Po smiled and spread two placemats out on the oak table that had been the heart of the Paltrow home for thirty years. Small indentations along the surface spoke of years of homework, games being played, and friends gathering to argue politics, literature, and philosophies of life while eating and drinking in the warmth of the Paltrow family room.
“Better set three, Po,” P.J. said, glancing at the table.
“Kate knows you’re here?”
P.J. nodded. He scooped up a small amount of soup in a ladle and tasted it. “This is fantastic. You’ve outdone yourself, Po.” He set the spoon in the sink and walked across the kitchen to the small bar in the family room bookcase and began mixing gin and ice cubes in a silver shaker. “Kate doesn’t care about me, Po,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s your Thai soup.”
Po pulled out another placemat. She had purposely not called Kate because she didn’t want her around when she talked to P.J. about the murders. But that was silly, she knew. Kate had never fit nicely in a cocoon, and Po’s instinct to put her there whenever there was a chance of anything bordering on danger or sadness was irrational, if heart-felt. And there was always plenty of food—she’d made enough soup for an army, planning on taking some over to Adele the next day and freezing the rest.
“Kate had a yearbook meeting with the high school kids but will be here when it’s over. She was skipping pizza for your Thai soup.”
“I’m honored,” Po said. The sound of a car in the driveway announced Kate’s possible arrival, but when Po looked over at the back door, it was Leah coming in, a deep rust corduroy skirt swishing around her ankles and a hand-woven scarf wrapped around her neck. And just a step behind her was Jed Fellers.
“It’s getting chilly out there,” Leah said, taking off a wool jacket and hanging it on a hook by the door. “I hope you don’t mind my barging in, Po. Jed and I had a committee meeting, and I convinced him that the only antidote for it was a bowl of that Thai soup you told me you were making tonight. Tim was on call, and I needed to be with people.” She waved across the room at P.J. and gave Po a hug. “And I convinced Jed that he did, too.”
Behind her, Jed smiled sheepishly. “Hope it’s okay, Po. Leah was hard to say no to.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” Po said, smelling the bouquet of flowers Jed handed her. “I’d have been offended if you had said no, Jed.”
“I think it’s all this unrest, Po,” Leah went on, searching in Po’s cupboard for a vase. “I feel it on campus every day. Just bad vibes everywhere.”
“The kids are confused,” Jed agreed. “It’s a tense time.” He took the vase from Leah and filled it with water.
Po pulled out a couple more placemats. “The soup will ease the chill. But you’re absolutely right about the tension. The neighborhood is filled with bad energy. And, unfortunately, it’s going to take more than soup to get rid of it. How is Halley handling it all, Jed?”
Jed thought for a minute before answering. He put the flowers in the vase, set it aside, and leaned back against the counter. “I think she’s doing all right, Po. We’re both wondering now if we’ll ever know who is at the bottom of all this. And Halley is trying to accept that, trying to move on.”
“I was inclined to think that myself. But the fire changed that. It brought the presence of someone evil closer to us again, not someone who did those awful deeds, then skipped town.”
“There’s the possibility that they’re not connected,” Leah said.
Po thought about that. P.J. had told her the same thing before the others came. The police were considering all angles. But deep down, Po didn’t buy it. There were connections between all the happenings at the B&B, she felt sure of it. Unfortunately, feelings didn’t solve crimes. She needed some facts.
A minute later, Kate breezed through the back door, pulling it shut behind her. She strode across the kitchen and swung a lumpy cloth bag onto the counter. “Fresh French bread from Picasso’s, a bottle of wine and hunk of cheese from Brew and Brie, and Marla’s cheesecake. Elderberry Road in a bag,” she laughed. She planted a kiss on Po’s cheek and hugged Leah.
“Come here, woman,” P.J. bellowed in a deep feigned accent from the other end of the room. “What am I— chopped liver?” He set down the martini shaker and spread his arms wide.
Kate walked across the room and into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her thick dark hair brushed his cheek.
P.J. breathed in her scent. “Katie, my love, you smell almost as good as Po’s soup,” he murmured.
“And you smell like gin.” Kate pulled her head back and looked into P.J.’s wide smile. A lock of sandy hair fell across his forehead, and Kate brushed it back with her finger. She pulled away. “I’ll leave you to your shaking, Flanigan. Make mine with an olive, please.” Kate moved back to the kitchen and began pulling out platters for the cheese and bread.
Po knelt down before the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace that filled one end of the roomy living area. She pulled the black screen open. “I’m going to start a fire. I know it’s early, but somehow it seems to fit the night.”
“My job,” Jed insisted, and knelt down beside the fireplace. “Let me put my Eagle Scout training to work.”
“Perfect,” Leah said, and carried the platter filled with cheese and crackers to the coffee table. “Maybe it will warm our bones a bit.” She slipped out of her clunky clogs and settled down on the overstuffed couch, her feet tucked up beneath her.
Po sat down beside her and accepted a martini from P.J. “And together we’ll warm each other’s spirit.” She sipped the martini slowly, enjoying the tingly sensation as it passed down her throat. The evening hadn’t turned out exactly as she had planned—a private talk with P.J. to pull what information she could out of him about the investigation into Ollie and Joe’s deaths. Even though P.J. wasn’t working the case, he always knew what was going on, especially when it was as personal and close to home as this case was. She wanted an update, wanted him to know she was absolutely convinced that Adele had no part in any of the bad things that were happening in their neighborhood. She wanted him to help salvage what was left of a proud woman’s reputation.
Kate stepped into her thought. “I stopped by on my way over here to check on Adele.” Kate had curled up on the opposite couch, her long, jeans-clad legs twisted like a pretzel beneath her. A red cashmere sweater that Po had given her for Christmas last year matched the color the fire was bringing to her cheeks. “She’s one gutsy woman. Tom Adler stopped by while I was there. That guy just doesn’t give up. He left his wife out in his Beemer and barged right into the house. He suggested the time had come for Adele to sell the place before she ruined the whole town. His words, certainly not mine.” Kate cut a piece of cheese and handed it to Leah.
“What?” Po sat up straight, nearly spilling her martini down the front of her black turtleneck. “What is he talking about?”
“He insinuated that Adele was personally responsible for two murders, a fire, nervous neighbors, and the loss of business to the town because people were afraid to come to Crestwood with Adele around.”
“The man is certifiably crazy,” Leah said.
“And desperate,” P.J. said.
Jed stoked the fire until the embers were glowing and flames began lapping at the brick sides, then lifted himself into a chair nearby where he could give it a poke when needed. “Adler came into Picasso’s the other night when Max and I were having a drink. He’d been drinking pretty heavily and Picasso asked him to leave. I think the fellow has some personal problems.”
“He’s in some financial trouble, yes, but that’s no excuse for that kind of behavior. Adele should have accused him of trespassing,” Po said.
“Oh, she did,” Kate said. “She threatened to call the police, and I think she would have, but the damsel waiting for Tom became impatient and began honking the horn. Tom went running.”
“He’s such an angry man,” Leah said. “I wonder if he had anything to d
o 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.
CHAPTER 22
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, a
nd 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?”
Murder on a Starry Night: A Queen Bees Quilt Mystery Page 13