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The Grasmere Cottage Mystery Trilogy
Dead in the Garden - Dead in the Pond - Dead in the Shop
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Motts Cold Case Mystery Series
Poisoned Primrose - Pierced Peony - Pickled Petunia
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London Podcast Mystery Series
Cosplay Killer - Ghost Light Killer
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Stand-alone Romances
After the Scrum - At War With A Broken Heart - Forged in Flood - Found You - One Last Heist - Pure Dumb Luck - Here Comes The Son - All Lathered Up - Not Even A Mouse - The Misguided Confession
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The Sin Bin (Complete Series)
The Wanderer - The Caretaker - The Royal Marine -
The Botanist - The Unexpected Santa
The Lion Tamer - Haka Ever After
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Pierced Peony
Dahlia Donovan
Tangled Tree Publishing
On a casual walk along the Cornish Coast, Pineapple “Motts” Mottley stumbles upon a body and a perilous new murder case in the second novel in the Motts Cold Case Mystery series.
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As spring rolls into summer, Motts settles into her cottage. She’s enjoying a daily stroll when a body in the sea destroys her peace and quiet. It brings yet another mystery for her to solve.
How does a woman who vanished from Polperro three years prior wind up battered by waves?
Motts is drawn into the investigation despite her best attempts. She finds a family in turmoil and loads of suspects. With no easy answers, she tumbles further into chaos and ever closer to danger.
Can Motts find the killer before she’s the one put on ice?
Will she survive a bone-chilling brush with death?
Contents
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
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Thanks
Also by Dahlia Donovan
Acknowledgments
About the Publisher
PIERCED PEONY © 2021 by DAHLIA DONOVAN
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
PIERCED PEONY is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
For information, contact the publisher, Tangled Tree Publishing.
www.tangledtreepublishing.com
Editing: Hot Tree Editing
Cover Designer: BookSmith Design
ISBN E-book: 978-1-922359-55-1
ISBN Paperback: - 978-1-922359-57-5
For my friends, who kept me going during a difficult year.
Chapter One
A cat, a turtle, and a stranger face off in the garden. The stranger blinks first. Right. The joke still needs some work.
“Do you always let your turtle and cat out in the garden together?”
“They’re friends. They like to gossip.” Motts set her trowel to one side and got to her feet. She dusted the grass and dirt off her knees. “They both need fresh air and sun in moderation. Are you lost?”
The man didn’t seem lost despite having popped up beside the back fence around her garden. He looked like a police officer. Though not quite as broad-shouldered, he stood as tall as Teo Herceg, the detective inspector she’d met in April and had been dating for over a month.
“I’m hoping to speak with Pineapple Mottley.” He sounded like a policeman. His suit, while nice, appeared rumpled from driving; his short grey hair, however, was gelled and styled perfectly. “I’m Detective Inspector Dempsey Byrne with the Metropolitan Police’s cold case unit.”
“Cold case?” Motts’s heart stuttered in her chest. She rubbed her fingers together nervously. “Jenny. You’re here about Jenny.”
Jenny Cleverly had been her lone best friend through her early childhood. Motts had stumbled across Jenny’s lifeless body on her way home from primary school while walking through a park, hidden behind a hedge. She still had nightmares about finding her.
The unsolved crime had haunted Motts. She’d developed an obsessive curiosity about cold cases as a result. And at least once a year, she searched online to see if anyone had been arrested for Jenny’s murder.
“Ms Mottley?”
“Motts.” She had a sudden sense of déjà vu; she’d had a similar conversation with Teo in April. He’d been investigating the murder of a Rhona Walters, who’d been buried in the garden behind her cottage. It had been an auspicious start to her life in Polperro. “Cactus.”
Her beloved Sphynx cat had leapt onto the fence and then over to the detective’s shoulder. Detective Inspector Byrne didn’t bat an eyelid. He simply reached up to pat Cactus on his head.
Well, he certainly approves of the random strange man intruding on our afternoon.
Intruding inspector intrudes introspectively.
Introspectively?
Not my best alliteration.
“I don’t often see a flowerless garden.” He glanced slowly around at her rows of fruits and herbs. “None at all?”
“My allergies try to drown me if I’m around them for too long.” Motts kept flowers far away from her cottage. Real ones, in any case. She made and sold origami and quilled floral arrangements as part of her small business, Hollyhock Folded Blooms. “Why don’t you come in for tea? Cold case curiosities can converse comfortably.”
Don’t frighten the fancy London detective with your peculiarities.
The judgmental voice in her head sounded suspiciously like her mum, who meant well but couldn’t always relate to Motts’s more unique traits. She didn’t understand her wayward autistic and asexual daughter. Motts had given up trying to fit into neurotypical moulds.
I am who I am.
Alliterations and all.
Oh, fun accidental alliterations are the best.
“I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Motts stared blankly at the man, unable to decide if he was being polite or not. “You drove from London. At least a five-hour drive on a good day. Tea isn’t imposing. Sleeping in my garden and trampling the herbs would be.”
Lifting Moss, her box turtle, up from where she’d been wandering around the garden, Motts headed toward the back door. She had no doubts Cactus would guide the detective inspector. Her cat had obviously claimed the man.
Why is my cat obsessed with brooding police types?
Is he trying to tell me something?
Do detectives smell like catnip?
Motts placed Moss into the terrarium, which took up most of the space in front of
the large window facing the garden. It offered her turtle sufficient sunlight. “How do you take your tea?”
“In a mug.”
Motts stared blankly at him. She barely managed to decipher when her friends were teasing her, never mind a stone-faced detective. “I mostly use mugs. Teacups are too delicate.”
“Just a dash of milk,” he said kindly.
Motts grabbed the green beanie that River, her younger cousin, had bought for her a few weeks ago. It had become a fast favourite, her preferred colour and soft enough it didn’t bother her fingers. She pulled the hat over her head to keep her shoulder-length brown hair out of her eyes. “You were joking.”
Her cousin had recently moved to Polperro from Looe, where he’d lived with his parents and next door to their grandparents, into a flat with his boyfriend, Nish, one of Motts’s best friends and the brother of her ex-girlfriend. They all hung out several times a week. She’d appreciated their support over the past few months.
The change from the hustle and bustle of London into a quiet cottage above the village had been a relief.
But still strange.
“I know. I don’t seem the type.” He took her confusion in stride, which she appreciated. “Does your cat usually wear a T-shirt in the summer?”
“And a cardigan in winter.” Motts finished doling out snacks for both of her pets. She set Cactus’s treat by the terrarium. The two loved to eat their afternoon snacks together. “He’s delicate when it comes to sunlight and temperature.”
He followed her into the kitchen, stepping back when she frowned at him. “You keep checking your watch. Am I holding you up?”
“I usually walk down to the village before tea.” Motts kept to her routine religiously. It helped ease her anxiety.
“A walk through the village is a little public for what I’d like to ask you.” Detective Inspector Byrne peered through the living room toward the window and out into the garden. “Doesn’t the coastal path run along the side of your property? Why don’t we hike for a bit?”
Motts’s breath caught sharply in her throat. She hadn’t dared stray too far down the path running alongside her fence. “I’m not sure if police gossip like villagers. A few months ago, I had a run-in with a murderer. They cornered me down by the lighthouse, and I almost tumbled off the cliff into the sea. I haven’t managed to force myself out that way ever since.”
“Fear’s only going to amplify the longer you let it fester.” He leaned against the side of her little kitchen table. “Three years ago, I chased a suspect on foot across a busy street. A car sent me flying. It took me well over twelve months to recover fully from all of my injuries. And even longer to escape the fear of being struck again. I flinched at car horns and screeching tires for the longest time.”
“Face the fear?”
“Again and again through gritted teeth until you beat the bastard.” Detective Inspector Byrne offered a gentle smile that reminded her of her uncle Tom in how much it put her at ease. “I’m an officer of the law. Why don’t I walk you down the garden path?”
“You read a lot of fiction, don’t you?” Motts gripped the kitchen counter, staring down at the box of tea she’d pulled out of the cupboard. “You sound like you swallowed an entire collection of literature.”
He barked out a surprised laugh, shaking his head. “Your dad warned me to expect the unexpected with you.”
“Did he?” Motts waved him off when he went to reply. “Right. If I stand here much longer, I’ll throw off my routine. Let’s walk. It’s a mild enough summer day.”
And if I don’t move, I’ll never get myself out of the cottage and down the path.
“You might want to exhale,” he commented when they reached the garden gate.
Motts had held her breath while locking up the cottage and engaging the security system Teo had installed for her. She forced herself to breathe in deeply, enjoying the mild breeze coming off the sea. It smelled like heaven to her. “I did.”
A few steps away from her garden gate, Motts considered the wisdom in going for a walk with a stranger. He hadn’t even shown her any form of identification. She watched him out of the corner of her eye in silence for a few minutes.
“How do I know you’re actually a detective?”
He reached into his pocket and retrieved his wallet, flipping it open to show his identification. “Maybe ask before you wander away from the safety of your cottage?”
Motts shoved her hands into her hoodie. She’d grabbed her favourite on the way out of the cottage; even in the summer, the breeze off the sea could get chilly. “Tell me about Jenny’s case.”
Anything to distract me from the irrational fear gnawing at my belly.
Is it irrational when I did almost plunge to my death?
“Our cold case unit was given twelve specific cases to focus on for the year. Hers was assigned to me. I’ve read up on the file. We’ve sent her clothing out to the lab. Forensics has come a long way since they were last tested.” He paused to wait for her to catch up with his long strides. “I hope to re-interview all of the potential witnesses and those close to Ms Cleverly.”
“My memory’s spotty on the day itself. I remember flashes. Jenny hadn’t been at school. I thought maybe her parents had kept her home. They sometimes did. We always walked through the park to get home. I remember seeing her coat. Bright blue. Under one of the bushes.” Motts wrapped her arms around herself. “I was the only person in the park as far as I know.”
“Did she have a boyfriend?”
“Boys were gross at that stage.”
“Any trouble with her parents?”
Motts rubbed her arms, trying to focus on the question and not the lighthouse in the distance. “Maybe? We never talked about it. I don’t always notice things other people might. We weren’t at her house very often. Her father scared me.”
The further down the path they went, the worse and yet also better Motts felt. She thought her heart might leap out of her chest when they reached the steps leading down to Spy House Point. It took all of her strength and courage to make her way down the stairs toward the safety railing.
A brisk summer breeze kicked up. Motts forced herself to peer down towards the waves crashing against the rocky shoreline. She glanced over at something being carried along by the sea.
What the… what is that?
“There’s a body.” Motts grabbed onto the railing when her knees buckled.
Detective Inspector Byrne rushed over to stand beside her and offered his arm for support. He stared down toward the rocky coastline. “What?”
“A body. There’s a body in the sea.”
Chapter Two
“I’m never walking the coastal path again. Ever. It’s cursed.” Motts huddled on the small bench at the top of the stairs, grumbling under her breath. She shivered despite the warm afternoon sun. “Oh yes, walking is brilliant for you. All the dead bodies are wonderful for my mental health.”
“Ms Mottley? Motts?”
“Inspector Ash.” She tried to muster a smile for him. “How’s your Marnie?”
Detective Inspector Perry Ash was one of the few police officers based in their little village. Life in Polperro was so different from being in London. His wife, Marnie, ran the local bridal shop; she’d become good friends with Motts and frequently sold her paper bouquets to her customers.
“Hughie’s going to help you home. It looks like you could use a warm cuppa, but don’t let him make it. He’ll burn your tongue off and put hairs on your chest.” He waved toward the tall teddy bear of a constable, who’d been one of the first people to greet her when she arrived in the village. “The fancy London detective can answer my questions for now.”
How does a cup of tea put hairs on your chest?
“Be nice. We can’t all be born in Cornwall. I might’ve been, but neither of my grandparents were. They settled here from Jamaica.” Hughie nudged the inspector with his elbow before offering his arm to Motts. “Don’t you l
isten to the inspector. I’m a dab hand at making the perfect pot of tea.”
“The wolves are going to descend.”
“Wolves?”
“Vina, Nish, River, and probably even Marnie.” Motts knew her friends and cousin had probably already heard about the excitement. News travelled faster than the wind in a little village. “Maybe you can protect me?”
“From Marnie Ash? I’d sooner take a header off the cliff. Terrifying woman.” Hughie grinned at her. “Nothing wrong with your friends circling around you. We’re a small village. We care about each other. They’re more like overexcited puppy dogs and not wolves.”
Motts shrugged a shoulder and kept her gaze focused on the well-trodden dirt trail. “They’ll hover—again.”
“Well, you did stumble on another body.”
“I didn’t exactly walk into the first one.” She didn’t consider digging up a body in a garden stumbling. “I hope this doesn’t become a trend.”
They made it back to her cottage in no time at all. Hughie played sentry by the door while she got the kettle going. He staunchly refused tea but did sneak a few biscuits from the tin.
No amount of tea or lemon curd on toast could erase the vision of the body in the sea. Motts curled up on her sofa with Cactus, a blanket, and a second cup. Hughie left her alone to head into the village.
I wonder how long it’ll be before the reinforcements he’s going to summon arrive.
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