A Bias for Murder

by Sally Goldenbaum

  “What happened then?” Po asked.

  “I hurried outside to stop him from making such a scene in front of my bistro, but the police were already there, and they took him away. He was frightening my customers. And Madame Harrington was clearly upset at the public display.”

  “And then?” Eleanor asked, nudging him on.

  “Madame insisted they leave. I told her you were coming, Po, maybe she would want to stay and tell you hello. I know she likes you and I thought it might calm her down. 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.”

  “Working out?” Po frowned.

  Jacques shrugged. “Professor Fellers told me not to worry. He said he would take her home and make sure she was okay. But before she left, she did tell me she liked my escargots.” Jacques 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,” Jacques continued, pleased with such an attentive audience, “I think with Monsieur Adler in jail, people might begin to feel better.”

  “But disturbing the peace isn’t the same as murder,” Po said.

  “Non, you are right, Po. But where there is such horrible anger, who knows what more the gendarmes will find?” Jacques gave their order for escargots and a ragout d’agneau to a waitress hovering nearby, assuring them it would please even his own dear deceased mother, were she here to try it. And before they could comment, he scurried off to welcome a group of diners settling in at a nearby table.

  “I almost wish Jacques 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 the sommelier and ordered a bottle of white wine.

  “Do you really think Tom could be responsible?”

  “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 full-bodied grenache 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.

  They 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 escargots the waiter placed in front of them, the small group moved on to more appropriate conversation, like Eleanor’s planned trip to the south of France.

  Later, when they were stuffed full of Jacques’s wine-flavored lamb stew and slices of baba au rhum made especially for Eleanor’s birthday, the threesome 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. 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? A niggling feeling, a thought that hadn’t yet formed, had been buzzing around her like a pesky insect. Since…since when? Since she left Joe’s apartment?

  Po looked up into the brightly lit window of Gus’s bookstore. They walked over, looking in and examining his new display.

  “I think I’ll see what new travel books Gus has gotten in,” Eleanor said, pointing her cane at several guide books featured in the window.

  Max held the door and Po followed Eleanor inside the store, grappling with the irritating thought that dangled like a thread right in front of her.

  The store was crowded, some people passing the time while they waited for a table at Jacques’s, others wandering through the store, listening to a guitarist playing in a reading room, and others checking out the best sellers on a display rack.

  Po spotted the owner standing to the side, talking to a customer. She wandered over to say hello just as the customer turned around.

  “Jed!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  Jed turned and smiled. “Talking to Gus?”

  “Shame on me,” Po said. “That was rude. I’m not accustomed to questioning friends’ whereabouts. It’s just that we were talking about you with Jacques. He mentioned the unfortunate encounter at his restaurant tonight.”

  Jed shoved his hands in his pockets. “It wasn’t pretty, that’s for sure. Adele isn’t the most gracious person in town, but Adler’s behavior was pretty bad. I don’t know what the guy was thinking. Too much wine, I guess.”

  “In spite of that, it was nice of you to take her out, though. I’m sure she appreciated it.”

  “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.

  “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.”

  “Gus, sometimes you talk too much,” Jed said jokingly.

  “Not at all,” Gus retorted. “Everyone in the store heard her invite you to take her to dinner.” Gus looked around, then lowered his voice. “And just between us and the doorknob, we were all pretty relieved it was you she asked out and not any of us.”

  “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 saw 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 home,” 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. Bookstores and libraries seem to be her favorite places. Have any of you seen her?”

  “Not tonight,” 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 to Po’s side
. When she spotted Jed, she stopped short.

  “Hey, 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 agitated. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes darted from Po to Jed, then back to Po. Angry eyes.

  “Halley, are you all right?” Po asked quietly.

  “I’m fine,” Halley snapped. She looked at Jed again, 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 closed it, her lips pressed into a thin line.

  Before Po could say anything to ease the moment, Halley turned and walked toward the door, her steps angry on the wooden floor.

  Jed looked at Po, started to say something, and then instead, excused himself and hurried after Halley.

  Po was surprised. This wasn’t the gentle librarian she had gotten to know in recent days. Jealousy 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. “What was that all about? Halley looked like she was about to kill someone.”

  Po shook her head and looked at Gus. “How did you read it, Gus? She was upset, that was for sure. Maybe Jed will calm her down. He seemed concerned.”

  “I don’t know what gives. Halley is usually so quiet and pleasant. But that wasn’t the Halley I know. Jed has a job on his hands, far as I could tell. 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.”

  “Jed will work it out. The man’s a peacemaker,” Max said.

  “You’re right. 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 confiscated several new travel books and Gus was about to lock his doors.

  “Nothing for you, Po?” Gus asked, sticking Eleanor’s credit card in the machine. “It’s a rare day you leave here empty-handed. How about a little support for the professor? These just came in. Haven’t even shelved them yet.” He pointed to a small stack of Jed’s new book sitting next to the computer. “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. He held the door open, 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, then he and Po drove in comfortable silence the short distance to Po’s home.

  They drove slowly into the driveway, headlights beaming into the black night in front of them. “Is that Hoover?” Max asked, spotting movement to the side of the garage.

  Po frowned, peering into the darkness. She was sure she’d left Hoover inside when Max picked her up. But as the car pulled to a stop, Hoover emerged from the shadows of the garage, his tail wagging. Before Po could take a step from the car, he was at her side.

  “Hoover, what are you doing out here?” Po looked over at Max. “That’s odd. But sometimes Peter—that nice fourteen year old who mows my lawn—comes over and takes him for a walk. Maybe he didn’t latch the door tightly.”

  “This is crazy, Po. Will I ever convince you that your open-door policy isn’t a great idea?” He got out and walked around the side of the car, his tone more serious than usual on the topic.

  But Po only half listened to the familiar lecture about safety. She leaned down, scratching Hoover’s ears, and thinking. She’d have to talk to Peter 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 stop and look both ways first. She glanced down the street. She’d give Peter a call in the morning.

  Max walked Po to the side door, Hoover close behind, and held it open.

  “I’d ask you in, Max, but I know you’re as tired as I am.”

  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, then kissed Po good night. “I think Hoover’s tired, too. Who knows what adventures he had tonight. ‘Night big fella.” He scratched the dog’s ears, 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 counter lights in 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 pulled her phone from the pocket of her coat, 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 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. Bruce’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 Bruce on his tenth anniversary as president was still on the shelf. Her laptop computer was where she’d left it in the middle of the desk. A digital camera sat on a table and an iPad 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, except the door of the closet where she kept her quilting supplies was ajar. Back in the kitchen she spotted a slightly open drawer. She probably had done that herself. She’d been in a hurry when she left, and had been preoccupied 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 newcomer to her house would need time to find the basement. The door was at the end of a back hallway and she always closed it. Especially now, while the unpleasant odor of burnt paper still lingered in the room. Perhaps the intruder 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.