, most of the vineyard work had been completed, and Dito called Paolo out to the field, ostensibly to check the wires supporting the vines, and one last cut through the rows to make sure everything was in order. Paolo knew that his father would be back nearly every day, and he surmised that Dito's real purpose was more personal.
So when Dito and Paolo started out that morning for the vineyard, they loaded a few tools into the truck and drove the few miles to their farm. There was something oddly reassuring about the creaky old truck that Dito refused to replace. The suspension was nearly gone, and it took more than a single turn of the key to fire up the engine, especially as the air cooled in autumn, and for all his misgivings Paolo smiled at the spirited debate his father had with la macchina while man and machine battled for dominance.
They pulled up to the fringe of the vineyard and la macchina came to a stop, almost as if it was annoyed by the braking action. Dito pushed the door open and turned sideways before lowering himself to the ground, a reluctant submission to a sore back weakened by years of farm labor. Paolo had more energy but silently stepped out of the truck, not wanting to aggravate his father's condition by showcasing the vigor of youth.
The old man stepped between two rows of vines as if these were his true family. Shy of a smile, his face nevertheless lit up as if he was more at home here than anywhere else in his existence.
There you go: seven best cozy mysteries from Next Chapter in 03/2023. We hope you enjoy the stories - and if you do, please leave a comment below, or a review in Goodreads or your favorite store. It would mean a lot to us!
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