Po glanced at the phone and saw that the message light was blinking. She set the box in the den, returned to the kitchen and punched the machine button. The voice was tight and controlled. “Po,” it said, “This is Halley Peterson. Perhaps you and I need to have a talk.”
Po shivered. No, not yet, she said to herself.
Po switched on more lights, then turned her radio to a Saturday jazz concert. The mellow strains of an old Miles Davis rendition of Summertime filled the room. Po found odd comfort in the clear trumpet sounds, but she knew it would take more than music to get rid of the chill in her bones. She needed Max, someone else in her home.
A quick call to his home went unanswered. Po tried Kate, but when she got the answering machine, she realized she didn’t want Kate around anyway, not tonight, and she left a mundane message instead.
Minutes later, with a large mug cradled in her hands and the smell of orange and spices wafting up from the steaming tea, Po sat down at Sam’s big desk, and went to work. “Sam, help me here,” she whispered. “Let’s get this over with, however sad and distasteful a task it may be.” Po pulled out Ollie Harrington’s yellow pads and began to read.
The pieces flowed together seamlessly, as they often did when the most obvious situations suddenly came into focus. The only questions remaining would have to come from someone else.
Po shoved the papers into an old portfolio of Sam’s and snapped it shut. Another call to Max confirmed that he wasn’t in yet, and Po knew she couldn’t wait any longer. It needed to end tonight.
Po returned to the kitchen and thumbed through the phone book until she found the address. And then, with her heart in her throat, Po grabbed the portfolio, her purse and a jacket and headed into the dark night. She paused briefly before sliding into her car and looked up into the sky. Millions of stars were flung across a deep velvet blanket. A perfect starry night.
As Po drove down the street, she called Max again from her cell phone, but he didn’t pick up, and she remembered a late meeting he’d had. He would be over later, he had told her earlier in the day. Po thought about waiting for him, then decided to forge ahead. The sooner she got all the answers, the better for everyone.
Po pulled out the address and drove slowly through the neighborhood just to the east of campus. It was a pleasant one, with modest houses and new condominiums mixed together. The address was in a small, pleasant complex of town homes, and Po found 707 Elm Street easily enough. There was a light in the window, and Po sat in her car for a brief moment, then walked up the short walkway and rang the bell.
“Hello, Halley,” she said.
Kate finally reached Max as he was leaving his restaurant meeting. “Please come, Max. I think Po needs us.”
The frantic edge to Kate’s voice startled Max. Before he could respond, Kate rushed on.
“She left me a message in an odd voice. She asked me to bring pie to dinner tomorrow night.”
“I don’t get it, Kate.”
“Max,” Kate said, exasperated with the sometimes slowness of such a smart man. “Po makes pie, not me. She’s famous for apple pie. I’ve never made a piecrust in my life that didn’t end up being used as a doorstop. Something’s wrong.”
Max didn’t argue. Po had left him a message, too— she said she was going to Halley’s. She also needed him to stand by her, she’d said. There’s no place he’d rather stand. Without hesitation, Max walked quickly out of the office and headed for his car.
“Come in,” Halley said. Her face matched her white tee shirt except for red, bleary eyes.
Po followed Halley into the small living room and sat down across from her. “It’s time you told me the truth, Halley.”
Halley nodded, but when she began to talk, the tears started again. She grabbed a tissue from the nearly empty container and looked steadily at Po. “I don’t know where to start, Po, but first you need to know I adored Ollie. Sincerely.” Po nodded. She had responses to that—that Halley had a peculiar way of expressing it—but she held her silence, waiting for the answers she was seeking.
“I didn’t know what Ollie had written, Po. Joe never told me. Jed and I wanted them back, because he said maybe we could publish them, honor Ollie in a special way. A book of essays, maybe. And Jed said Adele would never do that. But I knew it was what Ollie would want. He always wanted to write a book. So I tried hard to get them, to do something decent for him.”
“And you tried to break into Joe’s after he died—”
“I knew Joe had them. He told me that day that he needed to talk to me. That it was a matter of life and death. After he died, I thought it was in the writings.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Jed was helping me. He encouraged me to get them.”
“And when you knew I had them?”
“I lied to you that day, Po. I was so upset. I loved him, you know.”
“Jed?”
She nodded and the tears began to flow. “I told Jed you had some things for me from Joe’s, and when I drove by that night, I saw him going into your house. I confronted him later and he said he was getting some keys he’d left in your kitchen. When you want desperately to believe someone, lies can be easily masked.
“But I didn’t trust him completely, and I was so angry and sad. I felt used and I hated myself for it. And then you kept after me with questions. I just wanted everyone to leave me alone until I could get through it all and figure out what to do.”
Halley looked up at Po and her eyes were filled with grief. “Jed was the first love of my life, Po. I’m thirty-six, and he was my first love. I didn’t know what to do about that, don’t you see?”
“You wanted to hang on to it if you could. I understand, Halley.”
“Jed wouldn’t give me a copy of his book, you know. He said he was embarrassed by his first effort, and I could read the next one. I was so foolish. Even though I thought it was odd, I did what he asked. But when you left it with me, I paged through it and knew what I guess I’d known for awhile—knew that I had heard those beautiful, lyrical words before. Ollie used to read the passages to me after he’d written them. I’d sit in wonder, imagining the stars he wrote about, the pathways and galaxies and amazing dimensions of the universe.”
“So it was Ollie, then, who wrote A Plain Man’s Guide to a Starry Night.”
Po was talking more to herself than to Halley.
“Yes.”
Halley spun around at the sound of the familiar voice behind her.
Jed walked into the low light of the living room and dropped Halley’s house key on the table. He walked over to Halley and rested one arm on her hand.
“Halley, I love you. And I’ll explain all of this.” He looked over at Po and asked her politely to sit down.
Po saw the bulge in Jed’s coat pocket, and she sat down on the edge of the couch. His voice was dangerously calm. He kept his hand on Halley’s arm and continued, his eyes never leaving Po’s face.
“It’s too bad that you pursued this to such lengths, Po. We’d all be better off—you, me, Halley—if you had left it alone.”
“But Ollie and Joe weren’t left alone, Jed.”
“I didn’t want it to end like it did. I’m not a monster, Po.” Jed half-smiled as he spoke, and Po felt chills run down her back.
“Ollie wrote those essays in my class, you know. Shared them all with me. They were brilliant, so I photocopied each one. All I had to do was add a transition here and there and a title. It all made a kind of logical sense to me. I was his mentor, after all.
“I called Ollie into my office when the publisher sent me a copy of the book,” Jed continued calmly, “and I told him what a great thing it was—he was a published author, wasn’t that great? I explained that it didn’t matter whose name was on it, he was the vision behind it, and we’d celebrate together.”
Beside him, Halley shook her head. “You’re a fool, Jed Fellers. Ollie would never have agreed to that. I could have told you that.”
“No, in his simple way, Ollie had a ridiculous sense of right and wrong. Black and white. He said it was dishonest. Against the law. Said he was going to go to the chancellor and tell him. I tried everything I could think of to change his mind. I needed the book, for god’s sake. The tenure committee was breathing down my neck. The department chair was at stake. Ollie didn’t need it. But I did. When Ollie wouldn’t cooperate, I had no choice.”
“But to kill him?” Halley screamed at Jed and jerked her arm away.
Jed slapped her. “Halley, calm down,” he said. His voice was monotone now and Po recognized the lack of emotion, the distance in his tone, and it frightened her.
“Po, you don’t get it because you’ve always had it easy. You and Sam. You don’t know what it’s like.”
Jed’s tone was changing dramatically, and Po stiffened. “You killed a lovely man, Jed. And you stole from him.”
“Not a theft, Po!” Jed’s voice was threatening now. “Who do you think taught Oliver those things? Who?”
“I’m sure you taught him some things, Jed. But you also took his words and told people they were yours. Ollie must have told Joe Bates about it.”
“Of course he did. And Joe would have done anything for Ollie. Joe took the original essays after Ollie died, I was sure of it.”
“So you tried to burn his place down? It was you, not Halley.”
Jed laughed. “Halley? Halley couldn’t hurt a flea, but she’d do anything for a friend.” His hand moved up to Halley’s neck and he tugged lightly on a strand of her hair. “But when Halley couldn’t get the notebooks, burning the place seemed the easiest way out.”
“And now what, Jed?” Po faced him directly. She’d known Jed Fellers for over a dozen years. Or she thought she had. But suddenly, she was forced to face a man that she didn’t know at all.
Jed stood straight and looked her in the eye. “I don’t know, Po. What do you think we should do?” He shrugged and looked at her with total disinterest. “I thought I’d find the manuscripts before you did, and no one would ever have known. But you butted in. And I know one thing, I can’t let you destroy my fine reputation.” His hand slipped into his pocket.
Beside him, Halley rubbed her arms, then took a step away. A noise from the kitchen distracted Jed for the one brief moment that Halley needed, and while Po watched, she raised her knee, positioned her hand for a chop to his throat, and before Po could get up from the couch, she sent Jed Fellers flying to the floor.
In the next instant, Max, appeared in the doorway, followed by a policeman. He wrapped his arm around Halley. “That was quite a move, young lady.”
“I walk home alone from the library nearly every night. A girl has to be ready,” she said, and moved over to Po, hugging her tightly.
Outside, lined up along the green lawn beneath a perfect, star-filled sky, stood a collection of Crestwood police, eager for their prey.
And behind them, shivering beneath the folds of P.J.’s down jacket, Kate looked up beyond the stars and thanked her mother once again for looking out for those she loved.
EPILOGUE
You are cordially invited
to Thanksgiving Dinner
210 Kingfish Drive
RSVP—Adele Harrington
Adele had decided Thanksgiving would be the perfect weekend to open the doors of 210 Kingfish Drive to the town that had finally embraced her as one of its own.
With a crew of many and the help of Picasso St. Pierre and his staff at the French Quarter, Adele threw a Thanksgiving dinner that would be remembered and talked about for a long, long time.
“Adele, you’ve definitely outdone yourself,” Po said, walking through the wide welcoming front door with Eleanor and Max on either side of her. “It’s absolutely beautiful!”
In the four weeks since the jail doors had banged closed on Jed Fellers, Adele Harrington had thrown herself full force into finishing the renovation of her home in time for the holiday. The knowledge that Ollie’s murderer was a man she knew, a man who was so present during all their grieving, was difficult to accept, and work proved an acceptable antidote to the pain.
Dozens of mums in rusts and gold filled the warm, inviting entryway of the home for the special event. Candles warmed tabletops and the soft light of sconces welcomed guests into Crestwood’s newest B&B.
Kate walked through the open door on P.J.’s arm. “I want to be married right here, in this amazing place. Can we do that, Adele?” She smiled over at their hostess.
Adele wrapped an arm around Kate and took her over to the staircase, just beyond the small desk where visitors would soon be signing in. “How proud I’d be to have little Kate Simpson be the first bride to come down those stairs. Adele pointed up the massive winding staircase that led to the second level. Thick forest-green carpet lined the stairs, and ropes of garlands lit with tiny white lights, were wound around the walnut railing. A harvest tree decorated the landing.
“Hey, what did I miss?” P.J. said, following the two women. “Wedding? Katie my love, am I invited?”
Po watched P.J. follow Kate up the stairs to tour the renovated bedroom suites. A wedding at 210 Kingfish Drive? The thought filled her with a rush of dizzying warmth.
“You’re wearing your heart on your lovely sleeve, Po,” Max whispered in her ear, then handed her a crystal glass of punch.
Po chuckled and walked on into the spacious living room where Selma and Susan were sitting on a couch in front of the blazing fire. Gus and Rita Schuette were off to the side, admiring the built-in bar that Adele would use for evening wine tastings, and the mayor and college chancellor sat watching a football game in a small alcove area off the living room.
“Something for everyone,” Po said, looking around.
“This place is amazing,” Maggie said, coming up behind Po. “I’m crazy about it, and Adele has already promised me that we can have a fundraiser for the animal rescue league here.” Maggie had brought a guest. “The guardian of four gorgeous adopted pups,” was how Maggie introduced him, and his bold, strong face and ready laugh told Po he would be a great match for her dear Maggie.
Tim and Leah came in carrying Leah’s homemade pumpkin pies, and Po walked back to the kitchen with Tim. “Picasso,” she called out, “more pies for your collection.”
Picasso swooped down on them, kissing them both and taking the pies over to the sideboard where they joined others of cherry and mincemeat and rich pecan.
“A feast fit for a French pilgrim,” he exclaimed with glee. Halley appeared from the back room with Neptune the cat in her arms.
“Halley, I’m so glad you’ve come,” Po said, giving her a quick hug.
“I guess you haven’t heard, Po.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“Adele has hired me to organize the library that she’ll have for the guests. It’s going to be wonderful, and I’ll work here when I’m not needed at the college. It’s kind of a dream,” she confessed. “I can pick the books I want, organize it, make it cozy and wonderful. I can’t imagine the guests will ever want to leave.”
Po knew that Adele and Halley had talked, but she didn’t know the outcome had been so generous and forgiving on both their parts. They’d each been hurt terribly by a man, and they had both loved another man whom they couldn’t bring back to life. They certainly had a framework for friendship, Po thought. She was pleased to see it had begun.
When Adele called them all into the living room a short while later, Po was prepared for a toast. What she wasn’t prepared for was the president of Canterbury University’s announcement. “There will be a new printing of A Plain Man’s Guide to a Starry Night,” he said, “with Oliver Harrington’s name on the cover.”
Adele stood beside him, her eyes damp. She wiped the tears aside and took her place in front of the fireplace. “In addition to the book,” she said, “there’s something else we’ve decided to do in my brother’s memory.” She nodded toward P.J. and Max.
T
he two men walked in from the foyer, carrying a folded mound of fabric. With the Queen Bees standing proudly by, they unfolded and held up a hanging that Susan and Leah had designed, and all the Queen Bees had stitched together in these four short weeks. A gift for Adele. A tribute to Ollie.
The background blocks of mottled midnight blue held a brilliant galaxy, created from small crimson and gold and deep orange-colored strips. The design was a swirl in all shades and hues. The swirl spread out against the deep background, bigger and bigger, flying upward, until the largest star of all—a brilliant blend of bright orange and yellow and white fabric, filled the top of the quilt.
Ollie’s starry sky.
While champagne glasses clinked around the room, Po edged in beside Kate and Max. She looped an arm around each of them, her heart about as full as she could ever remember it being. There was a magic in the air tonight, and she suspected she wasn’t the only one who felt it. She hugged her goddaughter close and spoke softly.
“A wedding, Kate?” she asked. “Is that what I heard you say? A wedding on a starry night…I think I could handle that just fine. Just fine, indeed.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sally Goldenbaum is the author of over two dozen published novels, including a mystery written with Nancy Pickard. She is an editor at a veterinary publishing company, mother of three grown children, and lives in Prairie Village, Kansas, with her husband, Don, two dogs, and a cat.
Table of Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Copyright
Title Page
Murder on a Starry Night: A Queen Bees Quilt Mystery Page 17