Estate of Despairs Read online

  Estate of Despairs

  Persephone Pringle Cozy Mysteries, Book 6

  Patti Larsen

  © 2021, Patti Larsen

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Proofreader: Jasmine Bryner

  Editor: Kirstin Lund

  Cover Designer: Psycat Covers

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Whiskered Mysteries

  PO Box 72

  Brighton, MI 48116

  Contents

  About this Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About the Author

  More Books Like This

  WHISKMYS (WĬSKʹMƏS)

  About this Book

  Despite the rumors about the location, Thalia and Calliope’s Halloween party at Vesterville House promises to be all fun and games. But when a known criminal and his posse crash the event, murder follows. Persephone must juggle her ex-husband’s new family—and their possible guilt—while Thalia’s continuing deterioration into despair has her wondering if the mansion is cursed after all…

  1

  “Trick or treat!” The adorable space alien held out his green bucket, the DIY mask with the giant eyes lopsided on his little face, full body suit rolled up at the wrists and ankles, clearly meant for someone bigger. Not that it mattered a little bit, mind you. I offered up my best cackle, the orange light bulb I’d installed over the entry reflecting on the excessive and glamorous makeup I’d used to enhance the elegant eyeliner and massive lashes (don’t forget a bucketload of sparkles and deep pink lips). I fluttered said lashes while dumping a handful of candy into his already half-full bucket. “Thank you!” He spun and ran back down the walk to the street, his mother waving at me as I waved back, barely closing the door to refill my stash when the doorbell rang again.

  I adjusted my giant, black witch’s hat in the hall mirror before opening the door with an enthusiastic, “Happy Halloween!” for my newest spooks. Two picture perfect princesses in their fluffy gowns and sparkling tiaras chimed in tandem.

  “Trick or treat!” More treats changed hands while their parents waited at the gate, friendly waves returned when the twins pranced their way to carry on their treasure hunt.

  Belladonna chirped from behind the closed kitchen door and I knew I’d suffer horribly for locking her away for the evening. Thing was, despite the cutesy unicorn costume I’d bought her, she not only refused to wear it, she hated her harness. Since she loved to escape and did so at the least convenient times, it was either trap her in the house or spend the night looking for her instead of handing out treats.

  “It’s almost 8PM,” I called out to her, tugging unceremoniously on my pink and black striped tights before smoothing the short, excessive crinoline skirt I’d added over them under the black velvet corset and short velvet cape. My time in the gym and strict no-carb eating had finally pushed me into the realm of feeling kind of hot and almost to my goal so I took a vain moment to admire myself—and my blonde bob wig—in the mirror with a faint giggle I couldn’t suppress.

  Honestly, I needed to grow up. But who wanted to when life was this fun?

  Two more rings and the night was over, Wallace’s town curfew sending the kids home to gorge on chocolate and pass out in a sugar coma while their parents secreted the rest away (or ate them themselves—hey, guilty once upon a time). I sadly turned out the light, shedding my hat as I opened the door to the house, Belladonna yowling her frustration at me in one long and clearly planned out yodel of her discontent.

  “Yes, please,” I said, striding past her in my witchy button up boots. “Sing me the song of your angst. I’m all ears.”

  She followed me into the kitchen, hopping up on the counter, continuing to mutter and crank until I opened her a can of tuna.

  “Funny how little it takes,” I said, slipping out of one of the mesh gloves I wore to stroke her fur, “and all’s forgiven.”

  She purred her happiness, though I was positive this was only a momentary truce. She’d find a way to make sure I understood the error of my ways and how terrible a human I was.

  I leaned into the counter, staring at the clock, a little sad Halloween was, for all intents and purposes, over for me. My efforts to recruit anyone to come with me to the dance party going on at the local hall were met with a chorus of denials from all corners, including, to my surprise, my mother and her husband, Ralph.

  Only because they had plans. “We’re off to Portland for the zombie walk,” Mom told me, giggling as she backhanded Ralph in the arm, her favorite gesture of endearment. “We learned that zombie dance, you know the one I mean?” Of course she had, the popular pop song about Halloween all the rage no matter how old it was. “Did you want to come, honey?”

  I’d turned her down, deciding maybe getting dressed up and going out was actually past its expiry date for me and I’d be much happier spending a quiet night with Belladonna.

  Right. Because it was only my favorite thing in the whole world to dress up, go out and dance at every opportunity. Add in the chance to be whoever I wanted for a night?

  “Oh well, sweet girl,” I said as Belladonna finished her tuna, still purring. “Silly to stand here dressed like this and feel sorry for myself.” I’d considered buying a ticket and going to the dance solo, except nothing was sadder than the one lone divorcee on the dancefloor surrounded by couples.

  Not a good reason to have a boyfriend or anything, but there were times in the last year I contemplated dating just so I’d have someone to go to events with.

  My phone buzzed, a text coming in. I checked it immediately, anything to distract me from the self-pity I seemed to have fallen into. Hey, Mom. Weird for Calliope to just send a short greeting like that. Hard not to feel hope in the shadow of my poor me moment since the girls were hosting a party themselves at Vesterville House. Only the perfect venue for such a party. While I wasn’t a fan of the towering pile of stone and icy coldness that was Thalia Vesterville’s ancestral home, at least it was good for something one night a year.

  Bring on the creep factor. Vesterville House had it in spades.

  Of course they’d invited me, sweet of them do to so. I’d turned them down, though, because sadder than a lone chick at a couple’s event? A cougar at a twentysomething’s party. Yeah, as much as it would have been a blast, (and it would) I couldn’t bring myself to hang out with kids half my age (and less), whether my daughter and her girlfriend asked me to come or not.

  I normally didn’t care what people thought of me but, come on. Yikes. I’d either come across as a desperate old lady looking for arm candy or a chaperone.

&nb
sp; Not in this lifetime, Persephone Pringle.

  Hi, sweetie, I sent. Need something for the party? So desperate, really. But no one could judge me for just picking up a few things for them and dropping them off and staying for one drink and maybe dancing a little… right?

  Pathetic.

  You know how you said if I thought it was time Lia needed help? Okay, yikes. That I wasn’t expecting. Thalia had been showing classic signs of depression for over two months now, and though I’d offered in the past to help (not directly, if she wanted to talk to someone else, even), Calliope and her need for privacy after a lifetime of being watched by her FBI agent father and therapy Mom’d by yours truly, put her foot down and pretty much cut both of us out of her decision making process. Which was totally fair, except, of course, that meant endless worry for Thalia and her state of mental health.

  Things had seemed to improve since they’d opted for a cross-country train ride in September before renting a car and driving back. Thalia even seemed almost back to herself and I’d thought this party meant she was continuing to feel better. I should have realized, though, since I saw her so rarely these days, that her issues wouldn’t be so readily resolved.

  I’d backed off, but was it the right choice? Apparently not. No guilt about it or anything.

  What do you need, Callie? I left that question hanging, held my breath, wished she’d hurry and reply as my anxiety decided to take control and set me pacing across the kitchen and back, my boots clicking on the tile floor.

  Can you come? The only way Calliope would ask was if something had happened, something that scared her or pushed her through her need to live her own life into panic.

  She only had to ask. On my way.

  2

  I was half expecting the influx of guests to have begun, forgetting that anyone under the age of thirty didn’t call 8ish PM party time. When did I get old again? While fifty (almost one) honestly felt like twenty-five, certain things just didn’t function the same. Like bedtime.

  Yup. Old. Get over it.

  The fact the youngsters (snort) disagreed with my internal clock meant hopefully I’d arrived in time to be of assistance, at least. My choice to leave Belladonna home still had me doubting, knowing how much Thalia loved her and took comfort from her presence. But with all those potential people doing the in and out thing, I knew the cat would take full advantage of the opportunity to skedaddle when the whim took her. Thalia’s staff had already proven unable to restrain the floof from having her own way and choosing one of the myriad exits from the giant mansion into the gardens beyond. Having to worry about Belladonna would take away from my real reason for being here. I wanted (and needed, quite frankly) to focus on the girls, not chasing that silly fluff creature across Vesterville Estate in the dark while swearing at her and wishing I’d left her home.

  Sorry, Bella.

  I parked off to the side, knowing the circular drive would be packed with cars over the next few hours, hoping to keep my SUV in the clear so I could make a getaway once things wound up. If they wound up. I’d grabbed my hat, if only to disguise the reason I was really there, because in balance between exposing Thalia was struggling with me looking like a cougar? You better believe I chose my second daughter.

  It wasn’t lost on me as I strode up the steps to the large double doors the party might be over before it even got started.

  Lloyd Mitchem answered almost immediately to the booming chime of the bell, the last strains of it echoing back to me through the doorway as he bowed his head in welcome. While he may have been Vesterville’s butler, he was also retired CIA, so I had no doubt he was capable of not just serving the girls but assuring they were safe and sound. Still, the sadness in his face when he ushered me inside wasn’t all that secret agent man. If anything, his emotional attachment to Thalia and Calliope seemed stronger than his old training.

  “This way, Ms. Pringle,” he said, hurrying me along toward the stairs. “I’m afraid they’ve been fighting for the last hour and things aren’t improving whatsoever.” Fighting? My girls? “Thank you so much for coming so quickly. I know Miss Calliope will be happy to see you.”

  “What are they fighting about?” I’d never once, not since they were little girls together, seen the pair of them argue over anything. Calliope’s boundless, sunny energy always seemed to counterbalance Thalia’s introverted quiet shyness to the point they just fit together perfectly. Which was why I was happy they’d finally come out as a couple. The idea they were fighting had my pulse racing, worry I’d stepped off a terrible mistake we’d all live to regret.

  “Miss Thalia has become increasingly volatile in the last two weeks,” Lloyd said, keeping his voice down, setting a pace that would have pushed the cardio of a man thirty years his junior. I know I was panting a little despite my gym time, blamed it on the high heeled boots, as he went on. “Since they returned from their trip, she has fallen deeper into her sorrow. Only it’s turned now into irritability and aggression.” He stopped suddenly at the top of the stairs to the third floor, facing me. “I don’t mean to speak ill of my mistress, but I’m very worried about her, Persephone.” That was the first time he’d ever used my first name. “I realize Miss Calliope would prefer you to stay out of it, but I think the time for that has come to an end. Something must be done or I fear we will lose Miss Thalia to the curse of the Vesterville’s, a real thing or only in her mind or not.”

  Nice of someone to finally be honest with me. Okay, so Calliope had opened up somewhat a couple of months ago, but since then she’d clammed up again, leaving me even more worried since I now knew for certain she was in trouble and any attempt to visit was policed by my own daughter. Not that Calliope wanted Thalia to suffer, I was certain, but her need for personal space was taking things too far. Thankfully I could finally take action and I couldn’t freaking wait. “I’ll do everything I can, Lloyd,” I said. “They’re in their room?” I knew where to go from here.

  He nodded, glancing that way, misery on his face. “If anyone can help her.” He turned back, squeezed my hand with his white gloved one. “Shall I turn the guests away as they arrive?”

  I didn’t want to make that choice for the girls, not without assessing the situation personally. “I’ll let you know,” I said. “Let them in for now, but be aware we might have to send them away if things go badly.”

  He immediately bowed again before turning and hurrying down the stairs, leaving me to catch my breath—mentally and physically—before I strode the length of the arching, dark-paneled corridor lined with judging and dubiously pretentious Vesterville portraits to the main suite doors.

  One thing about Lloyd, he wasn’t a kidder, straight shooting as they came. As if I required proof of his honesty, when I neared the entry I could hear them, if faintly, even through the heavy double portal to the main suite of the third floor. Oh, and not just a wee tad of noise, oh no. It was audibly a full-blown fight unfolding behind those doors. In fact, they were so dedicated to their yelling match, I was able to sweep through and into the front sitting room and past the doorway to the bedroom without either of them noticing I’d arrived. Hopefully to save the day, if not Thalia from further pain and my daughter from her ridiculous need to take matters into her own hands and refuse help.

  Yes, she got her stubbornness from me, so I could hardly blame her for her attitude. And yet, I wasn’t the one facing off with the love of my life, red in the face, arms waving, while said girlfriend did the same.

  I barely caught bits and pieces of the argument that had reached the point where it wailed at a decibel and pitch that hurt my ears and made it hard to understand. Clearly they’d been at it a while, so hopefully they were at the peak of the wave and were ready to come down. Still, despite their garbled and overlapping shrieking, there was sufficient wordage coming through for me to at least get the gist if not the full story behind the fight. “Stop mothering me!” from Thalia and “You’re impossible!” from Calliope seemed to be at the core of the w
hole thing. It was obvious they’d come to some kind of emotional cliff and were about to push one another over.

  It turned out, even with my desire to do so, there was no need to intervene, at least not with my own shout for attention. Because the moment I stopped and drew a breath to do just that, Thalia crumpled, collapsing into a chair next to the bed, while my daughter hurried forward, her round cheeks red from anger, worry replacing it so fast I knew it wasn’t real temper that had Calliope worked up, but fear.

  Thalia pushed her away, pale cheeks that translucent whiteness I’d noticed lately, cheeks hollow and big, blue eyes sunken. She’d dressed for the party in an old WWII uniform, one I knew belonged to Abigail Spelling, an old friend of her great-grandfather’s and the inspiration for her Uncle Graves. Not to mention the source of a family murder, but that was beside the point. While it was lovely she’d chosen to honor Abigail by wearing her uniform—the infamous spy she’d been would have been delighted, I was sure—it was far too close for comfort where the curse and the history of the Vestervilles was concerned. While it could have been a tribute, why did I get the feeling Thalia instead stepped into the dress of the past because of her terror the family’s curse was coming for her?

  3

  I joined them, sitting beside Thalia who looked up and blinked at me, expression rather dazed, taking a moment to recognize me, even. I held her hand while she finally came back all the way and hugged me with a low cry that sounded far too hurt for my liking.