by Beth Byers
With Lucian watching her, though, she wanted to tell him how sorry she was for what they faced ahead with his brother. She wanted to tell him that it would be all right. She wanted to tell him that his brother would do well, that he just needed help. But she didn’t believe it.
A moment later, however, she spoke to him. “Things were dark with my sister.”
He nodded.
They both glanced at Circe, who was humming softly to the little girls.
“They look better now.”
He nodded again. His eyes were tight and his jaw was flexing.
“It could be the same for you and Dominic. Family matters.” Ariadne took her place with her sisters and glanced back to him. “You matter. You, your sister, your parents. Family matters. Help him remember that. It will go a long way to helping him.”
“Family matters,” he repeated, his expression guarded, and he shut the door of the black cab, tapping the top of the auto.
Ariadne watched him as they drove away.
“Are we going home?” Circe coughed.
“We’re going to Wode House here in London,” Echo told Circe. They were holding hands with Cassiopeia’s small hand between them.
Circe rubbed Medea’s back then held out her hand to Ariadne. They finished the circle of sisters as they grasped each other’s hands tightly.
“That’s what I meant. Home.”
The End
Hullo friends! Once again, it’s my chance to tell you how much I appreciate you reading my books and giving me a chance. If you wouldn’t mind, we would be so grateful for a review.
The sequel to this book is available for preorder now. It will be a shorter Christmas novel written for the sheer joy of the holiday, witches, and fun.
December 1922
It's the first holiday away from home for the Wode sisters, and they're all homesick. All too soon, they realize they aren't the only ones who are restless.
It's time to discover why the dead are antsy, and what they’re going to do about it. Will Hester, Evanora, and Circe discover what is wrong? And will they be able to somehow solve the problem and fix their holiday spirits? Or, will they give up and go home?
Join the Wode as they rise up and embrace just who and what they are in this newest holiday historical mystery adventure.
Order your copy here.
The next Poison Ink Mystery is also available now for preorder.
September 1937
Georgette Dorothy Aaron is expecting a bundle of joy, focusing on updating her house, writing books, and enjoying her family. What she's not doing is meddling. She's not sticking her nose in other people's business. She's not writing books about her neighbors. She's determined to turn over a new leaf and slide right back into the safety of being a wallflower.
Georgette, however, gets stuck on her book, sick of the smell of drying paint, and decides to take a ramble. When she stops to check herself in the mirror, she doesn't expect to see someone else in the reflection. Nor does she expect what happens next.
Order your copy here.
Have you seen my 1920s series about two best friends? This series was written by one of my best friends and I. If you’d like to check it out, keep on flipping for the first chapter.
July 1922
If there's one thing to draw you together, it's shared misery.
Hettie and Ro married manipulative, lying, money-grubbing pigs. Therefore, they were instant friends. When those philandering dirtbags died, they found themselves the subjects of a murder investigation. Did they kill their husbands? No. Did they joke about it? Maybe. Do they need to find the killer before the crime is pinned on them? They do!
Join Hettie and Ro and their growing friendship as they delve into their own lives to find a killer, a best friend, and perhaps a brighter new outlook.
Order yours here.
Also By Beth Byers
The Violet Carlyle Cozy Historical Mysteries
Murder & The Heir
Murder at Kennington House
Murder at the Folly
A Merry Little Murder
New Year’s Madness: A Short Story Anthology
Valentine’s Madness: A Short Story Anthology
Murder Among the Roses
Murder in the Shallows
Gin & Murder
Obsidian Murder
Murder at the Ladies Club
Weddings Vows & Murder
A Jazzy Little Murder
Murder by Chocolate
Candlelit Madness: A Short Story Anthology
A Friendly Little Murder
Murder by the Sea
Murder On All Hallows
Murder in the Shadows (coming soon)
A Jolly Little Murder (coming soon)
Hijinks & Mayhem (coming soon)
The Hettie & Ro Adventures
co-written with Bettie Jane
Candlelit Madness (prequel short story)
Philanderers Gone
Adventurer Gone (available for preorder)
Holiday Gone (available for preorder)
Aeronaut Gone (coming soon)
Prankster Gone (coming soon)
The Poison Ink Mysteries
Death by the Book
Death Witnessed
Death by Blackmail
Death Misconstrued
Deathly Ever After
Death in the Mirror
A Merry Little Death
The 2nd Chance Diner Mysteries
Spaghetti, Meatballs, & Murder
Cookies & Catastrophe
Poison & Pie
Double Mocha Murder
Cinnamon Rolls & Cyanide
Tea & Temptation
Donuts & Danger
Scones & Scandal
Lemonade & Loathing
Wedding Cake & Woe
Honeymoons & Honeydew
The Pumpkin Problem
Preview of Philanderer Gone
Chapter One
The house was one of those ancient stone artisan-crafted monstrosities that silently, if garishly, announced out and out buckets of bullion, ready money, the green, call it what you would, these folks were simply rolling in the good life. The windows were stained glass with roses and stars. The floor was wide-planked dark wood that was probably some Egyptian wood carried by camel and horse through deserts to the house.
Hettie hid a smirk when a very tall, beautiful, uniformed man slid through the crowd and leaned down, holding a tray of champagne and cocktails in front of her with a lascivious gaze. She wasn’t quite sure if he appreciated the irony of his status as human art for the party, or if he embraced it and the opportunity it gave him to romance bored wives.
She was, very much, a bored wife. Or, maybe disillusioned was the better word. She took yet another flute of champagne and curled into the chair, pulling up her legs, leaving her shoes behind.
The sight of her husband laughing uproariously with a drink in each hand made her want to skip over to him and toss her champagne into his face. He had been drinking and partying so heavily, he’d become yellowed. The dark circles under his eyes emphasized his utter depravity. Or, then again, perhaps that was the disillusionment once again. Which came first? The depravity or the dark circles?
“Fiendish brute,” Hettie muttered, lifting her glass to her own, personal animal. Her husband, Harvey, wrapped his arm around another bloke, laughing into his face so raucously the poor man must have felt as though he’d stepped into a summer rainstorm.
“Indeed,” a woman said and Hettie flinched, biting back a gasp to twist in the chair and see who had overheard her.
What a shocker! If Hettie had realized that anyone was around instead of a part of that drunken sea of flesh, she’d have insulted him non-verbally. It was quite satisfying to speak her feelings out loud. Heaven knew he deserved every ounce of criticism. She had nothing against dancing, jazz, cocktails, or adventure. She did, however, have quite a lot against Harvey.
He had discovered her in Quebec
City. Or rather he’d discovered she was an heiress and then pretended to discover her. He’d written her love letters and poems, praising her green eyes, her red hair, and her pale skin as though being nearly dead-girl white were something to be envied. He’d made her feel beautiful even though she tended towards the plump, and he’d seemed oblivious to the spots she’d been dealing with on her chin and jawline through all of those months.
A fraud in more ways than Hettie could count, he’d spent the subsequent months prostrating himself at her feet, romancing her, wearing down her defenses until she’d strapped on the old white dress and discovered she’d gotten a drunken, spoiled, rude, lying ball and chain.
“Do you hate him too?” Hettie asked, wondering if she were commiserating with one of her husband’s lovers. She would hardly be surprised.
“Oh so much so,” the woman said. Her gaze met Hettie’s and then she snorted. “Such a wart. Makes everything a misery. It’s a wonder that no one has clocked him over the back of the head yet.”
Hettie shocked herself with a laugh, totally unprepared to instantly adore one of her husband’s mistresses, but they seemed to share more than one thing in common. “If only!”
She lifted her glass in toast to the woman, who grinned and lifted her own back. “Cheers, darling.”
“So, are you one of his lovers?” the woman asked after they had drunk.
“Wife,” Hettie said and the woman’s gaze widened.
“Wife? I hardly think so.”
“Believe me,” Hettie replied. “I wish it wasn’t so.”
“As his wife,” the woman said with a frown, “I fear I must dispute your claim.”
Hettie’s gaze narrowed and she glanced back at Harvey. His blonde hair had been pomaded back, but some hijinks had caused the seal on the pomade to shift and it was flopping about in greasy lanks. He had a drink in front of him and the man he’d been molesting earlier had one as well. The two clanked their glasses together and guzzled the cocktails. Harvey leaned into the man and they both laughed raucously.
“Idiot,” the woman said. “Look at him gulping down a drink that anyone with taste would have sipped. The blonde one, he must be yours?”
Hettie nodded with disgust and grimaced. “Unfortunately, yes, the blond wart with the pomade gone wrong is my unfortunate ball and chain. So the other fool is yours?”
The woman laughed. “I suppose I sounded almost jealous. I wasn’t, you know. I’d have been happy if Leonard was yours.”
“Alas, my fate has been saddled with yon blonde horse, Harvey.”
They grinned at each other and then the other woman held out her hand. “Ro Lavender, so pleased to meet someone with my same ill-fate. Makes me feel less alone.”
Hettie looked at that fiend of hers, then held out her own hand. “Hettie Hughes. I thought Leonard’s last name was Ripley.”
“Oh, it is,” Ro said. “I try not to tie myself to his wagon unless it benefits me. At the bank, for instance.”
Ro was a breath of fresh air. Hettie decided nothing else would do except to keep her close. “Shall we be bosom friends?” Hettie asked.
“I just read that book,” Ro said. “Do you love it as well?”
“I’m Canadian,” Hettie replied, standing to twine her arm through Ro’s. “Of course I’ve read it. Anne, Green Gables, Diana, Gilbert, Marilla, and Prince Edward Island were fed to me with milk as a babe. Only those of us with a fiendish brute for a husband can truly understand the agony of another. How did you get caught?”
“Family pressure. We were raised together. Quite close friends over the holidays, but I never knew the real him until after.”
Hettie winced. “Love letters for me,” she said disgustedly. “You’d think modern women such as ourselves wouldn’t have been quite so…”
“Stupid,” Ro replied, tucking her bobbed hair behind her ear.
The laughter from the crowd around the table became too much to hear anything and Hettie raised her voice to ask, “Why are we here? Shall we escape into the nighttime?”
“Let’s go to Prince Edward Island,” Ro joked. “Is it magical there? I’ve always wanted to go.”
“I’ve never been,” Hettie admitted, “but I have a sudden desperate need. Let’s flee. You know they won’t miss us until their fathers insist they arrive with their respectable wives on their arms.”
“Or,” Ro joked, “I could murder yours and you could murder mine, and we could create our freedom. If our families want respectable, I would definitely respect a woman that could rid herself of these monsters.”
“That sounds lovely. Until we can plan our permanent freedom, I suppose our best option is simply to disappear into the night.”
Ro lifted her glass in salute and sipped.
Hettie set aside her champagne flute, slipped on her shoes, and then turned to face her husband, who had pulled Mrs. Stone, the obvious trollop, into his lap and was kissing her extravagantly. Hettie scrunched up her nose and gagged a little. Mrs. Stone had been in Nathan Brighton’s lap last week.
“She slept with Leonard too,” Ro informed Hettie with an even tone.
Hettie reveled in the camaraderie she found in Ro’s resigned tone. “Have you met Mr. Stone?”
Ro nodded. “He doesn’t realize. He’s not the type of man to be cuckolded like this. So…overtly. Have you heard of the marriage act they’ve proposed?”
Hettie nodded with little doubt that her eyes had brightened like that of a child at Christmas. “I will be there on the very first day. If Harvey had any idea, any at all, he’d be rolling over in his future grave. The money’s mine, you know? My aunt never liked Harvey and she tied up my money tightly. He gets what he wants because it’s easier to give it to him than listen to him whine, but he won’t get a half-penny from me the day I can file divorce papers. They say it’s going to go through.”
“I couldn’t care less about the money,” Ro replied. “Though my money is coming from a still-living aunt. Leonard has enough, I suppose, but his eye is definitely on Aunt Bette’s fortune.”
“So,” Hettie joked, “he needs to go before she does.”
Ro choked on a laugh and cough-laughed so hard she was wiping away tears.
“Darling!” Harvey hollered across the room. “We’re going down to Leonard’s yacht. You can get yourself home, can’t you?”
Hettie closed her eyes for a moment before answering. “Of course I can. Don’t fall in.” She crossed her fingers so only Ro could see. Ro’s laugh made Hettie grin at Harvey. He gave her a bit of a confused look. Certainly he had shouted his exit with the hope she wouldn’t scold him. Foolish man! She’d welcome him moving into Mrs. Stone’s bed permanently and leaving his wife behind.
The handsome servant from earlier picked up Hettie’s abandoned glass and shot her a telling, not quite disapproving look.
“Oh ho,” Hettie said, making sure the man heard her. “We’ve been overheard.”
“We’ve been eavesdropped,” Ro agreed. Then with a lifted brow to the human art serving champagne, she said, “Boy, our husbands are aware of our lack of love. There’s no chance for blackmail here.”
“Does your aunt feel the same?” he asked insinuatingly.
Hettie stiffened, but Ro simply laughed. “Do you think she hasn’t heard the tale of that lush Leonard? She’s written me stiff upper lip letters. Watch your step and your mouth or you’ll lose your position despite your pretty face. It doesn’t matter how you feel, only how you look. No one is paying you to think.”
The servant flushed and bowed deeply, shooting them both a furious expression before backing away silently.
“Cheeky lad,” Hettie muttered. “You scolded him furiously. Are you sure you weren’t letting out your rage on the poor fellow?”
“Cheeky yes,” Ro agreed. She placed a finger on her lip as she considered Hettie’s question and then agreed. “Too harsh as well. I suppose I would need to apologize if he didn’t threaten to blackmail me.”
; “But pretty,” they said nearly in unison, then laughed as the servant overhead them and gave them a combined sultry glance.
“No, no, boyo,” Ro told him. “Toddle off now, darling. We’ve had quite our fill of philandering, reckless men. You’ve missed your window.” Ro’s head cocked as she glanced Hettie over. “Shall we?”
“Shall we what, love?”
Ro grinned wickedly. “Shall we be bosom friends then? Soul sisters after one shared breath?”
“Let’s,” Hettie nodded. “As the man I thought was my soulmate was an utter disaster, I’ll take a soul sister as a replacement.”
They sent a servant to summon Hettie’s driver. “I was thinking of going to a bottle party later. At a bath house? That might distract us.”
Hettie cocked her head as she considered. “Harvey does expect me to go home.”
Ro lifted her brows and waited.
“So we must, of course, disillusion him as perfectly as he has me.”
“There we go! It’s only fair,” Ro cheered, shaking her hands over her head. “I have been considering a trip to the Paris fashion salons.”
“Yes,” Hettie immediately agreed, knowing it would enrage Harvey, who preferred her tucked away in case he wanted her. “We should linger in Paris or swing over to Spain.”
“Oooh, Spain!”
“Italy,” Hettie suggested, just to see if Ro would agree.