Box-Set 1-3 Persephone and Potea Short Cozy: Persephone and Potea Mystery Series

By Sabe Dianella

Comprising books 1-3 in the Persephone and Potea short cozy mystery series, this box-set brings togther those individual books in a format that allows a continuous reading. Read the evolution of the relationship of Persephone and Potea as they unravel the mysteries of the exclusive enclave of St Seymour.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sabe Dianella
• Release date: Apr 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201344634

Book preview

Prologue:  Death on the Course

Thoughts can be deceiving . Raven Shinus believed it was like any other late Friday afternoon at the golf course. He began his preparations to play nine holes, as was his desire at the end of nearly every week. He liked this time. A golf tragic from way back he enjoyed the summer warmth. Today, a gentle breeze provided relief from the sticky heat of the earlier hours. Unpacking his large personalised golf bag and placing it on his motorised buggy, he reflected on what had been a busy week. His initial investigations into some financial irregularities in the business accounts of his advertising firm, Creative Maximization, concerned him, and he needed to formulate a way to approach his business partner, Ilsa Buchon, about this. He also wondered if his wife, Lara, had begun to suspect that the domestic financial arrangements were perhaps not as good as appearances would suggest. He had his future financial commitments – commitments that he liked to keep very private.

As President of Augustine Pine Country Club, he was also concerned about an allegation of cheating discreetly circulated by the defeated finalist from the championship. Bob’s acceptance of his defeat was, in Raven’s view, not helped when the winner of the championship was a member of the opposite sex, Lauren Chantice. This had been the first year where females and males could compete on equal terms. Compounding the complexity was that Lauren was his assistant at Creative Maximization. The circulating rumours that Raven and Lauren were more than close friends did not help.

These problems, though, could be compartmentalised to another day. Today was purely about golf, his thoughts and his time. It allowed him to re-set the week, recalibrate his thinking, and focus on himself. Playing lowered the blood pressure, de-stressed the matters that concerned him, and allowed him to reorganise and resolve the problems that he faced. Usually, he would have the course to himself, or at worst, with only a few others present. He liked it that way. It was his time to practise. Today, the course was his own, the humidity of the day, and the lateness of the hour allowing him the privilege of solitude.

He had been a member of Augustine Pine for some 25 years. It was a traditional country club with an indoor bowling rink, squash court, and highly commended dining facilities. The jewel in the crown though was its elite championship golf course. Membership of the club emanated from the political, community, and industry icons of the exclusive enclave of St Seymour. Under his leadership, the club had modernised and become inclusive and innovative in its membership structures and values.

Starting on the back nine of the course, Raven was only four holes into his game when he approached the fifteenth hole, the signature hole of Augustine Pine. It was a 165-metre par 3, bordering the glorious Lake Caroda on the right-hand side, with large, well-hidden and deep pot bunkers on the left. Hitting your tee shot long was also not an option. If the ball travelled beyond the green, the magnificent 30-metre high redwoods that gracefully overlooked the hole would swallow the ball leaving you with no other option other than to re-hit from the tee. If not on the green, the only safe option was short, but this then left a  difficult chip shot to a green sloping from front to back, right to left; a Redan-style green. It was known as ‘Devil’s Destroyer’ because of its ability to completely undermine otherwise good rounds.

Raven drove his high-end premium ball with a fluency that replicated his low single figure handicap. His tee shot arched high into the azure sky, travelling some 155 metres on a slow right-to-left path that maximised length and accuracy, landing on the right side of the bentgrass green, and then slowly rolling towards the pin. It left him a perfect uphill putt for birdie. Smiling inwardly he saw this as an omen, his troubles were about to be resolved. He could look forward to a new era of growth and profitability from his advertising firm, as well as the resolution of the troubles that he and his beautiful wife faced. Raven Shinus, however, was about to find out that he was very wrong.

Approaching the green, he noticed a figure, a person known all too well to him, walking from the darkness of the majestic trees. Large, slightly overweight, and middle-aged, the person’s face was creased with worry, with his potbelly resembling the early stages of a pregnant woman’s baby bump. He walked with a purpose and resolve, his beige golf trousers slightly too long for his frame, his golf shirt sticking uncomfortably to his body. All this did was accentuate the few extra kilograms that he carried.

‘Hello Raven – out practising?’

‘Oh I, I didn’t see you there, are you playing?’

‘No, I needed to see you, and I wanted to see you alone. You are a creature of habit Raven – all members know of you sojourn for late Friday alone time.’

‘Couldn’t it have waited – troubling me on the golf course seems unnecessary,’ the somewhat annoyed Raven Shinus retorted.

It was then that Raven realised that the motive for the chance meeting was somewhat different from a friendly chat. Whether it was the two-pronged divot repairer appearing somewhat furtively from the left hand, the eyes that bore through Raven, or the set jaw, he knew that this was no ordinary conversation. For Raven Shinus it was no longer an ordinary Friday afternoon. His thoughts had been wrong.

‘WHO FOUND THE DECEASED’ asked Detective Inspector Persephone Jones, in a voice that was calm, melodic, yet undeniably forceful. She was a short, somewhat pudgy, and at first impressions, perhaps best described as a frumpy police officer. Dressed in a mid-priced unflattering fawn suit, her almond eyes betrayed the false impression that her otherwise undistinguished appearance might give. Those who knew her well would tell you that she was distinctly more intelligent than she portrayed.

Standing outside the bunker in which the deceased body of Raven Shinus lay, with crime scene tap extending from one large redwood to another, she failed to see the fascination for golf. If truth be told, however, Persephone Jones was the last person to comment on sporting endeavours. Now in her 40’s she had spent most of her life working out how to avoid physical pursuits.

‘It was me. My name is Potea Kobe. I was in the first group out on the back nine this Saturday. My playing partners and I would have been the first to reach the fifteenth.

Looking at the person speaking, Persephone took in the person she knew as a past teacher at St. Seymour Secondary School. He was shortish, of average weight, and dressed in checked golf trousers and a garish yellow shirt. His cap displayed a brash golf logo, while his golf shoes were an unusual combination of blue and white. While not for a moment considering herself a fashionista, to Detective Inspective Persephone Jones, he looked ridiculous.

‘Do you recognise the deceased?’

With her doe-shaped eyes looking directly at him, Potea Kobe realised that the unremarkable face was somewhat familiar, though he couldn’t place it. ‘Yes, it’s our President, Raven Shinus.’

‘And what did you first notice about him?’

Catching his breath, Potea took a quick double-take. Perhaps dead bodies were part of the Detective’s daily life, but apart from his late wife, this was his first brush with murder, let alone someone with a divot repairer firmly implanted in the carotid artery on the right-hand side of the neck of the now past President. Potea’s face was as blanched as the bunker’s sand, and he distinctly felt unwell. The Detective, all-official, seemed little to care.

Deliberately slowing his breathing, and making sure that his toes moved constantly as a measure to prevent fainting, Potea replied: ‘Well, the divot repair tool Detective Inspector Jones. All new members joining the club receive one. It’s a model that has a switchblade that allows the prongs to be encased and then extended when in use. It bears the insignia of the Augustine Pine Country Club. It's not available for sale, and only members of the club should have it. Once lost, a member cannot get another one. Because of the symbolism of what it represents Detective Inspector Jones, you rarely see them used. Most players carry a generic commonly available model available from the pro shop for use on the course.’

With a somewhat sense of frustration: ‘As I’m not a golfer Mr Kobe, what does this tool normally do?’

‘It repairs holes in the green made by a ball landing on the green. If the ball comes onto the soft green when landing from height, it makes a small indentation in the green. This indentation needs fixing. What happened was that I had played my ball from the tee of Devil’s Destroyer. From there my view of the base of the deep greenside left bunker is hidden. It’s an interesting design feature, as the player knows the hazard is there, but without being able to see it, it captures many balls as players avoid the water on the right, as well as seeking to play against the slope of the Redan green. I’ve hit my ball with a slight draw and the ball landed in the left-hand side trap, rather than take the centre of the green. It was only on approaching the bunker that I noticed Raven lying in the middle.’

With a roll of the eyes that was hopefully imperceptible to the witness, ‘I’ll let you know if your golf form or the design of the hole is relevant Mr Kobe. Somehow, I don’t think it is. Heaven’s forbid that I should ask this, what does Devil’s Destroyer mean?’

Without rising to the bait of the obvious frustration of the detective whose disdain of golf was overt: ‘All our golf holes are named Detective. It’s just the name of this hole – a very good round can be destroyed on this hole.’

Lacking the fascination for golf that was held by the former mathematics teacher and well-known logician that she had previously met, though it seemed Mr Kobe had forgotten this, Detective Inspector Jones continued: ‘What did you do next?

Perhaps with a hint of too much dryness in his voice, Potea replied.

‘After losing breakfast, I called over my playing partners, who had lagged behind me, and then called the police. It was obvious that any attempts at resuscitation would be futile.’

‘And can you introduce your playing partners?’

This is Lauren Chantice, our current club champion Detective, and with her, sister and brother, Jules and Jack Miller

Detective Inspector Jones looked towards the playing partners. Jules and Jack sat on the fairway, some 30 metres from the deceased, obviously the worse for wear for having sighted the dead body. Their shock was self-evident. Lauren Chantice was different altogether. She stood with aloofness and dressed with an elegance that was completely different from the other golfers. Tall, structured, with high cheekbones, perfectly tanned skin, and without a gram of extra weight, Persephone Jones understood that Lauren Chantice looked exceptional. Straight backed, and with a walk that was almost floating, she no doubt attracted the attention of male golfers. She would have been a popular partner in any game.

‘Thank you, I’ll get all of you to give your statements to Constable Cheng, and we’ll take it from here. Today the course is closed.’

Potea was thankful for the intrusion. It was not just the shock of seeing the body. Only on the first tee, Lauren had complained that she had been unable to find her divot repair tool. Also, while Jules and Jack joined Potea in vomiting, Lauren calmly suggested calling the police. Equally matching her coldness on the course was her reaction in death. It was no wonder she was club champion – ice water moved through her veins.

WITH THE SCENE SECURED and Potea back in the majestic Art-Deco inspired sandy white clubhouse, he soberly reflected on what he had seen. Yes, the divot repair tool attracted attention, but once that initial shock had passed, slowing drawing into his consciousness was the effect that this would have on the community, on the club, and the people of St. Seymour. Raven Shinus was an icon of society with a big personality: wealthy, a large philanthropist, and according to some, an aggressive and ruthless entrepreneur. You never get to that position without stepping on some toes, shoulders, and heads. Potea also mused about the fragility of life itself. Potea had known Raven from his University days, both part of the same graduating year. Indeed his past wife, Alice, had been a close friend of Raven during those University years, and while their paths had diverged post University life, he knew that Raven Shinus was colourful in life. What he did not realise was how colourful in death he would also become.

Chapter 1: The Participants’ Backgrounds

164 cm tall, 72kg heavy , slightly paunch, and with a receding dark hairline coloured by a liberal sprinkling of grey, Potea sat in the rich black leather armchairs within the clubhouse overlooking the fairways of Augustine Pine. A light mist, unusual for St. Seymour enveloped the town today and only the hardy had ventured onto the hallowed grounds for the mid-week competition. The clubhouse was largely vacant as he sat sipping on an overpriced organic orange juice while eating a Caesar salad with the parmesan cheese removed. He thought deeply about the events of a week ago. The police investigation while ostensibly ongoing had, it seemed, drawn a blank. The intriguing and vaguely familiar Detective Inspector Jones had interviewed him a few days after the tragedy, and she had revealed little about what was happening. From what he had heard there was no forensic evidence that yielded any clues, other than the killer was likely left-handed, and investigations into the life and times of Raven Shinus hadn’t revealed anything of substance – this despite the maelstrom of life’s complexities forming part of his persona.

Oriented to detail according to his supporters, a control freak to his detractors, he was in his late 50’s. A retired maths teacher he was well suited to the conundrums of logic solving, and this problem, the killer of Raven Shinus, was nothing more than a problem in search of a solution. He was convinced that he could assist the police. His access to the companions of Raven, and the natural guard that people self-imposed when speaking to the police would not be present when speaking to the quietly spoken, methodical, somewhat tedious maths teacher that people saw him as. Some would call it ego, but he considered it natural confidence. He could find the truth and to do this he had to start at the beginning; his memories of first meeting Raven.

ONE YEAR PREVIOUSLY

Potea had been on the waiting list for some years to join Augustine Pine, and his love of golf drew him to this facility. Easily regarded as the best in the State, as well as routinely accepted as a top 100 golf course of the world, Augustine Pine truly deserved its reputation as a course used by those in love with the game of golf. It was a golfers’ course. Its 18 holes embodied a styling and routing that was futuristic in design and catered to all levels of ability. The design equally engaged with women, men, and children, as well as those who simply loved to walk on the revered turf. He had been waiting seven years to join, and with an application fee of $5,000 and an annual membership fee of $10,000, joining the club had stretched his finances – living as he was on a meagre pension earnt by years of dedication teaching largely ungrateful students about the applicability of maths to everyday situations. He sat patiently in the wood-panelled meeting room, dominated by its large huon pine table and the black and white pictures of past presidents adorning the walls. He was there with three other inductees into the club – calming sipping on a chamomile tea, and occasionally nibbling on a cream chocolate biscuit.

‘Thank you for coming tonight and welcome to what we believe is the finest country club facility in the nation. My name is President Raven Shinus. My role tonight is to talk about the expectations that we have of our members, and the facilities that you can get to enjoy. I know it has been a long wait for all of you to become members, but we are confident that you will enjoy your membership and with a churn rate each year of less than 2% of our members, we know that very few are disappointed in what they can achieve at this club.’

Potea, cautious by nature, but still prone, like any individual to form a good first impression, looked closely through his multi-focal glasses at the person in front of him. Physically, Raven was a large man, over 185cm tall, and Potea suspected, more than 100kg. His physical presence matched his confidence. He spoke articulately and with a belief that those in the room were listening to him and that, they were, to some degree in awe of him. He was, of course, the well-known head of the major advertising company, Creative Maximization. This entity had first identified the rise of social media and the opportunities for public discourse and influence available through those mediums. He had become a corporate captain, a titan of the community of St Seymour, the town in which Augustine Pine was the dominant sporting facility. He dressed with confidence that matched his status in life. In a perfectly tailored fine wool suit, marked with the emblem of Augustine Pine, Raven was the embodiment of self-assurance.

‘Perhaps we could start by asking each of you to introduce yourselves.’

‘My name is Lauren Chantice, and I’ve just moved to St Seymour. I work as a corporate personal executive assistant, primarily in the area of hedge fund management, and have come to this beautiful city to work for the First State Merchant Bank. I have been playing golf for some 15 years, and my handicap is plus one. I was particularly attracted to Augustine Pine, not only because of its reputation as one of the best courses in the world but also because of your leadership President Shinus. Your club has allowed women to become full members. I thank you for that, and I look forward to having an opportunity to play golf with you.’

As the other two inductees far more nervously began their introductions, Potea cast a surreptitious glance at Lauren. There was no doubting that she was highly attractive. Just under 180cm tall, but without an extra of unwanted weight, she was impeccably dressed in a designer dress that sat just above the knee, with a matching bag from a well-known creator from Milan, and an expensive New York designed jacket casually worn over the top. Her shoes were an elegant and moderately heeled Italian design. Potea, widowed, and knowledgeable of women’s high-end design with the lessons from his former wife still embedded in his mind, was usually wary of such an obvious display of style, but he could only be impressed. He was attracted to her, and no doubt, Raven Shinus, a man with a reputation for womanising, was equally so. That no wedding ring was visible, only heightened Raven’s attention it seemed, and, as Potea suspected, all men.

When it came his time to introduce himself, Potea kept things simple. ‘My name is Potea Kobe. I play off a handicap of five having previously been a member of the public course of St. Seymour. Recently I retired from the local high school where I was the maths teacher for my working life. As the others have said I look forward to participating in the opportunities that the course provides as well as occasionally enjoying the fine dining facilities that exist.’

The President then spoke at length; some might have said droned, about the etiquette expected, the facilities on offer, and how the club was organised. Concluding the evening, all expressed a willingness to join each other in a game of golf soon.

OVER THE NEXT SIX MONTHS, Potea did get the opportunity to get closer to President Shinus and Lauren Chantice. He had the good fortune to play golf with them on several occasions – both being exceptional players. Furthermore, the reputation of Raven became better known. While Potea was not a person that would routinely engage in gossip there was often speculation as to what the President was doing, how he was doing it, and with whom he was doing it with. The fact that he was a leader in the community and known to actively be involved in the political machinations of St Seymour through the global app that he created, Preferences for You, only added weight to the presence that he had about the club. He was a large man within St. Seymour, literally and metaphorically.

Not long after that induction evening Lauren Chantice left the bank that had prompted her move to St. Seymour, and joined the advertising agency of Creative Maximization as the personal executive financial assistant for Raven Shinus. On its own, this was not unusual. She was, after all, a highflying corporate executive assistant with impeccable references and recommendations from her previous employers. The advertising agency, led by Raven Shinus, and another golfer of St Augustine, Ilsa Buchon, not only had a national presence but also operated globally. The business often saw Raven away on corporate trips with Lauren, and the natural, though perhaps mischievous scuttlebutt was that a personal relationship had begun between the two. This was nothing more than innuendo. Potea had never seen anything to the contrary. Whatever may have been their relationship though, it was undoubtedly the club championships of Augustine Pine led to the death of two individuals and the destruction of long-standing personal relationships and the opening of old wounds. St. Seymour and Potea Kobe were to change irrevocably.

‘THANK YOU TO EVERYONE for participating in the Championship. Its been a wonderful occasion, the first time women have competed equally with men, and the importance of that has only been highlighted by how Lauren Chantice won down the stretch today – defeating our ever-popular member Bob Chitsworth, who sadly has now five runner-up finishes in the championships. I’m sure that your day will come very soon Bob. Today, however, we must acknowledge the winner – Lauren Chantice. Lauren has only been with the Club for the past few months and her ability has impressed us all. Starting even with Bob Chantice today it was a neck and neck struggle in the final round, and at the start of the last hole, both were at four under par. Lauren’s coolness under pressure in that final hole was something to behold. I think we should put our hands together and warmly thank the new club champion of Augustine Pine, Lauren Chantice.’

Lauren smiled graciously at the remarks of Raven. Alongside her, she stood at the front of the club’s dining facilities with the rooms crowded with the unsuccessful championship entrants. The plush carpet softened the sound of anyone walking, with the bar staff discreetly stopping any noise coming from behind the watering hole. Waiting staff, following a subtle request, were no longer serving any more food. They stood idly, waiting for the speeches to finish. She smiled warmly though she knew that the majority of the audience, most of whom were male, had eyes only for her. She stood in a short light blue golfing skirt with her long tanned legs on display and her top closely fitting. The fashion sense for this occasion was deliberate. If she could use any measure to distract the attention of her playing competitors, she would, and at this particular moment, she confidently knew that directed her way were the many thoughts of males in the audience. It was something she had lived with for years. It was something she enjoyed. Her perfectly formed teeth, whitened by very expensive dental treatment smiled graciously at what Raven was saying, as well as the murmurs of congratulations from the audience. Little did she know that some of the attention was far more dangerous.

ONE OF THE COMPETITORS whose mood was undoubtedly dark was the other half of the wildly successful advertising agency, Creative Maximization. By contrast to the other defeated finalists, Ilsa Buchon’s mood was soured not by what had happened on the golf course (she knew that she had been comprehensively outplayed), but how Lauren Chantice had wormed her way into the firm that she partly owned. Yes, it was Raven’s firm to begin with, but she was the financial brains behind the operation. While Raven may well have been the creative influence and person with the idea for the number one global app, Preferences for You, her financial nous had given the firm the discipline it needed to encourage the bankers of First State Merchant to provide the financial resources required for its expansion. She expected at least that Raven could have discussed the appointment of a new corporate executive financial assistant before the making of such an arrangement. No doubt Lauren had the credentials, she had previously worked for the bank that supplied the finances needed for the growth of Creative Maximization. As far as she could tell though there had been nothing wrong with the executive skills of the predecessor to Lauren, one Dr Xeng Ho, a recent PhD student with specialist knowledge in finance. Ilsa reflected on the discussion that some would have called an argument that she had with Raven.

‘What was wrong with Xeng? He was doing a fantastic job as your Finance Executive, everyone else respected him and he had the social and situational awareness to know when to speak up and when to be quiet. Lauren doesn’t have the same level of financial nous.’

‘Look I just needed a change Ilsa, and while Lauren doesn’t have the financial nous in her head, she has the personal connections with our financiers through her previous employment. You also have to admit that in terms of our public profile and when we meet new clients, she is a wonderful person to have upfront. While Xeng’s helicopter knowledge is unmatched, he didn’t have the same skills and capabilities to meet and greet new clients seeking a wonderful advertising outcome. Neither do you for that matter.’

‘It’s obvious she’s good looking Raven – even I would acknowledge that. Nevertheless, are superficial good looks the professional image on which we want to build our firm? We are about substance, not style; depth and breadth, not insignificance; long-term relationships, not short term feel-good experiences; financial frugality, not monetary largesse.’

‘I am sorry Ilsa, the choice of my executive financial assistant is mine and mine alone. Look at the business agreement between the two of us. You will just have to learn to deal with it. The matter is closed.’

In remembering this conversation while watching Lauren accept the winner’s trophy, Ilsa lamented her weakness on the issue of her appointment. She should have been stronger. She should have more determinedly dealt with this. She knew that the references made by Raven were largely about her appearance relative to Ms Lauren Chantice. Raven could be sexist, but to be as overt as this was extraordinarily hurtful, and it made her angry. Her looks were plain and her tiny largely stick-like frame had made her look gaunt. Nevertheless, her knowledge of the business compensated for any lack of looks. She had encyclopaedic attention to detail, a comprehensive overview of the business that Raven lacked, and her understanding of the bottom line of the business was without peer. She knew the physical presence of Raven Shinus and the undoubted beauty of Lauren Chantice initially impressed business executives, most of whom were male. Ultimately, however, the decision whether there would be acceptance of a particular advertising campaign within the Preferences for You app became one of its capacity to deliver a bottom-line boost to the fortunes of that client as well as Creative Maximization. That their clients were predominantly Fortune 500 companies participating on a global scale only sharpened the need for a financial resolution that delivered significant benefits. Ilsa Buchon was unhappy and the two weeks that had passed since this conversation had not diminished, in any way, her anger.

IT WASN’T ONLY THE females that harboured a grudge towards Lauren Chantice. Bob Chitsworth sat quietly in one of the luxuriously soft lounge suites located at the back of the clubhouse. He also watched Lauren Chantice with much intent, but his focus was not pleasurable. His distaste for this woman, was, he thought, unmatched. However, unlike his foursomes partner Ilsa Buchon, it was not business that was the genesis of his concerns. What troubled him was an incident that went beyond the spirit of the game of golf. To bring up