Une Revolution Francaise - the Third Instalment in the Persephone and Potea Short Cozy Series: Persephone and Potea Mystery Series, #3

By Sabe Dianella

Persephone and Potea are now retired. Persephone's former police colleague, the beautiful Michaela Cheng, now working as a private investigator, needs assistance on what seems like a routine property development inquiry. But what seems as routine soon becomes deadly as the bodies begin to mount up. Are Persephone and Potea in mortal danger and how can the actions of the criminal mastermind be brought to heel when there is no evidence that would satisfy a court of law. Does justice demand a response that is outside of the law.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sabe Dianella
• Release date: Apr 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201697600

Book preview

Chapter 1: French Lessons and a Cocker’s Instinct

Bonjour mon amour - pâtisseries pour le petit déjeuner ?

Potea sleepily rolled over to face his wife. ‘I have no idea what you are saying Sephs, but I love it when you speak French.’ He reached across to cuddle the former lead homicide detective for St Seymour, hopeful that she would be willing to remain in bed for some time. Persephone Jones, however, had already exited the bed, the silk pyjamas carelessly discarded on the floor, heading quickly towards the en-suite shower – ‘Come on Potea – make your beautiful wife some of those delicious pastries that I know you can do – Belgian chocolate thanks.’

Potea knew it is futile to oppose; he would always give in. Not being a morning person his movements out of the bed were slow and rather laborious - his mind thinking that some Pilates or yoga classes were long overdue. ‘Your French lessons are certainly paying dividends Sephs – we will have to plan a trip to Paris soon – how do you get on with your French tutor?’

‘Marie-Paule is a fabulous tutor, a former drama teacher – engaging, patient and interested in her students’ progress. She has some rather unusual ideas though. She has a crazy beagle that sits in the class, which appears to be taking in the lessons as if it wants to speak French. She also has this weird idea that St. Seymour should become an overseas dependency of France. Every class finishes with the chant, ‘Vive la France, Vive la France, Vive la France’. We are also required to wear the tricolours to every lesson. Anyway, stop avoiding the topic of my breakfast – get in the kitchen husband.’

Potea walked slowly across the hardwood floorboards of the western red cedar log house that he and Sephs had occupied since their marriage six months previously. He secretly wished that he lived in his own ultramodern residence that overlooked the palatial enclave of St Seymour, but he knew that this was not where his wife wanted to live. She was comfortable in her very private and rather small house at the western end of Lake Caroda – a home that she had made her own for many decades. He would have to do something with his own house. Sell or rent it out, or perhaps use it as tourist accommodation as visitors began to creep back to St Seymour following the end of the pandemic.

Chuckling, he noticed that Persephone had already placed the puff pastry out the previous night on the granite benchtop. All he needed to do was add the rather expensive imported Swiss mix of cocoa chips (ignoring Seph’s wish for Belgian chocolate) – her palate was not that refined, add them to the pastry, and cook. He didn’t need to put his mind beyond first gear.

While he waited for the pastries to cook and his wife to finish her rather slow and luxurious shower - the shower bay having eight different outlets from three distinct sides, Potea began the cryptic crossword that was his early morning ritual – ‘a descent of Dad is a star’ – too easy he thought. Even in his fog-filled mind of a Sunday morning, he could solve that.

Potea closely watched Persephone as she wandered into the kitchen, dressed rather too neatly and professionally for a lazy Sunday. ‘You must have something on.’

‘Yes I’m meeting Michaela in two hours for morning tea.’

‘Do you know how she is going since she set up Cheng and Blunstein?’ – Michaela’s own private investigatory and cultural change agency. ‘She was a great loss for the police force when, after your retirement, she quickly and quietly left as well.’

‘Yes I tried to persuade her to stay. She was adamant though that the culture of police force was not what she wanted it to be and that she would be happier being her own boss. Her close friend and housemate Fiona Blunstein is a co-partner in the business. It’s an unusual combination, investigation and cultural change, but Michaela assures me there are connections.’

‘Do you know how her love life is going,’ Potea thinking of the attention that Michaela Cheng always attracted.  Her symmetrical face and perfectly clear complexion dominated by large clear blue eyes, an always professionally manicured haircut, petite in size, statistically the envy of all women. Her dress sense was always impeccable and always expensive.

‘I think she has sworn off men for some time following the arrest and conviction of Jules, her last boyfriend for the homicide of his adopted sister as well as his attempt on her own life. Moreover, you can stop gazing into the distance and thinking about Michaela. She is 25 years younger than you, and way out of your league.’

‘And you are not –you’re putting yourself down.’

‘I know my limitations hubby and just remember that you are my cook – are those pastries ready yet?’

‘Do you need them now if you’re heading off to morning tea?’

‘Of course I do, I could faint without some fuel for energy.’

With a mutter that he hoped could not be heard,‘I don’t think there’s any chance of that happening’ as he gazed at the rotund figure of his food loving, dessert oriented spouse, whose weight had ballooned beyond 100kg since he was now doing the cooking in the household where desserts were a nightly staple. He did try to keep the main meal healthy with meat-free days now occurring on four days of the week, but more drastic steps were required.

‘Did you say something Potea?’

‘No, just getting your pastries onto a plate’ – the comforting smell of melted dark chocolate wafting through the house and coming to the attention of their lovable black cocker spaniel, Tuesday.

‘Sorry none for you Tuesday, its chocolate – come here and I’ll give you a marrowbone and you can chew on that for a little while. It’s good for your teeth.’ Tuesday cocked his head at his owner, as if to suggest understanding, but more likely, a simple wish that the talking could stop and that delivery of the bone would occur as promised.

WITH BREAKFAST COMPLETED, Persephone drove her electric vehicle towards Café Caroda – a beautifully located coffee shop perfectly situated at the halfway point of the walking track that went around the entire length of the lake. It was where she and Potea had their first date, and she reflected with some fondness on that time some few years ago, but in other respects what now seems like a lifetime. They had originally met during a murder investigation at the local golf club, St Augustine Pine, a club of which Potea was now President, and no one could have foreseen their marriage. Romance had blossomed though – well as much as it could blossom when middle age has passed, but today she was content, comfortable, and looking forward to some travel in the later years of her life. She was particularly happy that she could spend that time with someone she genuinely loved and adored.

Michaela was already at the café as she drove up, and even on a nonworking day, there was something extraordinary about the beauty of her. Immaculately dressed in casual clothes that cost more than Persephone had spent on clothes in the last twelve months; Michaela Cheng, Principal of Cheng and Blunstein, looked superb. The bottle green blouse perfectly offset her blue eyes; her trousers tailored to within a millimetre of her figure. With Michaela at the cafe was her co-principal: Fiona Blunstein. She shared far more in common with Persephone as regards her size, dress sense, and for that, Persephone was glad. The uniform of choice for Fiona was non-flattering wedge-shaped skirts and baggy sweatshirts, an unremarkable moon shaped face dominated by large thick lenses in her tortoise shell glasses. Despite sharing digs, Michaela’s dress sense had not invaded the wardrobe of Fiona. Persephone was also wise enough to know, Fiona Blunstein was one very intelligent person. With the temperature check undertaken at the door, and the QR code recording her arrival, Persephone warmly hugged her two companions.

‘How is married life treating you  Persephone – if that glint in the eye tells me anything I suspect you are enjoying it perhaps a little too much,’ Michaela queried rather too joyously.

‘Don’t be cheeky Michaela, but yes married life has been good. I have been enjoying Potea’s cooking a little too much but it has been wonderful to have a companion with me. Now that I am not working, I think I am enjoying my time rather too well. I suspect that I may not have retired if Potea had not come along, and that probably would not have been conducive to good mental health.’

Êtes-vous prêtes à passer votre commande?

Persephone’s head sharply turned towards the speaker – ‘Marie-Paule, what are you doing here?’

You should be saying ‘Marie-Paule - Que fais-tu ici?’ laughed the tall elegant Frenchwoman.

‘Well, with so many French tourists now travelling to St Seymour as an escape after the confines of the recent lockdowns, the café owners thought the business might be improved if there is a native French speaker assisting those visitors. It has actually been very busy; people are obviously looking to escape, and wanting to live life now rather than planning for what might be. If there is one thing we all know, plans come unstuck without much notice.’

Looking at her two companions, Persephone introduced Marie-Paule to them, telling them that she was taking intensive French classes with her, with a view towards spending sometime in Paris soon. ‘Marie-Paule wants to take our order,’ - that was what she was saying.

‘Well I haven’t had breakfast, so I might be a bit cheeky and take the oatmeal slice with the fruit juice,’ remarked Michaela.

With both Fiona and Persephone rolling their eyes, Fiona ordered the blueberry muffin with a hot chocolate, and Persephone, the gâteau de boue au chocolat avec glace – with Sephs inwardly