“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.
Halley frowned. “I didn’t know that.”
“She was going up to clean out Joe’s place after that awful fire,” Kate explained.
“Po found her.”
“Did she do it?”
“Do what?” Po asked, unsure of Halley’s question.
“Clean out the apartment?” Halley said.
Po was quiet for a moment, wondering why Halley seemed to skip over the more obvious and caring question about Adele’s injury. Perhaps it was because Halley had fond feelings for Joe Bates—and not-so-fond ones for Adele.
Halley seemed to read Po’s thoughts and said quickly, “I don’t mean to seem uncaring about Adele Harrington, Po. It’s just that she and I haven’t seen eye-to-eye on things.”
“I’ve noticed that,” Po said. “And I understand some of it—Adele hasn’t been very understanding about your friendship with her brother.”
Halley ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head. When she spoke, her voice had an edge to it that Po hadn’t heard before in the quiet librarian. “No, she hasn’t. And I still think Adele had something to do with Ollie’s death—or at least knows more about it than she’s saying. If he’d lived, she would never have been able to turn the house into a bed and breakfast. Ollie said he was going to change his will—Adele wasn’t even supposed to get the house.”
“Who was?” Kate asked.
Halley stared at her plate. Finally she looked up. “I don’t know. Not Adele. Maybe…maybe me, he said. I told him that was silly, but I don’t think he had many people he was close to. And he wanted the house cared for.”
“Ollie told you he had changed his will?” Po asked.
“Well, sort of.”
“And that’s why you think Adele had something to do with his death? That seems awfully severe, Halley. Ollie was her twin brother and her only sibling. I don’t know how you can make that leap.”
Halley nodded. “At first I couldn’t imagine someone killing her own brother. But it happens all the time, Po. Most murders are within families.” She looked at Po, then Kate. “It’s true,” she said. Her voice was harder now.
Po listened intently, watching belief fill Halley’s eyes. Her words seemed to strengthen her resolve and the smile fell from her face as she talked.
“Well, it’s not true in this case,” Kate said.
“Kate, you don’t know that,” Halley said. “There are things you don’t know about Adele Harrington. She’s greedy, she’s not a good person.”
“Why do you think that, Halley?” Po asked. “I know Adele is abrupt and can even be rude, but she has had an enormous amount of grief to bear these weeks. Her life has been pulled apart. I think your judgment is unduly harsh.”
Halley bit down on her bottom lip, as if preventing herself from saying something she might regret. She looked at Po directly, her eyes flashing. “I believe what I believe. And I respect that you have your own convictions. You’re wrong, though.” She pushed back her chair and forced a smile to her face. “I better get to the library now. My shift starts in a few minutes.”
Po and Kate watched as Halley dropped her napkin and paper plate into the refuse container, then took her cup and hurried out the door. From the window they saw her wave at Jed Fellers, walking down the sidewalk from the opposite direction, an armload of books in his hand and a student at his side. Jed returned her wave, and even from their distant viewing point, Kate and Po could see the concern and consternation on the woman’s face fall away, and in its place was a bright look of joy.
“Now I understand the change in dress. The make-up,” Kate said.
“Halley Peterson is smitten,” Po finished.
“I wonder if she’s shared her dislike of Adele Harrington with Jed?”
“Probably not. Jed has been supportive of Adele. I don’t think Adele trusts people easily, and Jed hasn’t quite received a warm welcome, but he’s been gentlemanly about trying to help where he can. Oliver thought a lot of him, so it seems appropriate.”
“Why do you think Halley is so concerned about Joe’s apartment?” Kate asked.
“I think she just wants some remembrance of Ollie. Maybe it’s purely a sentimental thing.”
Kate shook her head. “It doesn’t ring completely true to me, Po. Her efforts to retrieve something of Ollie’s seem kind of weird. She has her memories, and surely Ollie would have given her what he wanted her to have.”
“To be honest, Kate, I agree with you. I want to ask her about it, but this didn’t seem the right time.”
“So why, Po?” Kate nibbled on her scone. “Why has Halley continued to barge into Adele’s life when she’s been told to stay away?”
Po drained her cup. Why indeed. What was Halley Peterson keeping?
Po and Kate went their separate ways with promises to talk later. And if not, they’d probably see each other th
at night—Po and Max were taking Eleanor to Picasso’s to celebrate her birthday, and Kate said she and P.J. might stop by.
But for now, Kate was heading for the park to take some pictures. And think about Ollie Harrington and Joe Bates. And Tom Adler, and Adele. She confessed to Po that she’d had dreams about them all the night before. She was walking through a forest, following Joe and Ollie. And they kept nearing the edge of the woods, where the trees fell away and sunlight flooded the earth. But they never quite reached the light. They were always an inch away. And the darkness kept getting darker.
An inch away. Po thought. She felt that, too. The pieces of the puzzle were scattered all around them. If only they could scoop them up and fit them into the right places, perhaps they could bring some closure to all this—bring some light into the darkness—before someone else got hurt.
That thought was never far from Po’s mind. She was acutely aware that all the Bees were in and out of Adele’s home these days. A small piece of her understood the workman’s fears in being so close to a place in which two men had been murdered.
Po went home and put in a load of wash, trying to shake the awful foreboding that weighed heavy on her. She ran Hoover over to Maggie’s for a check-up, then finally, later in the day, settled down in her den to work on an article she was writing for a quilting magazine. She’d been asked to write about the Queens Bees, its origins nearly half a century ago, and explain how the group wove together art and friendship. A topic close to her heart.
But after an hour of staring at an empty screen, Po ealized her mind was too full of other things, and it was futile to sit there any longer. Instead of writing, she found herself doodling on a yellow pad from the stack she kept in the den, ready to jot down ideas for books or articles or sketches for quilts. Somehow, writing down scattered thoughts sometimes made them more comprehensible. She and Ollie, perhaps, were alike in that way. Po carried the pad into the kitchen.
Ollie. Joe. she had written on the pad. People on her mind. Two good friends.
House. Apartment. It occurred to Po that dwellings figured prominently in the lives of these friends. Bound them together. She scribbled on the pad, drew circles around their names. Halley. She seemed to love the house almost as much as Ollie had. Perhaps that was why she loved it— because it had been his. And Halley thought Ollie had wanted her to have it. An odd thought for casual friends. But Ollie seemed to have made the promise of his house to many people, if the comments of Tom Adler and college board members were correct. Maybe it was Ollie’s way to avoid conflict. To win friends.
Po frowned. She looked again at her pad. Ollie’s name. Joe’s. And Halley’s added to the chain. Halley had wanted something from Joe’s apartment. But there was little there. Writings of Ollie’s? But why? Sentimental reasons? Something more, maybe. Something about the house. Revised wills? Notes of intent? Did Halley know something about Ollie that might help find his murderer? As much as she didn’t want to distrust Halley, she agreed with Kate that there was something odd about it all.
Po hadn’t had the chance she was looking for to talk with Halley. Perhaps tomorrow. She could come over and look through the things from Joe’s apartment. There was a picture she knew she would like. Halley and Ollie out beside the pond. Po wondered if Joe had taken it. Such an odd, unlikely threesome.
The darkness outside her window drew Po’s attention and she looked over at the clock above her stove. It was late. Max would be there soon to pick her up.
But first she’d call Halley. Po opened a kitchen drawer and paged through the phone directory until she found Halley’s name. She dialed it quickly, got an answering machine, and left a brief message. She had found something that Halley might like, she said.
Po hung up and hurried upstairs to dress. The message would bring Halley to her door, she thought. And then they could talk. Po suspected Halley had answers that she didn’t even know the questions to.
CHAPTER 23
Po, Max, and Eleanor arrived at Picasso’s early, before the usual Friday night crowd. “The better to hear you, my dears,” Eleanor said, confessing that the din in restaurants was beginning to bother her eighty-three-year-old ears.
Max laughed. “El, you’re amazing. I’ve been bothered by loud noises for years, and it’s just beginning to get to you. What’s your secret?”
“Picasso’s escargot. One plate a day keeps everything working just fine.” She smiled up into the round face of the restaurant owner. “And how are you, dear Picasso?”
Picasso St. Pierre bent over and kissed Eleanor on each cheek, then repeated his European ritual with Po. “Beautiful ladies, you honor me tonight with your presence.”
“Oh, shush, Picasso,” Po said, waving her hand in the air. “You say that to all the women.”
“But never with such passion, dear Po,” Picasso said, his clear blue eyes twinkling. “That I reserve only for you, mon amie.”
“It looks like we’re not the only ones coming in early,” Max observed, looking around the nearly filled restaurant. Picasso nodded. “Business is good tonight, but not so good other nights. Bad vibrations from the Harrington House. We all feel it, Max.”
Max nodded. “I know, Picasso. It’s a bad thing.”
“But maybe it is solved tonight.”
“Oh? What do you mean, Picasso?” Po pushed her glasses up into her hair.
“Monsignor Adler—he was around here earlier—out on the sidewalk. Drunk as a skunk, as you say here. Shouting awful things at Madame Harrington.”
“Adele? She was here?”
“Yes, she was here in my restaurant, her ankle bandaged and swollen, but her face quite beautiful. She came in for dinner on the arm of Professor Fellers. A magnificent looking couple, those two.”
“Jed Fellers and Adele?” Po’s brows lifted.
Max frowned. “That’s odd. Jed told me Adele doesn’t give him the time of day, and I’ve seen her be rude to him. Because of Ollie, Jed continues to offer his help to her—he thinks it’s what Ollie would have wanted. But Adele is still keeping him at arm’s length.”
“Maybe she changed her mind,” Eleanor said.
“Well, I think it’s good that she’s getting out,” Po said. “And kind of Jed to offer friendship. Was Halley Peterson with them, too?”
Picasso shook his head. “Non. Just the two of them. They had drinks, then my escargot. The professor was gentlemanly and gracious, but he was a little uncomfortable, I think. Not quite himself. And then that awful man began banging on the window, threatening Miss Harrington if she didn’t sell him her house. Professor Jed shielded her, moved her away from the window. And then police finally came and took him away. It was frightening my customers. And Miss Harrington was clearly upset at the public display.”
“What happened then?” Eleanor asked.
“Miss Harrington insisted they leave. I told her you were coming, Po, maybe she would want to stay and tell you hello. I thought it might calm her down, and I did not want her leaving my restaurant upset. The professor agreed with me. But she wouldn’t stay—just grabbed his arm and repeated that she wanted to leave. It wasn’t working out as she planned, she said. Professor Fellers told me not to worry. He said he’d take her home, make sure she was okay. But before she left, she did tell me she liked my escargot.” Picasso beamed. “She usually does not pay compliments, non?”
Po smiled. No, Adele didn’t used to be gracious in that way. But Adele was making progress, and not just in walking on a swollen ankle.
“But,” Picasso continued, pleased with such an attentive audience, “I think with Tom Adler in jail, people might begin to feel better.”
“But disturbing the peace isn’t proof of murder,” Po said.
“Non, you are right, mon amie. But where there is such horrible anger, who knows what more the gendarmes will find?” Picasso took their order for escargots and a ragout d’agneau that, he assured them effusively, would please even his own dear diseased mother, were she here to try
it. And in a blink, he scurried off to charm a new group of diners settling in at a nearby table.
“I almost wish Picasso was right about Tom Adler,” Po said.
“But he’s not,” Eleanor added. “Tom Adler is a fool, but not a murderer.”
“But he’s a desperate fool. Desperation can lead a man to do unexpected things. His wife is a demanding one, that I’ve seen close-up.” Max hailed a waiter and ordered a bottle of white wine.
“Do you really think Tom could be responsible?” Po frowned.
“Po, greed and love are a volatile mix.”
“That would explain Ollie’s murder, maybe, if he thought he could really get the house if Ollie died. But not Joe.”
“Maybe Joe knew something? Maybe witnessed the murder or saw Tom leaving the house that night,” Eleanor offered. “And hurting Adele’s dog and the fire might have been scare tactics to get Adele to give up her plan for the bed and breakfast.”
The waiter silently uncorked a bottle of pinot gris and offered the glass to Max to taste.
“Wonderful,” Max assured him, swirling and sniffing the crisp French wine.
“I agree—it all seems plausible,” Po said.
“But doesn’t settle nicely in the heart, right?” Max looked over at Eleanor and lifted his glass in the air. “To the birthday girl,” he said.
Eleanor and Po clinked their glasses together.
“Happy birthday, dear Eleanor.” Po sipped her wine and smiled at her friend of so many years that she could no longer keep track.
And with the warm sentiments of birthday and friendship, and the delicious aroma of garlic and butter swirling up from the escargot the waiter placed in front of them, the small group moved on to more appropriate conversation, like Eleanor’s planned trip to Southern France.
Later, when they were stuffed full of Picasso’s wine-flavored lamb stew, Eleanor, Po, and Max left the restaurant and walked slowly down Elderberry Road. Po linked her arms through Max’s and Eleanor’s and tilted her head back to look up at the night sky. It was black and beautiful, filled with a sparkling wash of constellations and galaxies. “Amazing,” she murmured, her thoughts turning automatically to Oliver Harrington. He was never far from her thoughts these days, and she wondered when he would release his hold on her. When the murderer is found, her mind answered back. That’s when.
Murder on a Starry Night: A Queen Bees Quilt Mystery Page 14