Murder on a Starry Night: A Queen Bees Quilt Mystery (19 page)

“He’s such an angry man,” Leah said. “I wonder if he had anything to do with this.”

“He certainly has motive,” Kate said. “He’s been acting crazy ever since marrying again. I think this new wife has very high expectations for him—especially when it comes to money.”

“That would be enough to make someone desperate, I suppose,” Po said. But she wasn’t completely convinced. There was something about Tom Adler that was far more show than substance. But if not Tom—who could have murdered the two men who lived at 210 Kingfish Drive— one so gentle and almost naïve about life, and the other an old gardener whose sole goal was to protect Ollie from harm and keeping his pond free of algae?

“How about we have some soup?” P.J. announced. “It smells ready and I’m starving.”

“P.J., if I ever open a restaurant, will you be my sandwich board man?” Po asked.

“Your what?” P.J. asked, wrinkling his forehead. “Po, I’m far too young to know about sandwich boards. But the answer’s yes.” He waved the others over. “Come on folks, get it while it’s hot. Jed, want to open a bottle of wine?”

Jed helped himself to the corkscrew and Kate’s bottle of wine and poured glasses all around. Po walked over to the table and the others followed, finding their chairs and unfolding napkins as Po spooned soup from the tureen into rice-filled bowls. The thick soup, a mixture of sautéed shrimp and snow peas flavored with ginger, garlic, and lime juice, and swimming in spicy coconut milk, was P.J.’s favorite.

“Where’s Max tonight?” Kate asked, leaning in to light the candles.

“He was going to stop by Adele’s. She’s concerned because the renovation is taking longer than it should, and Max was going to look at the money situation for her.” Po repeated the news about the workers slowing down and staying away, not wanting to be connected with the murder scene.

“That’s awful,” Kate said. “This whole thing is awful. I think Phoebe’s right—we should all don black jeans and turtlenecks and snoop around until we solve this thing. I think maybe we’re all going off on the wrong path with this. What if it doesn’t have anything to do with someone wanting to own the Harrington property?”

“But what else makes sense?” Jed asked.

“I don’t know,” Kate replied. “But if teaching high school kids has taught me anything, it’s that things are rarely what they seem to be.”

Po had been thinking the very same thing. In all her years of living, things were rarely what they seemed. So what was going on here? What were they missing? Was it Adele herself? Was she back in Crestwood for reasons no one knew? Was there a family thing going on, something between the Harringtons and another family in town? The Adlers, perhaps? Or maybe Ollie and Joe were mixed up in something that had gotten them in trouble. Drugs? Every now and then there were rumors of people selling to the college kids. The thought was so ludicrous and uncomfortable that it made Po grimace.

“Po, are you all right?” P.J. asked. His hazel eyes focused on her face.

“Yes, dear,” Po answered, brushing off his concern. She forced a smile to her face. “I was just trying to sort through some things. Dessert, anyone?”

When Max stopped by an hour later, Po’s impromptu dinner companions had moved into the night—P.J. and Kate to walk along the well-lit river path while the weather still afforded such a luxury, Leah home to deliver a left-over container of soup to a tired husband. And Jed was headed to the campus library to walk Halley home from her late-night shift. Po appreciated his thoughtfulness. Halley shouldn’t be out on the streets alone, not until things in Crestwood became normal again.

Po sat alone in the darkened living room, the lights dim and the dying embers of the fire casting shadows on the pine-planked floor. “Hi, Max,” she said, watching her dear friend walk across the kitchen. “Please don’t mind if I stay put. I’m pooped. There’s leftover soup in the frig.”

Max strode across the room and kissed Po on the cheek, then busied himself at the small bar. “Maybe in a minute, Po. Thanks.” Max mixed himself a Scotch and soda and sat at her side. “Adele’s not a bad lady, Po.”

Po nodded.

“But what’s happening around her is not good. Her finances are strained, the workers are making things difficult. And rumors are spreading throughout the neigh-borhood that there’s a murderer in their midst.”

“Who’s spreading those rumors, Max?”

Max shrugged. “Some well-intentioned folks, probably— there are some elderly folks who live on that street and they are likely concerned. For a quiet neighborhood, there’s a lot of unusual activity at 210 Kingfish Drive. And then there are people like the mothers in Phoebe’s playgroup. And maybe a few with other motives, like Tom Adler and board members from the college who would love to get their hands on the property.” Max looped an arm around the back of the couch behind Po and sipped his drink. “It’s not a good situation for Adele, that’s for sure. Bed and breakfasts conjure up images of cozy bedrooms and warm scones for breakfast, not fires and dead bodies floating in ponds.”

Po looked into the flames, as if hoping to find an answer there. “Kate said something tonight that has me thinking, Max. She said things may not be at all what they seem to be.”

“Sure. That’s a possibility. If they are what they seem to be, Adele is suspect No. 1 and Tom and Halley are probably tied for second place.”

“So maybe the motive isn’t greed. Maybe it isn’t the property at all.”

Max listened and nodded. “Maybe it’s something right in front of our noses. And all we need to do is step back a bit.”

In her dreams that night, Po stepped back as far as she could, and as darkness folded in around her, she felt herself falling off a cliff. Suddenly, in the blackness, she felt herself caught in strong, familiar arms. She awoke with a start, sitting up in bed, and as the fog and fear cleared from her head, Po looked up at the moonlight streaming in the window. Sam’s presence was so real that Po thought for a minute she could reach out and touch the arms that rescued her.

“So my darling,” she said aloud, “what would you have me do right now?” But she knew the answer, even without Sam wrapping strong arms around her shoulders and holding her close.

My darling Po, tread lightly and safely
, he’d say. And then he’d pull those thick brows together and try to look at her sternly, but the look would be more one of loving concern, tinged with great pride.

Po was up with the first light. She plugged in her coffee pot and filled Hoover’s bowl with fresh water. It was too early to approach the world beyond her doors, so she’d begin instead with what was close by, anything that would bring her closer to understanding the lives of the two men who had lived at 210 Kingfish Drive. And perhaps in understanding their lives and their friendship, she’d come closer to understanding why they had died.

And there was plenty of Joe and Ollie’s lives spread out in her basement, drying in the warm furnace-heated air. She hadn’t begun to look at the things she’d brought from Adele’s. It was time.

Po poured herself a cup of coffee, flicked the light switch in the hallway just off the kitchen, and headed down the narrow back stairs.

Sam and Po had finished one side of their basement as a playroom for the kids years ago, just after Sophie was born. The knotty-pine walls spoke of another era but held warm memories for Po, as did the eight-foot table that had hosted countless birthday parties, Cub Scout projects, and craft sessions. Today it was spread end-to-end with remnants of Joe Bates’ carriage house apartment—pads of paper, books propped open to encourage drying, photographs and small paintings of flowers that she suspected Joe had done himself. When she’d emptied the boxes, Po had discovered that she’d brought home more than she had intended. And there was still a box that she’d forgotten in her car.

But no matter—she’d get around to it all. Spread it all out, dry it, and return to Adele what was salvageable. The pictures, especially, she knew Adele would want, and she set to work, carefully removing them from their frames, pressing them smooth, and placing them on paper towels.

Po removed the pieces of paper stuck inside books, some written on in Ollie’s handwriting, which Po recognized from the things she’d seen in his room. The distinctive blend of printing and cursive was intriguing and unmistakable.

As she smoothed out the pages torn from a yellow legal pad, Po wondered what people would find out about her if someday they went through her books and tried to interpret the underlinings, the notes in the margin, and the dozens of small pieces of paper and sticky notes she’d put in a book to save her place, or on which she’d copied a line she especially liked. Ollie had made plenty of notes on scraps of paper, perhaps intended to teach Joe, to help him understand the stars, the heavens, the things that Ollie loved. She picked up the copy of Jed’s book. She’d have to pick up a copy of it one of these days. Gus mentioned he had read it and was going to order some for the store. There were notes in the column here, too. Some were washed away by the firemen’s efforts, but some were still intact, with passages underlined and handwritten stars scribbled next to favorite passages. Po suspected Ollie had given Joe the book to read.

The ringing of the phone in the distance startled Po for a minute, then drew her out of her thoughts and up the basement stairs.

“Hi, Po. Are you up?” Kate’s bright voice rippled across the line.

“Kate Simpson, have I ever slept beyond 7 o’clock in my life?” Po set her empty coffee cup in the sink and looked out into the deep green of her backyard as she listened to Kate. The oak leaves were beginning to turn color, and there was already a light coating of maple leaves on the ground, scattered now as Hoover chased a squirrel around a bed of mums.

“Sorry, Po,” Kate said. “It seemed a logical question when you’re calling someone at eight in the morning.”

“Why aren’t you at school?”

“There’s a teachers’ conference in Kansas City. It seemed optional, so I stayed behind. I need to run by the college to pick up some books, but after that, you up for coffee? Your place?”

“Better yet, let’s meet at the college. The new coffee house is carrying Peet’s coffee. Give me an hour.”

After she hung up the phone, Po took a quick shower and slipped into a pair of light corduroy slacks and a soft teal turtleneck. She ran a brush through her hair, then pulled it back off her face with an elastic band. A check of her e-mails and she was ready to go. She had planned a trip to Canterbury today anyway, to pick up some books and, hopefully, to run into Halley Peterson and see how she was doing. She would get back to the basement later.

Po walked the few blocks to Canterbury College—she could never get used to calling it Canterbury University— a bit pretentious, she thought. The campus was beautiful at this time of year, with giant shade trees shedding leaves and students walking briskly along the paths. Several students tossed Frisbees in the quad, and others hurried to class. Po entered the crowded coffee shop and looked around for Kate. She spotted her immediately in the corner near the front window, commandeering two leather chairs and a small round table. Po hurried over.

“Got here just in time,” Kate said. “The place is a zoo with everyone wanting their start-the-day jolt of java.”

Po sat down, dropped her bag beside the chair and looked around, taking stock of the crowded, early-morning crowd. Halley Peterson waved at her from her place in line across the room, and Po waved back, motioning for her to join them when she was through. “She’s one of the reasons I wanted to stop by the college today,” Po said, nodding toward the librarian. “You don’t mind, do you, Kate?”

“Of course not. I like Halley. P.J. and I ran into her the other night on Elderberry Road. We were at Picasso’s for a bowl of his bouillabaisse, and she and Jed Fellers came in for dinner. They were having a good time, I think—lots of gabbing going on and Halley had a pretty blush to her cheeks. I think difficult times can bring people together more quickly than the normal course of living.”

“Halley does seem a little happier these days, though I know Ollie and Joe’s deaths have taken a toll on her. I’m glad she has Jed to help her through it.”

“Sometimes we forget that Jed is going through all this, too. Leah said he was so good to Ollie over the years—a true mentor.”

“I know he gave Ollie a chance that others might not have done. I think even Adele acknowledges that.”

At that moment, Halley walked over to their table with a coffee container in one hand and a cinnamon roll in the other. “You don’t mind?” she asked, putting down her coffee and pulling over an empty chair from the wall. Her smile was bright.

“A new haircut?” Po asked, admiring Halley’s shorter cut. She had also used a new shade of lipstick, and jeans had given way to a shapely skirt and soft cashmere sweater. “You look lovely, Halley,” Po said.

Halley blushed. “I’ve decided that shabby wasn’t chic on me,” she said.

“You were never shabby, but you do look great,” Kate added.

“So what’s new?” Halley asked, clearly anxious to divert attention from herself.

“Well, you may have heard that Adele Harrington sprained her ankle,” Po began.