Persephone Cole and the Halloween Curse

by Heather Haven

  “They’re for you, actually.” He looked her up and down. “You look nice.”

  “Me?” Puzzled, she shrugged and took the flowers. “Thanks, Mr. Wainwright. I’ll send you your bill and, well…” She fought for something to say. “Have a nice life.” Brushing by him on the stairs, she took a step up to the stoop.

  He laid a hand on her arm as she swept by and tightened his grip. “Percy I hope you don’t mind if I call you that after all we’ve been through together.”

  “Depends.” She narrowed her eyes on his face, pausing with one leg on the next step.

  He smiled at her, teeth flashing in the sunlight. He gave her arm a gentle tug and clutching the flowers in one arm and the bag in the other, she stepped down to the same tread as his.

  One of the tenants in the building clamored up the steps with two small children wearing carefully-made costumes. The smaller girl was dressed as a witch, and the larger girl as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Percy pulled away from Wainwright to let them in between. Awkwardly, the producer also stepped aside, allowing the family to pass up the center of the steps and into the building.

  Percy took the opportunity to leave, as well. She bounded up the steps, pivoting around on the stoop. “I’ll see that Pop gets these flowers, Wainwright,” she said, with an air of finality.

  “Percy!” He called up to her, his voice plaintive on the one word.

  “What is it?” Her eyebrows furrowed again in puzzlement.

  “I…I need your help.” Dejected, he sat down on one of the lower steps, wringing his hands that lay in his lap.

  “I’m probably going to regret this,” she said, as she came down the steps and sat beside him, “but okay, shoot.” Percy set the bag and flowers by her side.

  “It’s my wife.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I think she’s seeing someone.” His body jerked around a little, as if the subject was too uncomfortable for him to talk about and sit still.

  “And,” Percy prompted.

  “And I want you to look into it.”

  “You mean like what? Follow her around? See if it’s true?” He nodded looking down at his feet.

  Percy blew out air, thinking. “I guess I could do that. I’m tied up in Brooklyn for the next day or so, but after that I could tail her, see what’s what.”

  Wainwright cheered up visibly. He threw his arm around Percy’s shoulder and drew her to him. She looked over at the arm pulling at her. She pulled away. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “I knew you’d help me out, Percy. She and I, well, we’ve drifted apart recently. Gone our separate ways. She never did understand me, even when we were getting along.”

  It was as if every red flag inside Percy’s head began to wave. “Uh-huh. Your wife doesn’t understand you.”

  “No.” He shook his head vigorously. “She never really did. Ours was not a good marriage. I’m lonely.” His brown eyes stared into her green eyes ones, searching for something. “You know how that is.”

  “I do.” Percy broke free and shot up to a standing position. “I think I’ll renege on that offer to tail your wife. Doesn’t sound like something Cole Investigations wants to do.”

  Wainwright also stood and grabbed hold of her near the elbow. Percy looked down at her arm and then up into the producer’s smiling face.

  “You want to let go?” Her voice was low, her tone careful. He lightened his touch on her arm.

  “I’ve been very impressed with how you handled this case, Percy.” Wainwright smiled at her again. “I’ve been impressed with you.”

  “Good. You can recommend us to your friends. We could use the business. If that’s all…” She turned to leave. Wainwright grabbed her arm again, this time not so gently.

  “You’ve got five seconds to stop doing that.” She faced him. “I don’t like it when people touch me uninvited.”

  Smiling in what he seemed to think was a winning way, he threw both arms around her.

  “Are you kidding me with this out here in the middle of the street?” Her eyes darted around her and back at him is disbelief.

  “Percy, sweetheart,” he cajoled, leaving his arms where they were. “You feel what’s going on between us, I know you do. It’s been there from the beginning. Let’s go somewhere where we can be alone.” Wainwright waggled an eyebrow. “There’s something about a tough gal that is surprisingly attractive.” He puckered up, attempting to give her a kiss.

  “You know, you’re right.” Percy gave him a big smile. “I am a tough gal.” She pulled away from him, swung her arm back, and hit him with her closed fist as hard as she could.

  Stunned, Wainwright stumbled backward, bounced off the railing then fell to the steps, blood spurting from of his nose.

  One on the old schnozzola, as Jimmy Durante would say. Aim perfect, follow-through impeccable. Uncle Gil would have been proud.

  “That felt good and was long overdue.” She opened and closed her hand. “I’m going to have swollen knuckles for a few days, but it was worth it.”

  Caught up in the drama, a sparse applause broke out from some of her neighbors, who had been either watching the proceedings or strolling by. The producer looked from them to Percy in shock.

  “Why you bitch,” Wainwright cried out, reaching inside a breast pocket for his handkerchief. “You can’t go around hitting people.” He pulled himself into a sitting position and held the hanky under his bleeding nose.

  “Sure I can. I just did.”

  “See if you get any money out of me now, Persephone Cole. You just see.” He screamed up at her, a nasty look on his face.

  “Listen, you,” she growled, stepping in between his sprawled out legs, and hauling him up by his shirt collar into a standing position. Nearby neighbors cheered randomly, as they looked on. This was better than the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

  “Don’t get me any madder than I already am. You made a forward pass, and you got intercepted by a right hook. Take it like a man.” She put her face closer to his. “And you are going to pay Cole Investigations exactly what you owe us or my good friend, Walter Winchell, is going to hear all about you running your scared ass down that catwalk while I, a lily-white lady, saved your bacon.” She took a deep breath and let the thought sink in. “Might be good publicity for Cole Investigations.”

  It was another one of her distortions of the truth. For one thing, it was unethical to betray client confidentiality, and she would never do that. But Wainwright, not having any ethics, might not know where ethics started or where they left off. Secondly, she met Walter Winchell only once, along with three hundred other people, when he was signing autographs in Herald Square.

  Okay, I only saw him once, but that information would be splitting hairs with a guy like Dexter Wainwright.

  Wainwright’s face told her the gamble paid off. He seemed to be nonplussed by the statement. His face blanched of any color left to it after getting his nose busted. The producer pulled free without saying anything, moved past her, and down the steps onto the sidewalk.

  “I’ll expect the check in the mail, no delays.” Percy watched him as he hurried down the sidewalk.

  Wainwright didn’t say anything but waved his hand holding the bloody handkerchief and nodded at the same time, acknowledging he’d heard her, but without a backward glance.

  She bent down, picking up the paper bag and bouquet from the steps. “Thanks for the flowers,” she called after him.

  Percy shook her head as she took the final steps up the stoop. The ground floor window opened wide and Mrs. Goldberg leaned her head out, wiping flour-covered hands on a red and white checked apron.

  “Persela, darling,” she said in her heavy Yiddish accent, pronouncing the word ‘darling’ like ‘dah-link’. “You are going to get into trouble one of these days if you keep going around with the slugging. Your brother, the lawyer, says it isn’t legal.”

  “Ordinarily, I would agree with him, Mrs. Goldberg. But every now and then, you go
tta do what you gotta do.”

  “And mazel tov. How is your father, darling?”

  “The doctors say he’s going to be fine.” Percy sniffed the air. “What’s that I smell baking? Your famous apple pie?”

  “There’s a slice waiting for you and your sweet Oliver, when it cools off. Only don’t tell your mother. The world is already at war.”

  Percy laughed. “Thanks. Can’t wait. Maybe we’ll stop by after I take Oliver trick or treating. Have a nice evening.” Percy opened the front door of the apartment building and stepped into the hallway.

  “If you say so, darling, if you say so.” She heard Mrs. Goldberg call after her then shut the window.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  “Hello in there!” Percy yelled as she opened the apartment door. “Anybody home?”

  The kitchen door swung open and the small boy who meant everything to Percy bounded forward. Percy set the package and flowers on the small, inept hall table that ever threatened to collapse, and bent down to grab the running boy, opening her arms wide.

  “Mommy, Mommy!” Oliver ran into her waiting arms. “You’re home!” He gave her a quick embrace then struggled free. “Look what grandmother made for me.” He spun around in his pirate’s costume. Black pants, torn in long strips at the hems, a white blousy shirt with puffy sleeves, and red cummerbund dressed him. His dark hair was covered by a red bandana. The look was completed by a plastic sword shoved in at the waistband.

  “Well, shiver me timbers. If it isn’t Long John Silvers.” Percy used her best Wallace Beery voice from Treasure Island.

  “You should see my eye patch,” Oliver exclaimed. “I can’t see out of it though.”

  Mother pushed the kitchen door open and ambled down the hall to her daughter and grandson still by the front door. Her hair was free again, white and wild, and except for the intelligent sparkle in her brown eyes and the smile on her face, she did look like a walking Dandelion. Percy stood to greet her mother.

  “Mother, thank you so much.”

  “Oh, stop it, Persephone.” Mother waved away her daughter’s gratitude. “If a grandmother can’t do something like this for her grandson, what good is it all?”

  Percy knelt down in front of her son, guilt overtaking her. “I’m sorry about the parrot, Oliver. With all I’ve been doing I just didn’t have time --”

  “Grandma made me a parrot,” Oliver interrupted.

  “She did?” Percy looked at her mother.

  “It was supposed to be a surprise for you.” Mother grinned. “I sewed it out of scraps and stuffed it with polyfoam.”

  “It looks really real.” Oliver thought about it for a moment then added, “From a distance.”

  “I’ll bet it does.” Percy pushed some of his bangs under the bandana. “Maybe I didn’t do anything for your Halloween costume but…” She stopped speaking and went to the large paper bag on the table. “I did manage to get our jack-‘o- lantern back.” She pulled the medium size carved pumpkin out of the bag and showed it to her mother and son.

  “Wow! Where did you find it, Mommy?” Oliver looked at his mother with open admiration.

  “Oh, it just wandered away for a moment. You know how Halloween can be full of witches’ trickery. Why don’t you put it back outside before we leave to go trick or treating?” She turned to Mother. “Did Father Patrick call?”

  “Yes. He said the three boys were there and all was well.”

  “But Mommy,” Oliver protested, the expression on his face troubled.

  “What is it, Oliver?” Percy turned back to her son and set the pumpkin back on the table.

  “I’m too big to go trick or treating with my mother. I was supposed to go with Freddy, remember? But him and his mom took the train to see his father today.”

  “He and his mom, Oliver,” Percy corrected, automatically.

  “They went to Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Or is it South Carolina?” Mother looked confused.

  “North.”

  “But it’s still in the south, right?” Mother smiled at her daughter and grandson.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Both Percy and Oliver answered simultaneously.

  Mother looked relieved. “Sylvia says they’re going to stay there until her husband’s release from the hospital, in about a week.”

  “Good.” She looked down at her son. “Well, maybe you’re too big to go trick or treating with your mother, young man.” Percy went into the bag again. “But how about going with a witch?” She pulled out the nose, chin, gown, and hat she wore in Macbeth. She shook them out then held them up for her son to see.

  Oliver’s eyes got large and he took in a sharp breath. “Ooooo!” Excitement colored his voice. “It does look like a witch’s costume, Mommy. Are you going as the bad witch from the Wizard of Oz?”

  “Is that your favorite bad witch?”

  “Yeah!” Oliver jumped up and down.

  “Then that’s the one.” Percy turned to her mother. “My friend, Elizabeth, pilfered this for me from the show. Actually, they were throwing it out. The dress is ripped and the hat got crushed when I jumped off the platform, but I think it only adds more character, don’t you?”

  Mother took the torn gown from Percy’s hands.

  “What happened to the knuckles on your right hand, Persephone?” Mother’s tone was quiet.

  “Ran into a brick wall. I’ll soak my hand in some ice, if we have any.”

  “The refrigerator repairman came a short while ago and fixed it. It should be cool in an hour or so. The bill’s on the counter. Meanwhile, Sera brought some ice home, if you want it. It’s in the ice chest. Does the brick wall have a name?”

  “Mother, sometimes you’re too sharp for me.”

  Mother grunted and gave the gown the practiced onceover of a seamstress. “A tuck here, a stitch there, and I think this will hold together enough for you to wear tonight. The hat is beyond redemption, but we can tie it on your head. How are you supposed to keep that nose and chin on your face, Persephone?”

  “Ta da!” Percy pulled out a small bottle of glue from the bag. “And here’s some green greasepaint to cover my face.”

  “Neato,” cried Oliver. “You’re going to be really ugly. The best witch ever.”

  “That I am, Oliver. But first, let’s take this pumpkin and set it back in the hall again. This way all the kids will know to stop by our door to trick or treat tonight.”

  “Can I do it?” Oliver reached out. Percy placed the pumpkin in his outstretched arms and with a serious stride, Oliver went out into the hallway. Mother and grandmother watched him.

  ”I told Pop we’d stop by and stand outside the hospital before we went trick or treating so he could see Oliver’s costume,” Percy said in barely more than a whisper. “It will give him a good laugh to see me standing there, the world’s tallest witch.”

  “That’s very thoughtful, dear. You’re a good daughter.”

  “You going to be all right, handing out the candy without Pop this year?” Percy turned an anxious face to her mother.

  “I wouldn’t miss it. And afterward, I’ll go to the hospital and spend the night with your father, like I did last night. The nurses are very nice. They even brought in a cot for me to sleep on.”

  “Then Happy Halloween, Mother. As Shakespeare said, ‘All’s Well That Ends Well’. It’s not Macbeth, but it’ll do.”

  About the Author

  In her varied career, Heather has written short stories, novels, comedy acts, television treatments, ad copy, commercials, and had two one-act plays well-received in Manhattan. Once she even ghostwrote a book on how to run an employment agency. She was unemployed at the time. Heather’s first paying job was writing a love story for Moments of Love, published by Bantam Books. But it was her stint at New York City’s No Soap Radio - where she wrote comedic ad copy – that helped develop her long-time love affair with comedy. She is the acclaimed author of the award winning humorous California PI series, The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries
, which is three thousand miles and sixty-odd years removed from the Persephone Cole series, her latest and much loved detective series.

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