All Chapters of The Secret Whisperer: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Leila Weinrich took an academic break from her studies in Oxford. She run out of money, and had to take online tutoring job to resume her course and get to her final exams. Both her parents were strongly against Leila taking an academic break, willing to support her as long as it was necessary. But Leila decided it was time for her to become independent. Her boyfriend, Tom, was taking it personally at the beginning, but eventually admitted they had temporary liquidity issues. Their cat Snoopy was pleased to have open books to sit on all day long. He especially enjoyed sitting on the work to be done urgently. The cat thought he was the boss and didn’t take it lightly when Leila unceremoniously moved his fluffy butt from her desk. It seemed like tutoring work and a break from study would put things back on track. It wasn’t as if Leila could have predicted what kind of ‘break’ she would have. It seemed highly unlikely it would involve dealing with sleepy dogs and disappearing corpses. Th

Tom sent Leila a last-minute text from the bustling streets of New York, on his way to a job interview. She replied with a quick message of luck, but conveniently left out any mention of her adventures. Leila couldn’t deny it any longer - her daydreaming version of events simply didn’t add up. The truth was staring her in the face like a dead body in a drawing room. And as she pondered how to break the news to Tom, she couldn’t help but think that sometimes ignorance is a bliss.But of course, as fate would have it, Wolfie had to ruin that little bubble of denial. When Leila walked the fluffy pooch up to the unlocked door, she suddenly turned into Cujo and let out an intimidating growl. Where was that aggression earlier? Must’ve slept through that bloody murder like a lazy bum.As Leila opened the door, she couldn’t ignore the trail of destruction outside. Someone had made quite the spectacle trying to ski after a blizzard - leaving behind blue potholes and scars for fifty meters. And

Leila parked the snowmobile in the shed, her breath sharp and cold in the crisp air. Her cheeks were red and chapped from the icy wind, but she didn’t mind. Her trip to the village wasn’t a waste of time. Now she had something to work with.She unlocked the front door and walked straight past her bags, snatching up the dead man’s little black notebook. The first page was practically empty, save for two letters scrawled neatly in the top right corner: “B” and “E.” Leila frowned. Most people would assume they were initials, but the cryptic way the rest of the notebook was written made her doubt it. She pulled out her iPad and typed in a few guesses. If she was right, those letters weren’t “B” and “E” at all. They translated to something else entirely: E.Y.Eduard? Edgar? Erasmus? she mused, rolling the names around in her head. But no matter how many names she thought of, nothing clicked. Whoever this E.Y. was, he wasn’t making it easy.Leila settled onto Christina’s sofa with the noteb

The next morning, Leila walked back into the Grossman Center like she owned the place. She was wearing a navy suit that hugged her curves in all the right places, and the borrowed Chanel bag gave her a look of money and class—two things she was always happy to fake. Inside the bag, she carried the small, leather-bound notebook and a Montblanc pen, feeling like they were about to help her write her way into something big.She breezed past the room with the heraldic plaque—her family crest, still staring back at her like a ghost of bad news—and made her way to the receptionist. The brunette behind the desk glanced up, eyebrows rising, as if she could smell the trouble Leila had brought with her.“Hi, I’m Leila Weinrich. I’m here to see Mr. Grossman,” she said, flashing a smile that carried all the confidence of someone who had nothing to lose.The receptionist’s eyebrows hitched higher. “Do you have an appointment?”Leila leaned against the desk, letting her eyes lock with the brunette’

Leila stood in front of the bathroom mirror, combing her hair and trying on different faces like masks in Japanese theatre. She went for “amiable attention,” followed by “quiet confidence,” then “ready-for-anything,” and finally the smirk—“gotcha!” But none of them worked. She gave up, tossed the phone into her velvet Versace bag, and stepped out into the corridor.That’s when it hit her. The door across the hall was wide open, and there he stood—a man in a black tie, looking sharp enough to cut through glass, but there was something off about him. Familiar, too. His stance was casual, but you could tell he was trying too hard. He looked down at Leila—five-foot-nothing in heels—and flashed a grin that could sell ice in Siberia.It was Tom.Leila fought to keep her cool. He moved like a cat, gliding over to her with that silly grin still plastered on his face.“I’m the guest of honor,” he said, like he’d just announced he won the lottery.Leila’s smile didn’t falter. “Pretend we’ve just