Urn Your Keep

  Urn Your Keep

  Book Two: Persephone Pringle Cozy Mysteries

  Kobo Edition

  © Patti Larsen 2021

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  Kobo 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, then 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

  I closed the filing cabinet drawer, turning to my therapy partner who observed from her patient place on the hardwood floor, staring up at me with those brilliant green eyes observing with her usual feline mix of judgment and adoration. While we’d only been our own little family for four months now, Belladonna’s presence felt as comfortable as if we’d known one another forever.

  Yes, I was talking about a cat. For whatever reason, this particular white floof with her pink nose and giant tail that covered her paws in a fluffy shroud while she stared with that intense emerald gaze had filled a hole in my life I didn’t even know existed until she adopted me.

  “Dinner, sweet girl?” She chirped in response, her vocal range really quite impressive, as was her penchant for assisting in my therapy sessions. As I followed her, Belladonna’s tail in a soft question mark, sashaying her elegant way through my office door to the hall, I still marveled at how the cat her previous owner said didn’t like anyone had become a constant companion for me and those who wished for her comfort during their time with us. From the very first day I’d had her home she’d made herself a part of my life as easily as if she’d been born here instead of a few hours away. Not to mention pawing her way into the office and jumping into assorted laps of various clients who instantly loved her and hugged her and used her as support while they unraveled their troubles.

  Who knew? Aside from one or two allergic individuals I had to lock her away from, Belladonna’s presence enhanced my own techniques in ways that felt as natural and right as the tools I used to help those who came to me for aid.

  Bringing her home had been the right choice and a happy ending to a sad beginning for her and a frustrating one for me. Never mind she saved my life not so long ago, either. Despite my years without a pet thanks to my ex-husband’s own reactions requiring tons of medication, I was now the proud human of the best kitty ever.

  We made a great team.

  I closed the door to the office area of the house, passing the front door to the kitchen, Belladonna’s practiced path to her food bowl as common now as my own.

  “Chicken or salmon tonight?” She meowed her answer, rubbing against my leg while I dished out a half can of lean pink fish for her to enjoy, bending to scratch her cheek. “You did wonderfully today, you know.” I had no illusions I was turning into a crazy cat lady, divorced at fifty and already with my starter kit waiting for her dinner at my feet. “Thank you for your help, my darling.” The moment the dish hit the floor I no longer existed, though she did glance up, purring as she ate, eyes blinking a dreamy blink before she dove back into her meal.

  I didn’t get a chance to make my own, the sound of voices following the opening and closing of the front door, my daughter, Calliope, and her best friend Thalia making themselves at home as much as Belladonna had. Not that I minded, a hug from both ending my day in the best way possible, keys supplied to my kid the day I moved in for just that reason.

  I might have moved across town from her father and our old house, but this would always be her home, too.

  “Mom, Thalia needs a favor.” My daughter’s round cheeks were already pink with emotion, her initial tell she was worked up about something impossible for her to hide. Not to mention the fact she’d skipped the usual how was your day preamble for a deep dive into the issue at hand.

  Well, I’d raised her, to be honest.

  “Anything, you know that.” I leaned against the counter with one hip. “Would you two like to discuss said favor over dinner?”

  The girls exchanged a look, the radical difference in the two doing nothing to eliminate the clear connection between them. Thalia’s tall, almost willowy body showed barely a curve despite her twenty-one years, near androgynous shape paired with the palest pin-straight blonde hair and blue eyes, porcelain skin really needing a little sunlight though I knew she burned at the drop of a hat. My daughter, for her part, inherited her father’s shorter, stouter figure, athletic as opposed to slim, brown curls as unruly as ever despite her attempts to tame them, hazel eyes large on her freckled face.

  “Thank you, Seph,” Thalia said in her light, quiet voice, smiling at me with enough sadness behind it I knew something big was up. “That would be lovely.”

  Callie seemed to hesitate before shrugging, slipping out of her denim jacket. “Dinner it is,” she said while sounding like impatience had a hold of her and wasn’t going to back down anytime soon.

  “How about I cook and you two talk,” I said. “What’s up?”

  Thalia hesitated, as if unable to say what she wanted to while Callie did her eyebrow raise, insistent face best to encourage her in silence.

  “Okay,” I said. “Do I need one drink or two for this talk?” I was joking, of course, though I’d refrained from my usual pre-dinner gin and cranberry, wanting my wits about me, the matching mournful expressions—Callie’s tinted with urgency—sparked me to jump in.

  “My grandfather passed away,” Thalia finally blurted, her thin, pale hands clasping together neatly on the counter. She’d been raised in the richest family in Wallace, old New England money, and spoke far more formally than most young women her age, always had, ever since she and Callie became friends as little girls. Polite to a fault and reserved, such a contrast to my rambunctious and talkative daughter, I was often reminded of the opposites attract stereotype they fit to a T.

  “I’m so sorry, Thalia.” I hugged her again, wishing I could tuck her under my chin like I used to when she was younger. She’d long outstripped my 5’3”, though the frail feel of her had never changed.

  She clung to me a moment like she used to, reminding me she might be a grown woman now, but the child in her still lingered. “He’s been sick for several months,” she said, letting me go, head down, pushing her long, blonde hair behind her ear, full lips pressed together as her eyes moistened with unshed tears. “I hadn’t seen him in a while, not since Mom and Dad.” She stopped before the obvious, leaving that hurt lingering along with the fresh loss. Thalia hesitated, met Callie’s eyes, the two linking in a shared moment I wasn’t a part of. The muses, these girls, that fact the reason they’d become friends at first, the bond that I watched grow over the years never faltering. I was positive it was Calliope’s support that kept Thalia together when Doncaster and Celia Vesterville were murdered three years ago, the gunman never caught. They’d raised her apart from the family, if you could call it that, their continual travels while Thalia was left to manage in their impressive house surrounded by nannies and servants a far cry from my idea of childrearing. Which naturally meant the shy and quiet child felt more like a daughter to me than just a friend of Calliope’s. Their deaths when she was eighteen meant she needed my kid—and me, it turned out—more than ever.

  “It’s still a loss, Lia,” I said. “Did you want to talk?” Bella had finished her dinner and hopped up on the counter, green eyes focused on the swaying young woman who hugged herself and shook her head, though when she noticed the cat staring she instantly reached out and lifted Belladonna into her arms, loud purring underscoring her words whe
n she answered.

  “No, it’s all right, thank you.” Again that look exchange with Calliope who finally exhaled an impatient little snort and spoke for her.

  “The reading of the will is tomorrow,” my daughter said. “Lia hasn’t had much to do with the family for ages, but the executor guy—”

  “Cousin Albert,” Thalia said softly into the cat’s fur.

  “Yeah, him,” Callie said, “insists she be there because there’s some kind of thing in the will that says she has to be present in order to receive her inheritance.” My daughter’s opinion of the entire issue didn’t need vocal articulation, the irritation and protective vibe practically pulsing from her spoke everything in a look and the tight line of her mouth. Not to mention I knew her well enough she didn’t need to tell me she was unhappy and resistant.

  “If Grandpa Reginald wanted me to be there, I should go.” Thalia’s hesitancy had me nodding.

  “They’re all jerks,” my daughter blurted. “Everyone knows it.”

  “Not all of them,” Thalia said in the quietest voice I almost missed it as I did my best not to sigh and chastise my daughter.

  “Callie,” I said. She scowled at me before backing down. “The Vesterville family deserves our condolences, not our judgments, right now.”

  She tossed her head, curls bouncing. “Whatever.” The instance she spoke, she winced, my immediate irritation at that word reminding me so much of her father I had to clench my teeth to keep from responding in a way that wouldn’t be helpful. Want to annoy me to no end? Tell me whatever. Just try it.

  Calliope, for her part, relented with a regretful expression. “Sorry, Mom,” she said. “I’m just, they’re so mean, I don’t want Lia…” She stuttered through a few thoughts then tossed her hands, glaring at her friend. “It’s not like you need the money.”

  Thalia kissed Belladonna on the forehead before setting her gently back on the counter. “I know,” she said. “And I won’t be alone. Uncle Gaines came home for it and he hasn’t been around for ages. Not since…” Her turn to end halfway through a thought. She met my eyes then, blue ones uncertain, anxious. Too much weight on those narrow shoulders, the poor dear. “Not since Mom and Dad’s funeral.” The fact she said it out loud gave me hope. “I’ll go,” she said, “but I was hoping…”

  “Mom,” Callie interrupted, “she can’t go alone. And I can’t go with her. It’s family only.” Which meant what? “But you could.”

  “I’m not family either, sweetheart,” I said.

  Thalia smiled then, a brilliant and bright light that crossed her face and found her eyes and lit her up in a way I didn’t see very often. Like someone flipped a switch and winter melted instantly in a lovely summer day through her.

  “You’ll always be family,” Thalia said. Okay, now I was going to cry. “But I know what you mean.” She took one more glance at my biological daughter then rushed into the real reason they were here. “I checked and I’m allowed representation. I don’t want a lawyer or anything.” Thalia’s sadness returned. “Callie suggested maybe you could come with me. As my counselor.”

  Oh, boy.

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  Chapter Two

  My initial instinct was to say no. Don’t judge me or jump to conclusions that lead you to believe I didn’t care or was intentionally cruel. Let me explain. From the moment they met, Thalia had always been the more vulnerable of the two girls. In fact, my daughter had gotten herself into trouble on the playground to that end, when a boy bullying Thalia found out what my daughter thought of such behavior, using her fist on his nose when words didn’t suffice. And while I didn’t condone violence, the contrast between the two had endured with Thalia looking to Calliope for strength, letting my daughter speak for both of them the majority of the time, struggling with her own self-confidence enough I worried about her and encouraged my own kid to back off at times so Thalia could find her voice.

  Not that it always helped, though as they got older, I think Calliope understood better why it was important. But the precedent was set and regardless of what was good for Thalia, they had established their own little hierarchy only the two of them understood completely.

  Which led me to the present and my thought process, not just as a mom, but a therapist (so often impossible to separate the two I stopped trying). This seemed to me an excellent opportunity for Thalia to do just that—establish boundaries inside the family she rejected out of old hurts and fears I knew just enough about to want her to find courage to deal with them once and for all. And while I understood completely her desire to have someone as backup in a difficult situation, how big of a disservice would I be doing her if I said yes?

  On the other hand, what new pain would I be sending her into if I said no?

  She must have seen the conflict on my face. Normally, my therapist expression remained calm and supportive, but this was Thalia, for goodness sakes. I was hardly subjective when it came to her. She was practically my kid as much as Calliope was, grew up in the house I’d shared with Trent all those years, the two girls the center of my life when he traveled for work more often than not. So, yes, it had to have been visible, this push/pull between wanting to protect her and wanting her to find her way to her own power.

  “It’s okay if you can’t or don’t want to, Seph.” Her expression hadn’t changed, the utter lack of disappointment hurting more than if she’d fought for me to join her. As though she expected a negative outcome which I knew had been embedded in her from the neglect of her parents, the past I’d done as much as I could over the years to heal while knowing there was only so much I could do regardless of my desire to help her. “It was just an idea. And like I said, Uncle Gaines has always been different from the others. He and Dad were close, as much as they could be with the two of them off traveling the world to avoid the family.” Is that what her parents told her?

  “The same Uncle Gaines who has a giant rep for spending way too much money, partying with Saudi princes and being kicked out of foreign countries for breaking the law?” Calliope wasn’t just laying that out for Thalia, but for me, doing everything she could to trigger me. When had she become such a master manipulator?

  Thalia stepped back a half pace, face set, mind made up. “I’ll be fine.” She smiled at Calliope, though I could see the trembling of her lower lip, the soft waver in her entire being as she nodded to both of us. “I’m going to head home. Thank you for the offer of dinner, but I’m not very hungry.”

  I almost went after her as she hurried out, guilt battling the therapist inside me who knew this was for the best. Even as my daughter glared at me with enough anger she made up for the punishing prodding I was enduring internally for saying no when my entire being wanted to say yes.

  Sometimes being a responsible adult who only wanted the best for the people in her life really sucked.

  “You have no idea how horrible they are,” Calliope said, blinking her own tears, accusation in her voice, in the tension of her body, lashing out from fear for her friend while I nodded, staying quiet and letting her vent. “She cries just thinking about being around them, Mom. How can you let her go into that alone?”

  I inhaled a long, slow breath, let it out at the same tempo. “Callie,” I started.

  “No, Mom.” My daughter slapped one hand down on the counter, making Belladonna squeak and jump down out of her way, anger humming between us. “I know what you’re going to say, that this is some life lesson, that she’s twenty-one and a grown woman and all that stupid therapy bla bla bla.” I did my best not to be offended because she was upset, let it go while she ranted on. “She needs you, Mom. Lia really needs you. I can’t believe you right now.” Before I could say a word, Calliope grabbed her jacket and spun, stomping to the door and slamming it behind her while I practiced my deep breathing a couple more times just to keep from swearing out loud.

  In my head? Yeah, that was impossible.

  It wasn’t until I opened the cabinet do
or and realized I was out of gin I found myself scowling despite the calming method and might have let a bad word slip. Glanced at Belladonna who paused in her face cleaning to eye me like she disapproved.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Be right back.” And headed for the door, keys and wallet in hand, sliding into my black leather jacket and then my SUV because tonight was going to require at least one drink while I figured out how best to support both of my girls.

  Thing was, I had one hundred percent faith in Thalia. She might not have considered herself strong, but I knew better. After being raised like an afterthought and still turning out as a brilliant and caring young woman, not to mention the fortitude she showed when her parents were murdered, I had no doubt she’d be even stronger for facing down her family. But I couldn’t help second-guessing myself, Momma Bear protectiveness roaring and then grumbling and then bellowing again in that short five-minute drive to the store demanding I get off my therapist high horse, forget the life lesson and stand between her and any kind of danger so she’d never have to deal with anything that made her feel vulnerable or unsafe ever.

  I parked outside the market, mind in turmoil, tucking my keys into the pocket of my black dress pants, still in my work clothes though I knew the cropped motorcycle jacket I wore made me look like a middle-aged woman trying too hard and not caring even a little bit. Paused as I noticed two women standing half a block away outside the only expensive clothing boutique in Wallace, taking in the antagonism of their encounter physically if not audibly, their voices low enough I missed what they were saying, coming through loud and clear despite their attempt to keep the contents from the outside world. If the tall, skinny woman with the excessively dyed blonde hair and equally excessive makeup for a late Friday afternoon in a small town in Maine tried to hold back her sheer vitriol any longer, she’d probably have an aneurism. As for the exceedingly pregnant young woman half her age draped in enough fur and silk and diamonds for a 50s gala if a bit much for an early November afternoon, her baby was going to demand to be born that instant just to escape the vibrating distaste and borderline hate she veneered with just enough disdain to make it acceptable in public.