Murder on a Starry Night: A Queen Bees Quilt Mystery (7 page)

Po and Max drove the short ride to Eleanor’s house in comfortable silence, speaking only when the lights from the large three-story house on the corner of the campus lit up the night.

“Looks like a full house,” Max observed as they drove up the long circle drive.

“You know Eleanor—no matter how small the occasion, she doesn’t want anyone to feel left out.” Although tonight’s event was officially a college function, Eleanor never hesitated to add her own guest list to the official one when she was opening the doors of Canterbury House for the event. And with one of the honorees this evening being Jedson Fellers the crowd was colorful, eclectic, and noisy. Max pulled his car into a small space near the curve of the driveway, and they followed the strains of a small jazz combo playing a medley of old Ray Charles tunes.

Max and Po walked through the open doorway and spotted Kate and P. J., standing in the spacious living room off the front hall, talking with Jed Fellers. Kate waved them over.

Her cheeks were bright and pink, and a pair of two-inch heels brought her nearly eye-to-eye with P.J. and Jed. A slight black dress of no discernible design floated over Kate’s body with style and grace and looked like something straight off a designer’s runway.

And she probably bought it at a thrift store for two dollars
, Po thought, swallowing the pleasure that being Kate’s godmother brought her on a continuous basis. Po hugged the tall, lanky professor standing beside her, looking every bit the part in a corduroy jacket with leather patches on the sleeves. “Congratulations, Jed,” Po smiled. “What a treat, seeing you twice in one day.”

“Thanks for coming, Po. You, too, Max. It was nice of the college and Eleanor to do this—it’s great to see old friends.”

“Eleanor loves an excuse for a party. And this is a nice excuse,” Po said. “Sounds like the pressure is on at the university to publish. And you’ve survived the race, Jed.”

Jed’s book, entitled
A Plain Man’s Guide to A Starry Night
, had received critical acclaim.

Jed nodded. “It gets crazy, that’s for sure. It’s just a little book. The fuss is unmerited.”

“Well, big or little, it will be nice to have the university’s publishing pressure off your back for awhile.”

“Here, here,” said Jed, lifting his glass.

“Gus Schuette had a couple copies in his store,” P.J. said. He stood just behind Kate, one hand looped lightly around her shoulder. “It looked interesting. Astronomy has always been a secret passion of mine.”

“Oh?” Kate turned her head and looked up into P.J.’s face. Her brows lifted. “A passion?”

“Well, secondary passion,” P.J. said. He grinned at Kate. “You’ll always be the primary P, Katie.” P.J. tugged lightly on a loose strand of Kate’s hair.

“Ah, my friends are here,” Eleanor said, coming up behind the professor. “Good. Sometimes the university crew is a little boring.” She kissed Jed on the cheek. “You excluded, my dear.”

“I think
that’s a compliment,” Jed said. “El, you’re nice to do this.”

“Pshaw with nice. I love it. It’s a chance to be merry. We needed a diversion, Jed, and you and your friends are it.”

“Diversion from what?” Jed asked.

“All this uproar over Adele Harrington and the house everyone and his brother seem to want.” Eleanor waved to an old friend walking in the door.

“That commotion over the Harrington house is a curious thing,” Max said. “Folks have disagreed with property sales and zoning laws before, but this is out of proportion. Sure, there’s a lot of money at stake—but the land belongs to Adele Harrington, clean and clear. Tom Adler over at Prairie Development had me check—he claims Oliver promised to sell the house to him for a development. Says he saw the paper himself.”

“Tom Adler?” Kate said. She accepted a piece of crisp, buttery toast topped with a sliver of rare tuna from a passing waiter.

“Adler claims Oliver wrote it out, like a will. Ollie didn’t want Adele to get the house, according to Tom, and they were going to sign an agreement that would allow Oliver to live in the house free and clear as long as he liked, then Tom would take it over. Tom claims someone should check more closely into how Oliver died.”

Po listened to the conversation around her silently. But her thoughts returned to Halley Peterson and the sentiment Po had dismissed as the voice of grief.
Oliver didn’t die from a fall down the stairs
, she had implied.

“That matches some calls we’ve gotten at the station,” P.J. was saying beside her. The tall, sandy-haired detective had returned to the group carrying a tray of champagne. “Anonymous callers have suggested there was foul play at the Harrington place. One caller went so far as to say the police must be on the take or they’d have looked into Oliver’s death.”

“That’s odd,” Eleanor said. “Didn’t the papers say it was a heart attack?”

“That’s the official word,” P.J. said. “And it will hold until there’s reason to think otherwise.” P.J. pulled his vibrating cell phone out of his pocket, glanced at the number on the small screen, and looked up. “Sorry folks, duty calls.” He moved over into a quiet corner to take the call.

Another waiter passed by, carrying a platter of chicken satay with a crystal cup filled with gingery peanut sauce. Small plates were passed around, and the group quickly emptied the tray.

“Eleanor, you certainly know how to throw a party,” Kate said, balancing her plate in one hand and sipping her champagne. “This is terrific.”

“The house should be used this way. One old soul doesn’t do justice to this home,” Eleanor said. “It was what old grandpop Harrison intended.”

Eleanor’s grandfather, Harrison Canterbury, had built the home over a hundred years before when he had moved his family from the east to the small Kansas town. A much better place to raise kids, he had decided. And having inherited a fortune as a railroad baron’s son, he soon built Crestwood a bank, a department store, a church, and prettied up the city with several parks. But once his children started school, Harrison decided that what the town really needed was a college, and so he built one, right in the family’s wooded backyard. Though the home was Eleanor’s until she died, she was generous in opening it up for college events.

“Well, I’ll be,” Kate said, pausing between bites to stare at the front door. “Look who’s here.”

Po glanced over at the front door. The double doors were left open for the comings and goings of the guests. When an older professor whom Po had known for several decades walked with his wife out onto the portico, the view cleared.

Adele Harrington was alone, standing tall and elegant in a periwinkle silk dress. Her hair was down, falling loosely about her shoulders and held back from her face by an ebony comb. It was a transformation that drew unintentional sounds from Kate and Po. “Wow,” Kate whispered. “What happened to the wicked witch of the north?”

Though not beautiful in a traditional sense, Adele was striking, her imposing manner heightened by the careful make-up and clothing. She stood alone, like an actor on a stage looking out over her audience.

“I don’t think she was on the list, but it’s certainly fine,” Eleanor said. “Everyone is welcome to these things.”

At that moment, Adele spotted the group, nodded in their direction, and walked into the living room. “Hello, everyone,” she said. “Po, Kate, Max. And you, too, Eleanor, what a lovely party.”

“Good evening, Adele,” Eleanor said, and she looked toward Jed. “Do you know Professor Jed Fellers?” Jed shook Adele’s hand and bowed slightly.

Adele scrutinized him carefully, then said, “We met once.”

“When Ollie won the award for his essay,” Jed said. “I remember. What I remember especially is how happy he was that you came.”

Adele was silent, but Po watched from the side as the words registered in Adele’s mind and were stored away. Anything she had done to make Ollie happy was important to her. Jed had said the right thing.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Adele,” Jed continued. “I’ll miss your brother. He was a student of mine, but really more than that. Ollie was an inspiration to my students. He added much to my class.” Jed paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was husky. “Ollie was my friend.”

“Yes, I know that,” Adele said. Her voice softened slightly. And then she turned back toward Eleanor. “My invitation must have been lost in the mail, Eleanor, being new in town and all. But I decided to come and see what all the fuss was about.” She smiled carefully. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not, Adele,” Eleanor said, and stopped a passing couple to introduce them to the newly arrived guest.

“Where’s P.J?” Kate whispered to Po.

Po shrugged, but at that moment, P.J. wove his way through the crowded room and came up behind them. He rested one hand on Kate’s shoulder, kneading it lightly.

Kate’s smile faded when she looked into the concern clouding his face. “P.J., what’s wrong?”

“I’ve bad news,” he said softly. “The rumor mill seems to be right this time. Ollie Harrington didn’t die from a fall. He was poisoned. It was in some tea he drank, apparently.”

Just behind P.J., Adele Harrington stiffened at the sound of her brother’s name. And then, in a fraction of a second, her strong shoulders sagged, and her carefully held body seemed to cave in on itself as she sank dramatically and directly, folding up like a rag doll in the center of Eleanor’s thick crimson Gabbeh rug.

The gossip surrounding Adele Harrington’s new bed and breakfast paled in the wake of the news that Oliver Harrington was murdered.

“Poor Adele,” Selma Parker said, smoothing out a stretch of fabric on her cutting table. It was Tuesday afternoon and a welcome quiet settled down on the rows of colorful fabric in her fabric store. “Much as she annoys me, this must be a blow to her.”

Po watched Selma cut into the deep blue fabric. She’d chosen Ollie’s room as her project, and was honoring Adele’s request that the quilt be filled with stars. She had found a wonderful pattern in the
Kansas City Star
collection—one that combined a multitude of stars of every shape and form.

It was perfect, she decided, to honor the memory of a man who knew all kinds of stars—and who knew them intimately. She’d picked small patterns in blues and golds, rusts and deep, rich greens to make the quilt come to life in the small clean room that had been Ollie’s.

“Po, these fabrics are going to look great.” Selma folded the fabric pieces into a neat pile and slipped them into a sack. “How do you think Adele is doing?”

Po handed Selma her credit card. “All right, I think. Max and I took her home after she fainted the other night. By the time we got her inside and gave her a shot of brandy, she was clear-thinking and suggested strongly that we leave. I think she’s denying this last bit of horrible news. She joked about crashing a party—then having it crash her. Something like that.”

“Gutsy gal,” Selma said. “I suppose I shouldn’t be concerned about her.”

“Well, she appears strong on the surface anyway.”

Susan walked over to the checkout counter. “Have the police learned anything more? Rumors are rampant. I stopped at Marla’s bakery this morning for a muffin and the buzz was as thick as that syrup she puts on her blueberry pancakes.”

Po shook her head. “Marla thrives on all that. I’m sure she has the crime solved and wrapped up in a blue ribbon. I don’t think the official news is quite so clear-cut.”

“Has P.J. said anything?” Susan asked.

“He was over for Sunday supper last night with Kate. It’s kind of a mess, he said. All the work being done on the house has made it impossible to get any kind of prints— though the police have been questioning neighbors and others who had access to Ollie’s house. There wasn’t heavy traffic in that house, but repair men came and went, and old Joe Bates worked out there in the garden every day of Ollie’s life, I think. He will certainly be questioned.”

“Joe was devoted to Ollie. Maybe he’ll shed some light on all this, though he doesn’t hear so well anymore.”

“I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt that sweet man,” Susan said. “I used to talk to him sometimes in between my weaving classes at the college. If he wasn’t sitting in on a class, he was almost always in the library or in the commons, writing on his yellow pads.”

“What did he write about?” Po asked.

“I don’t know—things he learned in class, I guess. He hung on every word that came out of Professor Fellers’ mouth. He was a true mentor to Ollie, and encouraged his love for learning new things. Ollie loved those classes. And if you ask me, he loved that librarian, too.”

Po’s head jerked up. “Halley Peterson?”

“Yes, that’s her name—Halley. Nice person. She’s worked in the library for a while now. Takes some classes, too. And she and Ollie were friends.”

“I met her,” Po said, and repeated the brief conversation she’d had with Halley. “At the time, I thought she was working through the natural emotions when someone dies— reaching out for answers and trying to make sense of such a sad happening. I thought lashing out at Adele was maybe her way of dealing with things.”

The bell at Selma’s front door jingled as several customers walked in. Selma looked over at them, then handed back Po’s credit card. “We need to talk about this more,” she said. “As I said, Adele Harrington isn’t my favorite person, but I can’t imagine she had anything to do with Ollie’s death. She didn’t show her face around here until his body was already in the morgue. And besides that, he was her twin brother, for heaven’s sake. But I’ve already heard rumors of her wanting to get her hands on the house.” Selma shook her head and walked off to help a young woman find some Irish lace.