Poison Pen Letters: A Paranormal Women's Midlife Fiction Mystery (Midlife Mysteries, Book 2)

POISON PEN LETTERS Midlife Mysteries #2 by H.P. MALLORY Other Books by H.P. Mallory PARANORMAL WOMEN’S FICTION: Midlife Mysteries Haven Hollow Misty Hollow Gwen’s Ghosts Midlife Spirits Trailer Park Vampire PARANORMAL & FANTASY ROMANCE: Witch, Warlock & Vampire Ever Dark Academy Gates of the Underworld Lily Harper Dulcie O’Neil PARANORMAL REVERSE HAREM: My Five Kings Happily Never After CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE: Age Gap Romance SCI-FI ROMANCE: The Alaskan Detective TRILOGIES: Dragon’s Birthright Crown of Lies The Dark Circus Midlife Mermaid Chasing Demons Dungeon Raider Here to There Arctic Wolves Wolves of ValhallaLucy Westenra POISON PEN LETTERS Copyright © 2023 by H.P. Mallory All rights reserved. Ebook Edition, License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. TABLE OF CONTENTS: Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter NineChapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve CHAPTER ONE: PHILIPPA Inspector Stirling was quickly becoming one of my least favorite people. Yes, I could admit he was noble and gallant when he’d come to my aid where Lord Abbott was concerned—but like I’d said to him at the time, I was handling the situation. In general, I didn’t appreciate anyone sticking their noses into my business and that’s just what the meddlesome man had done. And I didn’t like it. Not one bit. So, I’d left Grant Stirling standing alone in the ballroom as I buried myself in the crowd. I wanted to focus on the absolute gall of Lord Abbott and lick my wounds in peace. As to the beastly man in question, I couldn’t believe he’d accosted me as he had. After the favors I’d done for him! The profits I’d created for the man! Bollocks! (My father had always taught me that a lady should never use such incendiary language, but I do believe there is a time and place for such precise words and this was certainly a bollocks type of moment). As I returned to the party, I noticed a common theme in the conversations I kept overhearing from the other ladies in attendance: indecent letters. Everyone seemed to have the same subject on their tongues—either knowing someone who had received such a letter or having received one, themselves. And the letters all appeared to be about the ton and the most private aspects of their lives—things they wouldn’t want anyone else to know. I wondered if these letters were the exact reason why the inspector had offered (or rather forced) to chaperone me to this gala in the first place—he must have been investigating the letters. What a sneak! It was a scandalous topic, to be certain, but I had to admit it had also piqued my interest. I made a mental note to ask Lady Ashmore about the insidious letters perhaps tomorrow. I’d already planned to check in on Lord Ashmore to make certain he was feeling better and to inform Lady Ashmore all about the events of this evening. I was sure she’d be as shocked as I was regarding Lord Abbott’s advances, the vile blackguard. As the night wore on, I found myself growing increasingly restless. The prying eyes of the other guests seemed to be upon me, as if they had intimate knowledge about what had happened in the library with Lord Abbott. Or maybe the gossip about my stay in Scotland Yard was more pervasive than I’d estimated. Yes, I was grateful to the inspector for his quick thinking when that topic had come up—how he’d reduced it to nothing more than the gossip of idle tongues. Regardless, I couldn’t help but feel exposed, vulnerable, as if everyone were inspecting every little thing I said or did. I needed to clear my head, to get away from it all. So, I slipped out of the ballroom and made my way through the corridors of the grand estate, the sound of my heels echoing through the halls. Servants with trays full of champagne stopped me twice and each time, I accepted a beverage, drinking it as quickly as I could. Fairly soon, my head started to cloud with the alcohol, which helped to erase some of the emotions that had been plaguing me. I supposed there was truth to numbing oneself with drink. Eventually, I found my way outside to the terrace, the cool night air a welcome relief from the stuffiness of the ball. I leaned against the railing and closed my eyes, taking deep breaths to calm my racing heart. When I opened them again, I took in the beauty of the night and the landscape surrounding me. The terrace overlooked a vast rose garden, the walls of the estate on either side of me decorated with oil lamps sputtering in the distance as they cast ruddy light across the garden below. The moon hung low over the horizon, its blush lighting the darkened sky. It wound in and out through the scudding clouds, as if it were trying to break free and shine its heavenly aura for all to see. The night was velvet but not dark, more like looking at the sky through a black silk blindfold. The air carried the smells of freshly cut grass, rose blossoms and the sweet greenery from the jasmine bushes. A scent of lilacs wafted on the jasmine, the flowers’ sweetness like the breath of a phantom against my skin. The sounds of crickets mixed with the chirping of a lone bird perched in one of the high branches of a pine tree, and I was suddenly so deeply satisfied and grateful that I’d chosen to come out here—I’d always found a certain type of peace and contentment just in witnessing the natural world. My peace was short-lived, however, as I felt a presence behind me. “It seems you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot, so to say,” Inspector Stirling announced as I wheeled around