Honey, Nuts, and Murder: A Persephone and Potea Short Cozy: Persephone and Potea Mystery Series, #2

By Sabe Dianella

For Detective Inspector Persephone Jones, life is becoming more complex. Jules Miller, a well-known partner of the private investigatory agency, Discretion Assured', has died suddenly. What at first appears to be an accident is revealed, by autoposy, to be most likely a murder. But what motive could there be to kill a well-liked, personable, attractive, single, middle-aged woman. A person seemingly without enemies. Investigations quickly reveal that Jules was investigating the governance of the bowls club - the location of her death. She was also looking into the history of own life with this revealing dark family secrets, and finally, there was a client, who requird the utmost secrecy in the investigation of a close confidant. Was one of these investigations a reason to kill her. Her death is quickly followed by that of the forensic examiner - a man about to reveal something unique from the autopsy of Jules Miller. A killer is on the loose and must be stopped. But for Persephone this is not the only thing occupying her mind. Her relationship with Potea Kobe is intensifying, and she wonders where she would like that relationship to lead. Before long Potea is asked to assist Persephone, and both quickly realise that the current murders may well provide the clues necessary to identify the killer or killers of Potea's late wife, Alice. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sabe Dianella
• Release date: Jun 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393289647

Book preview

Chapter 1: Death at the Bowls Club

The aroma of jasmine wafted slowly and pleasantly through the clubhouse window. It was sunny, the humidity was present, and St Seymour presented itself as it usually did - beautiful, exclusive, secretive. The jasmine grew quietly, quickly, perhaps too rapidly for the administration of the bowls club. The committee constantly had to move resources to keep it trimmed. Jules Miller silently went about getting ready. Only in the past year had she joined the bowls club at St. Seymour. Her brother Jack had suggested that lawn bowls was only for those of pension age. She strongly disagreed with this. She pointed out to him, often, that many of the national and international champions of lawn bowls were much younger than either of them.  She also liked that this was something that she could do without Jack, even though, like him, she was a golf tragic and a member of Augustine Pine Country Club – the exclusive golf resort of St Seymour. They tragically lost their parents at the age of 17. That tragedy had drawn them closer. Today, they still lived together in the sprawling family farm on the outskirts of St Seymour. With both of them middle-aged, she needed some space and isolation from Jack. With the sun shining, Jules went about applying the 50+ sunscreen to her peaches and cream complexion, before deciding to add lip balm to her fulsome mouth. She looked closely at her deep blue eyes, contrasting them with somewhat of a curious grimace, with the photo of her parents that sat in her bowls club locker. Single, financially independent, attractive, with a round symmetrical face, long brunette hair, clear complexion and engaging smile, she knew that many men of the club were interested in pursuing a relationship with her. Dinner date invitations had been regular, some of which she had undertaken. It certainly wasn’t any lack of willingness on the male parties that the relationships hadn’t eventuated into something more significant, more long-term, and more permanent. It’s just that she had been her own person for so long that the thought of compromising that, relinquishing that independence, made her wary. Also, as a private investigator of a highly successful business called Discretion Assured - a business that she ran with her brother Jack, she was aware of many of the underlying tumults that lay beneath the calm exterior of this beautiful city. She was the keeper of secrets, sometimes those secrets led to a jaundiced view of a potential match. With her skin care routine completed, she moved slowly towards the door that led to the major rink of the club. Today was the final of the lawn bowls c-grade championship and while she was very much the underdog, she did have a competitive spirit that lent itself to the sporting fight. A win today would allow some kind-hearted mocking to be directed towards Jack who suggested her hand-eye coordination was somewhat lacking. It would allow her bragging rights, as Jack, while very much the better golfer, had never won a championship trophy of any calibre in any sport.

Upon opening the large wooden door that led outside, Jules Miller felt a quick onset of dizziness and uncomfortable warmth. Stepping back into the air-conditioned clubrooms, thinking that perhaps the humidity was higher than she thought, she sought the solace of the beautiful timber seats that sat below her named locker. The sweat started to form quickly; on her forehead, face, arms, with this causing a feeling alternating between chilling and excessive warmth. She knew immediately what was going on. Hives started to appear on her face and neck as displayed in the vanity mirror on the door of her locker. She quickly sought the EpiPen that she constantly carried with her. Searching vainly in her purse, she noticed the discrete movement of a gloved hand near her faltering body - a hand that held the EpiPen. Gasping for words, breathing hoarsely, sweating profusely, Jules Miller collapsed and died quickly. This same-gloved hand placed the EpiPen back in her locker, whilst at the same time removing the lip balm from her handbag. Quietly, stealthily, the person left the scene of the murder of Jules Miller.

DETECTIVE INSPECTOR Persephone Jones lay silently on a king-size bed staring at the blades rotating counter-clockwise on her overhead ceiling fan. It needed dusting. The late summer humidity of St Seymour was unusually high for this picture-postcard town, and in the absence of air conditioning to the bedroom of her western red cedar cabin, Persephone welcomed the breeze. She ignored the dust – housework could wait. The humidity wouldn’t last. This exclusive enclave where land was in short supply, residential housing limited, and property prices high, was renowned for the largely settled sunny weather that prevailed for 300+ days of the year. Rainfall was rare, and when it occurred, it tended to come quickly and leave.

Her head rested comfortably on the very expensive goose down pillow brought as a Valentine’s Day present by Potea Kobe. She wondered about the treatment of the geese. The certification on the pillow at least suggested that it was humane, though she wasn’t sure what that necessarily meant. While she was a lover of dairy and desserts too much to be vegan, she was at least mindful and conscious of the need for animals and their by-products to be treated with as much compassion as the process would allow. The pillow did bring a wonderful calming sleep.

Her relationship with Potea Kobe was no doubt intensifying, and discussions had commenced about the two of them living together. She hadn’t said anything to Potea but there was something that did trouble her mind. Middle-aged, chubby, very comfortable with the life of being alone, Persephone had never thought that a relationship would become part of her life. But the insanely logical, neat-freak nature of the retired maths teacher of the local high school had captured her heart. She just wasn’t sure whether living together was such a great idea. There was also the practical matter of deciding where they would live. Her cabin was isolated, with extreme privacy, located as it was at the end of Lake Caroda most remote from the township. She dearly loved its separation, the fact that no neighbours were able to spy on her and that she could enjoy the sublime views of Lake Caroda from the shore without interruption.  Potea, by contrast, and courtesy of a large bequest under the will of the recently departed Raven Shinus now lived in a large modern house including a surround-sound theatre room, professionally designed par 3 golf hole complete with fast running greens, and embedded voice commands for all functions within the house. It was undoubtedly a magnificent house, but to Persephone, it didn’t feel homely.

Her attention turned to breakfast, and she inwardly glowed. While she tried to improve her diet while under Potea’s glaze, though not for reasons of vanity but of health, pancakes for breakfast on this Sunday morning seemed the perfect introduction. Stepping from her bed and in conservative cotton pyjamas covered in ladybirds, she slipped her size 5 feet into oversize but extremely comfortable superhero inspired slippers. She walked slowly to the kitchen, her faithful spaniel, Tuesday, following closely behind. She had no plans for the day and with Potea committed to a game of golf, she knew that she could slowly read the Sunday papers pondering what she should do in terms of her relationship with Potea.

Relying on the prepared pancake mix bought recently from the supermarket, Persephone fired up the pan and the induction cooktop. While stirring the mix, Persephone noticed her phone vibrating while it sat on the charging device near the kitchen benchtop. The caller ID indicated that it was Constable Michaela Cheng.

Persephone considered for a moment as to whether she should answer. After all, she was not on duty that day, and while the blue-eyed blonde, supremely healthy and deliciously attractive Constable Cheng was highly efficient and undoubtedly talented, she was prone to being overexcited. She hadn’t yet learnt that some things could wait. Answer she did though and the call would change the course of her day, and, as time would reveal, the course of her life. Some changes would be good. Some would not.

‘Yes, Constable Cheng’

With almost breathless anticipation and fragility in her voice, Constable Cheng replied without pausing from the end of Persephone’s introduction.

‘There’s been an unexplained death.’

‘I’ll need some more information, Constable Cheng.’

‘At the bowls club; Jules Miller has collapsed, and she couldn't be revived.’

‘And why is the Homicide Department being called into this? It might just have been a heart attack.’

‘I was the first on the scene Detective Inspector, and it didn’t have the appearance of a heart attack. I decided to call the forensic pathologist to have a look, and he suggested that I call you.’

‘Okay I’ll be there shortly, but I need to shower and change first.’

‘It’s already past 11 o’clock Detective Inspector and you haven’t changed - is Potea there with you?’

Somewhat amused at the thought process of the young Constable, Persephone replied quietly and with some mild firmness, though not without some mirth in her voice.

‘No, he’s not here Constable Cheng, and it is Sunday. Sleep-in Sunday as I like to call it.’

‘Yes, Yes, of course, sorry, I just thought – I shouldn’t have thought.’

‘Don’t worry Constable, I’ll be at the bowls club shortly. Your voice is somewhat brittle Michaela – what is it.’

Noting the use of her first name, with this rarely occurring, Constable Michaela Cheng simply replied, ‘I knew the victim – I’ll explain once you get here.’ With her voice cracking in emotion, the call ended.

APPROACHING THE STATELY and very traditional St Seymour Bowls Club, Potea noted how some architect with a penchant for white bricks, upper floor balconies and French windows must have inspired the building. As for the interior,