Remains To Be Seen

By Patti Larsen

All In The Family

My grandmother’s door shouldn’t have felt like I faced a firing squad instead of the rather rude naked man dangling in the center of the black-painted space, urging me to use his impressive and repulsive self to announce my presence with a wriggle of his bronze hips. Why then was I so nervous I hesitated a long moment, hand half-raised, power contained, shuffling my feet on the hardwood floor in front of her suite while debating this idea?

Why does life have to be so complicated? Phoebe's choice to move out of her family's home and find her own way outside the triunity of the Maiden/Mother/Crone collective was meant to be a good thing. Instead, she's juggling an unhappy grandmother and an uncomfortable relationship with Officer Cooper Hudson, all while doing her best to support herself with her art, not the family fortune. But when Phoebe's bestie, Mirabelle, finds herself on the brink of job loss and a murder indictment, her own troubles will have to wait. It's up to the newly independent Monday to find out who the real killer is before her friend falls victim herself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patti Larsen
• Release date: Dec 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781989925508

Patti Larsen

About me, huh? Well, my official bio reads like this: Patti Larsen is a multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in her head. But that sounds so freaking formal, doesn’t it? I’m a storyteller who hears character's demands so loudly I have to write them down. I love the idea of sports even though sports hate me. I’ve dabbled in everything from improv theater to film making and writing TV shows, singing in an all girl band to running my own hair salon.But always, always, writing books calls me home.I’ve had my sights set on world literary domination for a while now. Which means getting my books out there, to you, my darling readers. It’s the coolest thing ever, this job of mine, being able to tell stories I love, only to see them all shiny and happy in your hands... thank you for reading.As for the rest of it, I’m short (permanent), slightly round (changeable) and blonde (for ever and ever). I love to talk one on one about the deepest topics and can’t seem to stop seeing the big picture. I happily live on Prince Edward Island, Canada, home to Anne of Green Gables and the most beautiful red beaches in the world, with my pug overlord and overlady, six lazy cats and Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn.

Book preview

Remains To Be Seen

Phoebe Monday Paranormal Cozies: Four

Smashwords Edition

Patti Larsen

Copyright 2021 Patti Larsen

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to the vendor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Chapter One

My grandmother’s door shouldn’t have felt like I faced a firing squad instead of the rather rude naked man dangling in the center of the black-painted space, urging me to use his impressive and repulsive self to announce my presence with a wriggle of his bronze hips. Why then was I so nervous I hesitated a long moment, hand half-raised, power contained, shuffling my feet on the hardwood floor in front of her suite while debating this idea?

Thing was, I hadn’t spoken to—or had any kind of real contact with—Isolde since I’d moved out and into the Earthhom warehouse complex where I now lived and worked at Lofty Aspirations as a full-time painter. My dream to be an artist for a living had come true, and though I adored the fact I now had a place of my own, surrounded by other creators who inspired me and encouraged me, the move hadn’t happened without trepidation and anxiety.

I loved my family, didn’t really want to leave them, per se, despite my desire to make my own way. They always made me welcome, never once suggested I, fourth female of the traditional triunity that never in the history of the Monday family went past the three necessary to fill the roles assigned our bloodline, didn’t fit in. While I knew ultimately, I didn’t. That didn’t mean I wasn’t missing my acts-younger-than-her-age sister, Selene, with her gorgeous blonde hair and perfect figure, mistress of the Maiden persona and bubbly optimist extraordinaire who never judged and adored me like no other sister could have. Or my gorgeous, dark-haired and blue-eyed Mom, she of the voluptuousness that was the Mother, with her talent for baking and mixing potions like a boss. And, of course, my incredible, snarky and biting grandmother, Isolde, the Crone a perfect fit for her in every way, the celebrated creator of the most sought-after besoms in North America as cutting as she was clever, who loved me unconditionally.

At least, so I thought. I sighed as I lowered my hand, chin dropping, wondering if this was a terrible idea. I’d initially believed Isolde (do not call me Granny or any derivative thereof) was merely busy when she’d failed to answer my messages or respond when I tried to contact her, though, I suppose, I really was deceiving myself initially.

No longer. Her lengthy silence, now achingly cold and distant and impossible to ignore, had begun when I’d told the threesome I loved I was moving and hadn’t budged an inch since.

Of course, I missed her, missed all of them. But Isolde most of all. I hadn’t realized until that morning when I’d woken from an odd dream, she the focus of it standing far away on a wind-swept hill and unreachable despite my desperate attempts to get to her, just how much it ached to be without her constant teasing and steady presence. Which led me to the brownstone that housed both my family’s apothecary, The Heathenry, as well as the living quarters, to the top floor that my grandmother had overtaken completely as her own, to stand here, shaking a little, heart hurting, as I pondered the silence between us.

Inhaled finally, sighed it out slowly. And knocked with my knuckles, ignoring the dancing man.

Tried to. My skin never touched wood. From one instant in that dark and quiet door at the top of the stairs to the next on the street outside the house, I felt my breath whoosh from my lungs as my grandmother—it had to have been Isolde, who else?—rejected me in the most complete and final way possible.

I stared up at the top floor from the sidewalk, tears welling, throat tight, chest aching as my hand fell with a thud against the thigh of my jeans before I hugged my denim jacket around me, a faint wind rising, cool despite the fact it was only late summer.

When I released myself, I dashed angrily at the tears trickling down my cheeks and, jaw set, tried to take a step toward the door to The Heathenry.

Only to feel myself gently stopped with power I knew as well as my own breath, this time from my mother’s soft touch.

Sweetie, Mom sent. Mother’s a little… just give her some space, all right? I’m sorry, darling. I could see glimpses of her in the massive remodeled kitchen she’d had installed in the old building, dozens of pots and pans and trays of sweets dancing around her as the magic of the triunity she commanded did her bidding. We love you, Phoebe. It’s been an adjustment, that’s all. Did you want to come in for a hug? I could feel her tension as the power swelled while she worked.

It’s okay, Mom, I sent back, retreating a step, physically as much as emotionally, shutting her off from my hurt. I know you’re busy. I’d felt it the moment I’d arrived and bypassed visiting her on purpose because of it. And because I really wanted to see Isolde.

You know you’re always welcome here, Mom sent, pausing, just what I hadn’t wanted to cause. She never failed to amaze me or make me the priority even when she had her own work to do, and I kicked myself for interfering. I hated taking advantage of the fact Mom would do anything for me, to her own detriment. I was a grown woman, for the element’s sake. I could take care of myself. This is your home, sweetie. It always will be.

Thanks, Mom. More tears, but I masked them from her, grateful Selene was out. My sister would have been all over me and this situation if she’d been home so at least my luck was with me for once without me having to do anything about it.

Small miracles, right? As I turned away, I had to admit my luck had been much better the last few weeks, especially since I’d figured out how to trigger it without actually hurting anyone. And some experimentation proved I could avoid the bad luck I’d usually been the brunt of when I helped others, at least to a point. So, things in my own magic department were looking up a little, something that came from me having to fend for myself. I just wished Isolde would hear me out.

Another time, I guess. But I knew my grandmother and grudges—didn’t she keep a homunculus of my grandfather in a small, golden cage? Yes, yes, she did—so I wasn’t holding my breath.

I left then, head down, hands in my pockets, almost missing the fact I’d spoken up about my luck too soon. Because, as I paused on the corner, contemplating the bus or splurging for a cab, I caught sight of a familiar car cruising toward me, though as it paused, windows rolled down, it wasn’t me the driver targeted.

To my shock, it was Selene who Jericho Richmond—and his nasty little girlfriend, Circe—chose to torment while I stood and gaped.

For about half a second, that was, and just out of shock. Anger kicked in, tied to the conversation I’d had—okay, the bullying confrontation, but that’s just semantics—with him a few weeks ago as well as the present emotional situation I’d just endured all binding together into a knot of rage that had me stomping my way to my sister’s side while she glared at the couple in the car with her own feelings showing.

I hadn’t heard what he’d said, what cruelty Circe spewed, but from Selene’s pink cheeks and sharp inhale, it hadn’t been a nice exchange. Which more than justified my intrusion, as far as I was concerned, not that Selene needed me to defend her. Except Jericho had been warned to stay away from my family, hadn’t he?

I didn’t even have to speak, his gaze flickering to me and the most satisfying flash of fear crossing his face I’d ever seen before his expression turned to flat frustration. He gunned the engine, almost colliding with another car as he pulled out into traffic without looking, the ensuing horn blaring and shouting from the other driver distracting.

Until Selene grabbed my arm and caught my attention, her usually bright and cheerfully happy expression one of serious depth that had me biting my bottom lip in concern.

Inside, she snapped, pushing me toward the door of the small coffee shop that sat on the corner across from The Heathenry. Now.

I’d never seen Selene like this before and, my heart already hurting thanks to Isolde and now dinged by her anger—aimed at me? But why?—I obeyed like I was fifteen again instead of twenty-five, as my sister marched me into the aromatic interior of Beano as if going to an interrogation.

From firing squad to fire? Just my luck.

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Chapter Two

By the time we had our two cups of preferred java in hand, Selene seemed to have settled down from her agitated anger, though that lingering seriousness remained as she perched next to me on the stool at the window, her long legs elongated by her skinny jeans, tiny waist accentuated by the tight t-shirt she wore under a hip-length pink overcoat. Always stylish, her blonde locks in a casual pony over one shoulder, she tapped her long, pink nails—manicure fresh, of course—on the paper cup, one pink high heel tapping on the floor as she fixed me in place with a purposeful stare, full lips pursed.

Why, she said, lovely voice low and humming with the power of the Maiden, has Jericho Richmond been a pain in my ass the last few weeks and why, she leaned in, one of those fingernails poking me in the collarbone, is he afraid of my little sister?

I had held off telling anyone in my family what I suspected (come on, Phoebe, what I knew) about Jericho because I didn’t have the kind of proof I needed to either take him