Po sorted through her thoughts, trying to untangle the threads and wishing the unsettling thoughts would leave her, move on and let her be. She kept returning to Joe’s tiny apartment, the life he lived there. And the awareness that the Harrington estate was his whole world. One he rarely left. Except through death. Who could have wanted him dead, a man who had no connections?
Po looked up into the brightly lit window of Gus’s bookstore. Eleanor and Max stood before it, examining his new display. “I think I’ll see what new travel books Gus has gotten in,” Eleanor said.
Po followed them into the store, grappling with one strand of thought that dangled like an irritating thread right in front of her.
The store was crowded with people, some passing the time while they waited for a table at Picasso’s, others wandering through the store, listening to a guitarist playing in a reading room or checking out the best sellers on a display rack.
“Gus,” Po said, spotting her friend standing in the doorway, talking with a customer.
“Po, about time you wandered over to say hello.” Gus stepped closer and gave Po a hug.
It wasn’t until Gus’s customer turned around that Po realized who it was. “Jed!” she said. “What are you doing here?”
Jed’s lip turned up in a half smile. “Talking to Gus?” he asked, confused at her tone.
“Shame on me!” Po said. “That sounded rude. I’m not accustomed to questioning friends’ whereabouts, Jed, but Picasso said you were with Adele, so I didn’t expect to see you here. And Picasso mentioned the unfortunate encounter at his restaurant tonight.”
Jed shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at Po. “It was unpleasant, Po, that’s for sure. Adele isn’t the most gracious person in town, but Adler’s attack on her was pretty bad. I don’t know what the guy was thinking. Too much wine, I guess.”
“It was nice of you to take her out, though. I don’t think she has left that house at night since she came to town.”
“Out?” Jed started to answer, then held his silence.
“Well, Adele gets what she wants, don’t you know?” Gus said, stepping into the conversation.
“And what does that mean, Gus?” Po asked.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with women asking men out, Po. My Rita says it’s done all the time with the college crowd and makes good sense, she says.”
“Gus, sometimes you talk too much,” Jed said lightly.
“Not at all,” Gus retorted. “Everyone in the store heard her invite you to take her to dinner.” Gus lowered his voice. “And just between us, we were all pretty relieved it was you she asked out and not any of us.”
“Well, I ask Max to take me out all the time,” Po said. “You’re just too old fashioned, Gus.” She smiled at the two men. The news that Adele had initiated the dinner brought an unexpected feeling of relief to Po, and she wasn’t at all sure why. Perhaps it was the look on Halley’s face when she spotted Jed this morning. Seeing Jed with a woman Halley so disliked would surely have disturbed that smile.
“Adele was in an ornery mood by the time I got her back to her house,” Jed said. “I think she was wondering why she’d asked me in the first place. And frankly, I was wondering the same thing. She said she wanted to talk with me about something, but we never got that far. I was fine with making it a short evening, though. I’d promised Halley I’d stop by her place, but when I got there, she wasn’t home. I checked out a couple places, then thought maybe I’d find her here. She comes in here a lot. Have either of you seen her?”
“She hasn’t been here tonight, Jed,” Gus said, but before the words had settled in between them, Po spotted Halley coming in the front door.
Po waved to her over the heads of several customers. “Over here, Halley,” she called out.
Halley waved back and wound her way through the crowd to Po’s side. When she spotted Jed, she stopped short.
“Hi, Halley” Jed said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
But Halley brushed his hand from her arm and took a step back.
Po frowned. Halley’s behavior had been so erratic today. Tonight she seemed highly agitated. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes darted from Po to Jed, then back to Po. Her face was filled with anger.
“Halley, dear—are you all right?” Po asked.
“I’m fine, Po,” Halley snapped. She looked at Jed, a pinched look on her face.
“I got caught up in something, Halley,” Jed said. “I’m sorry. Adele—”
“Don’t,” Halley interrupted. Her tone was sharp, accusing. “Don’t talk about her to me.”
“Halley,” Jed tried again.
Halley held up one hand to stop his words. She looked at Po and opened her mouth as if to speak, then snapped it shut again, her lips pressed into a thin line.
And before Po could say anything to ease the moment, Halley spun around and walked toward the door, her steps angry and heavy on the wooden floor.
Jed looked at Po, started to say something, and then instead, he excused himself and hurried after Halley.
Po was stunned. This wasn’t the gentle librarian she had gotten to know in recent weeks. Jealousy certainly wasn’t an emotion she’d have suspected would come easily to Halley. Nor disallowing an explanation that could so easily have eased the moment.
Max came up behind her. “Now what was that all about? Halley looked like she was about to kill someone.”
Po shook her head. “She was upset, that was for sure. Perhaps Jed will be able to calm her down. He was clearly concerned.”
“He has a job on his hands, far as I could tell,” Gus said. “You know what they say about a woman scorned—”
“But she wasn’t scorned, Gus.”
“You know that and I know that, but Halley sure doesn’t.”
“I’m sure Jed will work it out. The man’s a peace maker,” Max said beside her.
“There was such anger there,” said Po. “But you’re right of course. Sometimes all it takes is a good night’s sleep. Which is what we all need. Now where in this jungle of books is Eleanor?”
By the time Max and Po found her, Eleanor had discovered several new travel books to buy, and Gus was about to lock his doors.
“Nothing for you, Po?” Gus asked, as they gathered at the checkout desk. “It’s a rare day that you leave my store empty-handed. How about a little support for the professor?” He pointed to a small stack of Jed’s astronomy books sitting next to the computer. “Someone asked me to order one, so I got a couple extra. Read part of it myself. I think you’ll like it.”
Eleanor picked up the book and added it to her stack. “My treat,” she said.
“Now out, my friends,” Gus demanded, returning Eleanor’s credit card and handing her the bag. “I need to get home to Rita or she’ll wonder what I’m up to.”
“And we’ve had enough of that sort of thing for one night,” Max said. “Let’s keep the peace at all costs.”
Gus laughed and held the door open for then, then locked it behind them.
Keep the peace, Po thought. But she felt anything but peaceful. And even the starry night and two dear friends beside her couldn’t shake the feeling that peace was not the operative word tonight.
CHAPTER 24
Max dropped Eleanor off, and he and Po drove in comfortable silence the short distance to Po’s home.
Max turned into the driveway, his headlights beaming into the black night in front of them. “Is that Hoover?” he asked, spotting movement beside the back door.
Po frowned. She had left Hoover inside when Max picked her up. But as the car pulled to a stop, Hoover emerged from the shadow of the garage, his tail wagging in recognition. Before Po could get out of the car, he was at her side.
“Hoover, what are you doing out here?” she asked, then looked over at Max. “That’s odd. But sometimes Pete Aran-go, that nice fellow who mows my lawn, comes over and takes him for a walk. Maybe he didn’t latch the door tightly.”
“Po, you and your open doors. Will I ever convince you that your open-door policy isn’t a great idea?” Max got out and walked around the side of the car.
Po half listened to Max’s familiar speech about safety while she scratched Hoover’s ears. She’d have to talk to Pete about this. Although Hoover wouldn’t venture far, it would only take one squirrel to send him flying across the street—and he wouldn’t look both ways first.
Max walked Po to the side door, Hoover close behind, and held it open for her.
“I’d ask you in, Max, but I know you’re as tired as I am,” Po said.
Max nodded. “And I’ve an early appointment with a client tomorrow.” He held her for a moment, then felt the nudge of Hoover’s furry head between them. Max pulled apart slightly, then kissed Po good night. “I think Hoover’s tired, too. Who knows what adventures he has had tonight. ‘Night big fella,” he said, scratching the dog’s head, then headed back to his car.
Po watched Max drive away, wondering how she had been so lucky to have, not one, but two amazing men in her life. “And you’re not so bad yourself,” she said to Hoover, opening the back door and stepping into the low light of the kitchen.
Hoover ran around her, then stopped short, barking loudly into the semi-dark house.
Po’s heart began to beat wildly. Something didn’t feel right; clearly, Hoover thought so, too.
Hoover raced through the family room and into the front hall, his golden coat flying in the breeze.
“Is someone there?” Po called out, then grabbed a portable phone from the counter, ready to dial 911.
From the front of the house, Hoover barked wildly. Po peered into the darkened front hallway, the phone clenched tightly in her hand, her finger just above the programmed key that would bring the police.
Hoover stood at the front door, his ears alert, his nose pressed against the glass. All was silent, save for the beating of her heart and Hoover’s panting.
Po walked cautiously to the door and looked out into the dark night. The solid inner door was pushed wide open. Po stood at the glass storm door behind Hoover, peering out into the darkness. Nothing but the dark, starry night. But someone had been here. Someone had been in her house.
Po shuddered and rubbed her arms. The feeling of being assaulted, of someone invading her private space was as real and poignant as it would have been if she had encountered a trespasser face to face. Po walked through the house quickly, flicking on every switch until the house was ablaze in light and the frantic beating of her heart had slowed.
The fear had dried Po’s mouth and she poured a drink of water from the cooler, then stood by the kitchen table, looking around the large living area. Everything looked the same as when she had left the house hours earlier. Beside her, Hoover began to sniff the floor, then sniffed his way back into the wood-paneled den near the front door.
Po followed slowly, wishing she had asked Max to come inside with her. She turned on the overhead light in the den. Sam’s massive old desk was where it always was. But all around it were pieces of paper, tossed about in disarray. The desk drawers were open, and pads of Po’s yellow paper had been pulled out and left on the floor beside the desk. Po pressed her hand against her heart and tried to calm the rising fear filling her chest.
The gold clock the college had given Sam on his tenth anniversary as president was still above the mantel. Her laptop computer was still in its rightful place in the middle of the desk. A digital camera sat on a table and CDs filled a bookcase in easy view. Clearly whoever rummaged through her drawers was not out to steal electronics.
Po had brought the pictures salvaged from Joe’s apartment upstairs and put them on the table in the den, ready to reframe and return to Adele. Several were on the floor, but as far as she could tell, they all seemed to be there, though rearranged and turned upside down. Po walked back through the hallway and into the family room and kitchen.
There were no signs of anyone being in that part of the house, none, except the door of the closet where she kept her quilting supplies was ajar, and there was a slightly open drawer in the kitchen. But she might have done that herself, Po thought. She’d been in a hurry, she remembered—she’d been thinking about Joe and Ollie’s murders, about the stash of things in her basement. She glanced over at the counter where she’d tossed the yellow pad she had been doodling on that afternoon.
It wasn’t there.
Po frowned. She retraced her steps to the den, then returned to the kitchen. She had had the pad of paper in her hand, she remembered, and then had set it down carelessly on the counter and gone upstairs to shower and dress. She was sure of that. Because she had planned to go into the basement, but ran out of time.
The basement.
Po walked through the back hallway and down the stairs. She flicked the switch and flooded the basement room with light. The remnants of Joe’s life were there, still lined up drying, their pages curled from the process. Nothing seemed to be disturbed.
The trespasser hadn’t been in the basement. But a new-comer to her house would need time to find the basement. The door was at the end of a hall and was always closed. Perhaps he had been scared off before he got that far. Or maybe he didn’t care about the basement. What was in basements—trunks and old furniture? Probably not a robber’s treasure trove. She picked up a small, heat-singed book that she had forgotten the day before and carried it upstairs with her to put with things Halley might want.
Po refilled her water glass and sat on the couch, forcing her heartbeat to slow. Finally, with Hoover curled up in a golden heap on his bed beside the couch, Po walked through the house and locked her doors for the first time since she could remember.
Po poured herself a glass of wine and carried it upstairs. She considered calling the police, but there didn’t seem to be anything missing. What could they do? Instead she picked up the new book Eleanor had bought for her and headed up the stairs to bed.
A soak in a hot bath, the glass of wine, and a few chapters of the book relaxed her weary body, and when Po turned out the light a short while, sleep, though fitful, finally came.
CHAPTER 25
“Po, I can’t believe you didn’t call the police,” Selma said, her eyes blazing.
Po had considered skipping the Saturday morning quilting session, but the Bees were nearly finished with all their quilt tops for Adele’s bed and breakfast, and Po knew her absence would cause more fuss than sharing her news about last night’s break-in with Selma. Now she wasn’t so sure.
“Selma, calm down. Nothing was taken. Everything is fine.”
“Fine, my foot.” Selma walked around the end of the table and plugged in the iron. Her brown clogs pounded on the hardwood floor.
“Have you talked to P.J., Po?” Kate asked.
Po saw the worry fill Kate’s enormous brown eyes, and she reached over and patted her hand. “Katie, don’t worry about this.”
Kate didn’t answer. She slipped her hand away and walked over to the sideboard, pouring a cup of coffee and looking out into the Saturday morning, wondering what her life would be like without Po in it.
Eleanor lowered her cane to the floor and sat down next to Po. “Drink this,” she said, handing Po a cup of coffee.
“Eleanor, I’m fine.”
“Well, I’m not,” Eleanor said, “so humor me. If I had my flask, I’d spike it.”
Phoebe echoed Eleanor’s concern. “Po, it’s like this time it wasn’t dangerous, but next time? We need to figure this out, stop all this nonsense,” Phoebe said. “Why would anyone want to break into your house, Po?”
“That’s the first question that needs an answer. You said nothing was taken?” Selma asked. “Doesn’t make sense.”
“Nothing, except for a yellow pad,” Po said. “And most likely I just misplaced that. I doubt if anyone would want my scribblings and grocery lists.”
“What was on it?” Maggie asked. Her Fox and Geese quilt top was almost finished and she was as proud of
it as she was of her veterinary clinic. She’d pieced the simple design with bright red calico pieces and it would be perfect on the double bed in the corner room at 210 Kingfish Drive.
Leah and Susan walked in from the other room, carrying their already completed quilts. Leah had quilted her own, not trusting it to a second party.
“Gorgeous,” Maggie exclaimed as she spied the armful of quilt in Leah’s arms. She was up in a flash and took one corner of the quilt from Leah. Together they held it high for the others to see.
For the quilt top, Leah had created her own design, piecing together a bed of rolling hills—strips of bright greens and blues, shades of rust and goldenrod filled the quilt top in uneven waves. And on top of the design, in crimson and yellows and purples, she had appliquéd sunflowers and daisies and black cherry coleus. Brilliant zinnias, their heads full and flowering. Between the appliquéd prairie flowers, she’d woven strands of prairie grasses into the design. It was a contemporary prairie flowerbed, a work of art, and quilted in graceful waves that matched the field—intricate, perfect lines of stitching. For the binding that held the three layers of the quilt together, Leah had found a navy blue fabric, filled with tiny dots of color that matched the flowers.
“Magnificent, Leah. You’ve outdone yourself,” Po said, grateful for the shift in conversation.
“It’s going in that large bedroom with the sitting room off to the side,” Leah said.
A rattling at the back door broke into the conversation, and Po looked over at P.J.’s lanky frame filling the doorway.
“H’lo ladies,” he said with a lopsided grin, not totally comfortable in a roomful of needles and strange tools he didn’t understand. He walked over to the sideboard, helping himself to a cinnamon roll.
Murder on a Starry Night: A Queen Bees Quilt Mystery Page 15