Better Bones and Gardens Read online

  Better Bones and Gardens

  Book Four: Persephone Pringle Cozy Mysteries

  Kobo Edition

  © Patti Larsen 2021

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  Kobo Edition, License Notes

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  Chapter One

  I’d be the first to tell you the interior of Vesterville House was about as creepy as they came, the massive, old mansion more an Americanized castle with its dark stained wooden interior and endless dim corridors lined with staring and judging ancestors who I always felt wanted me to leave and never come back.

  No matter how many times I visited, things never improved. Which made me wonder why my daughter, Calliope, loved it there. Of course, the fact her girlfriend owned the place and choosing to call Vesterville House home meant they could be together probably had a lot to do with it.

  Dunno. Love was powerful, but. If love called me to live there? Heck to the no. Not powerful enough under any circumstances in my opinion. I guess that meant my daughter was braver than me and she could have that victory.

  The grounds of the estate, on the other hand? A far and away cry from the stuffy, supernatural feel of the supposedly cursed estate house (Thalia Vesterville’s words, not mine). Dare I say, the surrounds reflected the finest and most appealing design and demeanor that nature had to offer. Refreshingly alluring, cultured parkland punctuated by winding pathways of patterned cobblestones led to delicate private scapes where one could sit and ponder the meaning of life while breathing in fresh air and the scent of exotic flowers, as though the entirety of mankind had vanished and only you remained. Peaceful, perfectly designed, from the labyrinth-like shrubbery pathways leading to the massive fountain with its towering goddess muse the mistress of this place was named after, to the wide open, tiered lawn taking up the full expanse of the back of the estate to a manicured woodland a fairy court could happily call home, everything about Vesterville’s gorgeous landscape took my breath away.

  All in no small part to the care and attention taken by the owner of the whole kit and kaboodle. My daughter’s girlfriend and the sole heir to the family fortune (thanks to her grandfather and some untimely deaths) might not have chosen the path she was on or the weight that was bearing the full mantel of the family name and fortune, but she took advantage of the sweeping estate’s luscious landscape, her degree in botany a visible passion I wished Calliope would find a match to.

  Though, as parked in the lovely lot created for visitors, a lot that hadn’t existed a mere week ago, I reminded myself my daughter had found a match if one of love rather than career so far. That only added to the sense of calm and optimism as I exited my SUV and headed for the main showcase area.

  Wouldn’t you know, my girls decided to put on their very own flower show and horticultural fair, a grand event I’d at first worried might be a bit more than the two could handle, only to be proved wrong (of course I was, and happily) by the unfolding last-minute details I strolled past and through in the July afternoon sunshine.

  My fight with Calliope back in April had never really been resolved, something that lingered like an ache I couldn’t treat, that I did my best to stuff down despite knowing it only festered instead of healed. It was up to her to come to me, I knew. I couldn’t address it directly, not without Calliope’s permission, and she’d never given it. If I’d learned anything from her pushback, over her quitting school and so much more, it was that my daughter needed the space to find her own way and despite everything I tried to do (and not do to be a good Mom) wasn’t helping.

  I caught a short, hurt sigh and smothered it, my sandals stumbling over the edge of the parking lot’s barrier of mulch and flowers, distracted thoughts doing nothing to help my situation. Too often I found myself returning to the hole inside, worrying against it like a sore tooth, fighting the need to confront her instead of letting her have what she needed to resolve it on her own.

  Tough call, even for me. I only wanted what was best for my kid, but it turned out we had differing opinions on how I could deliver support. Still hurt deeply my therapist side came through more than the mom I wanted to be for her, and I felt my throat thicken with emotion despite the lovely day and the event grounds I now entered.

  Calliope’s stubborn refusal to discuss any of it with her father, FBI Special Agent In Charge Trent Garret (since he was the only reason we knew she’d exited her business program early despite a full-ride scholarship) should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. The fact he’d been spying on her behind her back, just like always (something about being a profiler and in law enforcement paired to his over protectiveness made it impossible, it seemed, for him to give her the privacy she deserved) wasn’t helping their relationship any.

  Which only made me feel worse, ultimately. She’d made it very clear to me that my therapist Mom efforts weren’t all that welcome either and despite everything I’d thought I’d done to let her make her own choices, to give her the freedom to be herself and find her way while encouraging her in whatever it was she wanted to do (or thought I had), Calliope’s coming out as Thalia’s partner had, according to said partner, given my daughter the liberation she felt she never had to speak her mind against her father’s overbearing control and, sadly, my failed attempts to be the mother I thought she needed.

  I fought off the kick of sadness, waving to Lloyd Mitchem, the estate butler, who hurried by with a salute of his own, the normally house-bound head of estate management pale in the summer’s sunlight. It was all hands on deck if the dear older gentleman (forget he was a CIA agent once upon a time and could probably kill me with his bare hands if he wanted) was out of the house and hustling out here.

  Thalia’s excitement over the event she’d decided to host started only a month ago, gave both of my darling girls something to focus on, eased the tension between Calliope and myself, to my surprise and delight. Maybe it was direction she sought, not just making her own way. A route to follow, a goal to pursue. I was honestly amazed at how Thalia and Calliope, with the Vesterville’s head gardener, Sandra Lin, as the official organizer, had transformed the rather stately side lawn (when I say lawn, I mean field, you know that, right?) into a terraformed overflow of flowers bordering new pathways paved in multi-colored stones, a massive stage set up with the backdrop of the estate house framed perfectly behind it, a giant greenhouse towering next to it, two stories of faintly tinted glass shimmering in the heat, both ends open wide to the breeze that would hopefully keep guests from sweltering in the damp interior.

  I knew little about plants, to be honest, relying on my own hired gardener who came and pruned bushes, created flower beds, had his son run the giant lawn mower over my grass once a week. Not that I had a black thumb or anything or didn’t like flowers and green things. I just didn’t have the affinity for it. Thalia clearly did and I found myself smiling as I approached the merchant area, neatly set up tents in a small street of vendors offering landscaping, merchandise and information on everything to do with things that grew.

  I was happy I made it before the official opening tonight at 6PM, wanting a chance to get a look around before the general audience arrived. My offers to volunteer assistance had been firmly turned down and I backed off, relenting graciously when Calliope again put her foot down. She’d never know how much that hurt me because I’d never tell her, and while I would have loved to assist, giving her the space she wanted and clearly needed had to be my priority.

  Not that they needed me anyway. Sniff.

  Okay, enough with the self-pity, Persephone Pringle. Time to see what your girls made and tell them how awesome they were.

  Speak of the pair, I caught sight of them talking with Sandra, heads together, and approached with caution, though the moment Calliope looked up and saw me she beamed the kind of smile I remembered and adored and had to fight off a wave of tears that stung my eyes and tightened my throat. I hugged her instantly, her short, athletic body more her father than me neatly dressed in a white golf shirt with the Vesterville logo embroidered over the heart and dark blue dress pants, a clipboard getting in the way a moment before she flung her arms around me, pressing her curls against my cheek.

  “Mom,” she breathed in my ear, “how fun is this?”

  I laughed, grateful as always for her enthusiasm, kissing her before letting her go, hugging Thalia, shaking Sandra’s hand. The lovely woman who’d become Thalia’s right hand in the estate’s grooming smiled back, though I could sense the tension in her through her handshake.

  “Nice to see you, Persephone,” Sandra said, large, dark eyes that gorgeous almond shape I adored, her straight, black hair tucked into a neat ponytail, her own slim body dressed the same as Calliope, the uniform of her position making her look almost like a child, Asian heritage and delicate bone structure in full evidence. But there was nothing fragile about the way she turned to Thalia, hands on hips, nodding to Calliope.

  “You have your marching orders,” she said in a firm alto. “Let’s make this the most amazing show New England has seen in a decade.”

  Calliope saluted wi
th a giant grin, Thalia laughing herself, the pale, tall blonde mistress of the estate’s willowy appearance that underfed look of a high metabolism at twenty-two. Sandra headed off with a nod to me, Calliope in her wake, while Thalia lingered with me, holding my hand, her lovely white sundress dress covered in flowers, a fitting choice for the fabric considering. She retrieved a floppy hat from the grass and settled it over her pale hair, nose already red from the sun.

  “She’s loving it,” Thalia said to me, glowing with happiness. A far cry from the young woman who asked for my help not so long ago, her family’s fortune a giant weight on her shoulders. “Calliope’s been shadowing Sandra and the two of them are the reason this is going to be amazing.” She spread her arms, twirling a little, taking in what they had made. “Sandra was so worried when I asked her to create this event. She hasn’t done one in five years. But when the chance came up, I had to take it.”

  “It’s fabulous, Thalia,” I said. “I know you don’t need help, but if anything comes around, I’m here.”

  She stopped, face falling, staring at me with those pale, blue eyes, before hugging me tight, the brim of her hat brushing against my blonde pixie cut.

  “We’ll always need you,” she whispered. “Callie’s being ridiculous.” When she pulled away, her cheeks were pink, and it had nothing to do with the warmth of the day. Her gaze dropped before Thalia’s smile flashed back into place. “I have a few things to do,” she said. “Why don’t you go check out the pride of the event?” She pointed to the greenhouse. “When I’m done, I’ll come find you and give you a full tour.”

  I let her go, heart heavy despite my own smile as she left. Realizing I needed to mend whatever chasm remained between myself and my daughter. Because it was clear to me that Thalia’s lingering hurt over our conflict was like the canary in the coal mine of our relationship. While I knew Calliope didn’t want my therapist self, she was going to get her, and we were going to work together to fix what had been unwittingly broken if it killed us.

  Excellent attitude, right?

  Mind made up, I headed for the tall, glass building with hope growing alongside the gorgeous flowers.

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  Chapter Two

  You know those breathtaking moments when you stumble on something so utterly stunning and beautiful and overwhelming you can barely comprehend what it is you’re looking at? That was me the moment I passed through the entry of the greenhouse and had my first real look at the contents.

  The grounds, as I said, had been transformed into a wonderland of stunning detail, but this place took that to the next level and beyond. Maybe it was the initial inhale of deliciousness that had me gasping. Or perhaps the tiered displays, all packed with massive terracotta flowerpots, overflowing stations of three and four-level circular stands climbing toward the glass ceiling, bursting with color and life. The plethora of unusual scents and visuals took a long moment of oh wow to absorb, flowers I’d never seen before, depth of greens and golds and reds mixed with a rainbow of hues that had me stop, spiraling upward in kaleidoscopes of velvet petals and every shade of green. I’d been expecting something extraordinary, of course. But this whole vista stunned and almost overwhelmed via the delicious smells and mesmerizing designs that felt like an intentionally physical experience.

  It took me a long time (how long I had no idea, really) to move forward, the overall greenhouse influence fading a little as I looked up through the tinted glass to the sun overhead, drawing in breath after breath of that most delightful combination of fresh soil mixed with exotic and truly delightful aromas, the mix of which changed as I moved through and around the displays of flowers. Not only did the experience change visually, but physiologically, the moisture in the air giving way at times to soft breezes that eddied around me, all while the scents mixed and mingled and shifted so naturally, I found myself lifting my head and letting my nose lead me, my vision battling for supremacy and tugging me in every direction.

  I’d never been so engulfed by something before and felt a giggle building, letting myself fall deeper into the experience. Every area, it seemed, offered a different combination of sights and smells, depending on the dominance of the plants being featured and I was hard-pressed by the time I reached the other end of the greenhouse (wait, how did I get there?) to choose my favorite.

  Which meant I had to go back and start again, right? No argument from me.

  As I made my way back, I took in further details, more man-made than grown. Like the placards of embossed gold on cream backers that marked each one, naming the designer and grower. I took my time on the return walk, trying to remember who created what, but quickly shaking my head at the effort. Over twenty displays filled the giant space with just enough room to circle each of the towers of blossoms without brushing against the bobbing flowers and leaves, the choices made by the creators blending colors and scents almost like oil paintings only better. Because these works of art were in constant motion thanks to the wide-open end doors of the greenhouse, what would likely be overpowering humidity reduced to a tropical sensation that had me thinking I was on another world.

  Okay, enough of the gushing, but honestly. So incredible. I’d never seen or encountered or experienced anything so beautiful in my entire life and for the first time, I understood Thalia’s fascination with plants. Maybe I should take more interest in my own landscaping at some point, though for now, I was content to simply enjoy the contents of this stunning place and let the soothing stroll through what amounted to plant paradise engulf me.

  “Watch out!” I spun just in time, a large pot tipping sideways nearly clipping me. Instinct took over, both hands catching the lip of the heavy terracotta, a young woman scrambling toward me to help support the other side. Together we managed to right it, the plants inside swaying as it settled on the angle originally set. “I knew there was too much weight forward,” she muttered, digging into the soil around the plants before glancing at me with a faint frown and then realization and embarrassment took over. She whipped off one glove, sticking her hand out to me, round cheeks covered in freckles as was her nose, the light auburn of her wavy hair tucked under a ball cap, heavy ponytail swinging behind her over the shoulder of her dirty green golf shirt. “Sorry about that. Thanks for the help! Tansy Powers, Powers Flowers.” She wrinkled her nose, laughed. “I know, I know. I’ve heard all the jokes, but my grandmother loves it so Powers Flowers it is.”

  I laughed at her rapid-fire chatter. “I love it, too,” I said. “Your grandmother’s a smart cookie. Persephone Pringle.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She slipped her heavy leather glove back on, beat up enough I knew she had to be the real deal, her deft and concise movements as she reached into the tilted pot and adjusted the weight carrying on while she continued to speak in that fast, clipped accent that had to be from Boston. “I got here late. It’s been a mad rush to set up. I should have brought an assistant. I don’t know what I was thinking. There! That should balance it.” She stepped back, exhaling a large breath before flashing me a smile, wiping at her cheek with the back of one glove, leaving a streak of dirt behind. She reminded me so much of Calliope’s enthusiasm I laughed and didn’t mention the residue left behind. She bore it like a badge of honor anyway.

  “If you need help, I’m sure Sandra or Callie can get you some,” I said.

  Her hazel eyes widened, mouth falling into an O. “I’d never ask,” she said. “My fault. Besides, having someone like Sandra Lin digging in my pots?” She faked a shiver. “I’d be terrified she’d judge me the whole time instead of on Sunday.” She looked up at the plant taking up the top of the display, her expression shifting to nervous anxiety a moment.

  Which had me staring, too. The lovely thing was truly incredible, the gaping lips of the flowers displaying a rainbow-tinted twist from interior to exterior, something I’d never seen before. Mesmerizing really, how the spiraling combination of tones covered the full spectrum from the tight base and waving stamen flowing outward to a soft completion at the outer edge. Thick, green leaves hung heavy around them, reminding me again of a painting, a work of art carefully crafted by the hands of a master (or mistress, in this case) instead of a plant. “It’s stunning,” I said, unable to come up with more despite wanting to. I honestly didn’t know what else to say.