“Yes, but poor Halley is a strong woman under her vulnerable façade. By the time she and Jed left my house, she was composed and ready to let the police know that she was the woman Adele spotted running away—but that she had absolutely nothing to do with the fire.” Po pushed her glasses up into her hair and began taking finished blocks out of her soft carrying case. “P.J. thought that was best, and he and Jed are both going to the station with her this morning.”
“The thought of Halley trying to burn down Adele’s home is crazy,” Maggie said. “What possible reason would she have for doing that?” Maggie positioned her cutting mat, picked up her rotary cutter, and began slicing through strips of bright blue fabric for her binding.
“Be sure to use double bias binding for these quilts,” Selma said, taking a pin out of her mouth. “They’re going to be used a lot and will hold up better.”
Phoebe looked with dismay at the single binding she had begun to stitch on her quilt.
“No problem, Phoebe dear,” Selma said. “But the crib quilt will especially need it because it will get lots of washings. We can fix that in a jiffy.” She lifted the quilt from Phoebe’s hands.
Leah poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down next to Maggie. The long, thick oak table was filled with strips of binding materials in a multitude of colors. Most of the tops for the B&B quilts, as the group called them, were ready for their bindings. “The talk at the college today was all about the fire and Joe’s murder. Parents are calling, wondering if there’s a psycho on the loose. 210 Kingfish Drive is too close to the campus for comfort.”
“It’s too close to all of us for comfort,” Po said. “It’s got to stop. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s safe to walk at night, and I’ve never felt that way before in all the years I’ve lived in Crestwood.”
“Are there any leads, Kate?” Phoebe asked.
All heads turned toward Kate. As P.J.’s soul mate, she sometimes had news the papers hadn’t latched onto yet. Kate stood near the window, coffee in her hand and wearing a loose white blouse and slender jeans. The lights from the lamp posts lit streaks of red in her thick hair. Kate shook her head. “Not that P.J. has shared. But I know he’s worried because of what it’s doing to the town—and to the people involved. The longer this festers, the more damage it does to people’s lives.”
“We need to do something. This bed and breakfast is the future home of our quilts, ladies,” Phoebe said, pushing back her chair and rising to her full 4 feet 10 inches. “What are we going to do about it?”
Kate laughed at Phoebe’s gusto but admitted that she was right. “P.J. said arson cases are often helped along by people calling in tips, things they saw that night.”
Susan walked over to the iron and began pressing a binding strip. “Unfortunately what was seen was Halley. The morning news interviewed several neighbors—it was such a nice night that many people were sitting out on their porches—and the person they described seeing sounded like Halley. Apparently she wandered around the neighborhood after leaving Adele’s.”
“But if I hadn’t been at Po’s, it could have been me they saw,” Kate said. “I walk through that neighborhood all the time. This is a walking town—” She gathered her thick loose hair in one hand and pulled an elastic hair band around it, then tossed it back over her shoulder. “Halley didn’t try to burn that house down. I’m just sure of that.”
“But she was over there, trying to get inside. Why?” Phoebe asked.
Po listened and realized she’d been wondering the same thing. She hadn’t slept easily, thoughts of the burning garage and images of Joe’s body still burdening her thoughts. Halley’s reason for going over to Joe’s was logical enough on the surface, but something about it didn’t sit right. Breaking into someone’s home, even if you had a key, was a serious thing. And Halley was a smart woman. And even Jed had warned her against it, someone you’d think she’d have listened to.
“Adele came to the clinic to get Emerson today,” Maggie said. “That’s odd, don’t you think? That she boarded her dog the day of the fire? Then picked him up the day after? What was that about?”
There was silence, as eight minds pondered Adele’s action. As hard as she tried, Po couldn’t come up with a logical explanation. Emerson was the only thing Adele seemed to care about. The one thing she would want to protect in case of a fire.
“But why would she set fire to her own house?” Leah asked.
“Maybe there was some incriminating evidence against her in Joe’s things,” Phoebe offered.
“But she lives there, for heaven’s sake,” Eleanor said. “All she had to do was go up in the apartment and find whatever she wanted and destroy it.”
There was silence as they all sorted through the conflicting motives and actions.
Selma walked over to the sideboard and filled a small plate with Kate’s pasta. “Sorry, friends, I can’t wait.” She sat down in an old rocking chair near the food table. “Adele came in here today after she picked up Emerson. She asked how the quilts were coming. But that wasn’t why she really came in.”
Po looked over at Selma. “No, I don’t suspect it was.” The two of them and Eleanor were the only ones who knew Adele in more than a very casual way. And without discussing it, she knew Selma was sharing the same sentiments that were weighing heavily on her heart. Adele wanted to talk with someone. Wanted help.
“She didn’t say much, of course,” Selma went on. “But she wanted to, I could tell. She looked so terribly sad, but couldn’t express it or ask for help. Adele is so self-contained that letting someone in just might cause all that glass around her to shatter.”
That was so true, Po thought. And so terribly sad. What would she have done without friends and shoulders to lean on when Sam had died?
“This pasta is great, Kate,” Maggie said, standing near the table. “Selma, I had that same feeling about Adele. She looked so sad today. Not guilty, really. Just sad. She was even nice to the office staff.”
“But the truth of it is, we have to be logical about it,” Phoebe said, grabbing a pad of paper from the old secretary Selma used to do her paperwork. “We know in our hearts she didn’t do it, or at least we think she didn’t. But okay, everyone, think this through with me.” Phoebe began scribbling on the paper: Adele—motive.
Susan looked up. “With Ollie gone, Adele inherited the house,” Susan said. “That’s motive. And she had said in front of all of us that she wanted Joe gone.”
“But the fire. Why the fire?” Selma asked. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Insurance money?” Maggie said.
“Of course!” Phoebe said, her fingers moving across the paper. “Mags, you’re super smart. She will have money to redo the carriage house now.”
And the remodeling money was running low, Po thought. That much Max had shared with her the night before. Adele was worried, he had said, because she wanted the bed and breakfast to be absolutely perfect. But Po held her thoughts to herself. There was enough on Phoebe’s pad already to condemn the poor woman. Could she possibly have killed her own flesh and blood? The thought caused tiny goosebumps to line up along her arms and Po rubbed them lightly, forcing the moment to pass.
“Okay,” Phoebe said. “Moving on—Tom Adler. We know he thinks Ollie was going to let him have first bids on buying 210 Kingfish Drive when he died. Tom’s business is in deep trouble, so my Jimmy tells me. Tom’s glamorous wife is a friend of Meredith’s—Jimmy’s mom— and she told me that the Adlers had to give up their membership in the Crestwood Country Club last month.” Phoebe laughed at the thought, a light, delicious ripple that she couldn’t hold in.
“Phoebe, shame on you,” Kate said, smiling at her friend and knowing that Phoebe would like nothing better than to relinquish her membership in the Crestwood Country Club. All the Bees knew Phoebe’s relationship with her wealthy mother-in-law was a precarious one. Though she tried to get along because she knew the Mellons genuinely loved their grandchildren, Phoebe didn’t fit comf
ortably into the their elegant lifestyle.
Phoebe shook her short platinum hair. “No, all’s I’m saying is that Tom’s pretty wife really likes her house and jewelry and all the things she’s gotten used to. And Tom is nuts about her, Meredith says, and he’ll stop at nothing to keep her happy.”
“Stop-at-nothing—write that down, Phoebe,” Maggie ordered.
“But what about Joe Bates? And the fire?” Eleanor said. “I suppose different people could have done these things, but it doesn’t seem likely.”
“Maybe it was as callous as this: Joe’s murder and the fire, and, God forbid, whatever awful thing comes next, are intended to make Adele’s business fail and drive her out of town,” Eleanor said.
“Leaving the property free for Adler’s company to develop,” Maggie finished.
Phoebe wrote furiously.
“And then there’s Halley Peterson,” Kate said. “Poor Halley, thrown right into the middle of all this.”
“But doesn’t seem so innocent, maybe, when you look at the facts,” Leah said. “Halley was also told the house would be hers someday. I know Ollie liked her very much. Let’s suppose he had told her she was in his will.” Leah’s words lacked conviction.
“Well, okay,” Po said. “But she would never kill Joe.”
“How do you know, Po? All you know about her relationship with Joe is what she’s told you. Did she really like the guy? Who knows? She clearly wanted something from him, she admitted that herself,” Maggie said.
“And she was seen running away from the burning garage,” Leah said. “And none of us can quite buy her intense desire to get into that apartment for sentimental reasons. What was that all about?”
Phoebe stepped in. “And, she didn’t much care for Adele, that we do know. Maybe she thought Adele killed Ollie and was getting even? Burning the place down would certainly accomplish that.” Phoebe’s words tumbled out. She looked over at Po and noticed the deep frown lining her forehead. Phoebe waved a hand through the air. “Oh, Po, we all like Halley. I met her the other day in the library when they had a reading hour for kids, and she was so sweet to Jude and Emma. This is all hypothetical. We have to put everything down.” She looked over at Eleanor. “El, I think we all need to have a glass of your wine—”
“There are also people at the college who wanted that property every bit as badly as Tom Adler did,” Leah said. “Who knows what kinds of deals they had tried to work out with Oliver? I know for a fact he had made an appointment to see the chancellor—I was in the office when he came in and made it, and if I’m not mistaken, it was set up for the day after he was murdered.” Leah pinched her brows together as she searched back in her memory. “Yes, I’m positive it was that day. Ollie was agitated and seemed distracted when I tried to talk to him. It was unlike him. Something was clearly on his mind and he seemed disturbed that the chancellor would talk to him right at that moment. And then, that night he died. Maybe there actually was an agreement with the college regarding the house, and he was going to cancel it.” Leah was talking about her own college family now, and her voice was soft and unconvincing.
Po accepted a glass of wine from Eleanor. The timing was certainly suspicious, but from what Po knew of Ollie, he could have been meeting with the Chancellor for something very minor. Little things sometimes agitated Ollie, like computers that didn’t work or classes that got cancelled. And he wouldn’t have hesitated to go to the highest authority he could think of to solve the problem. “Phoebe, dear,” she said aloud, “we need to be careful with all this. These are terrible things that have happened. And even being hypothetical like this puts us in a certain amount of danger.”
Po looked over at her goddaughter as she spoke. Kate and Phoebe were sometimes double-trouble when trying to protect someone they liked or when they thought things were moving too slowly. Their actions were born of generous spirits, but they worried Po, nevertheless. She was fond of Phoebe, and she loved Kate as much as her own three children. Moreover, she’d vowed to Kate’s mother before she died that she’d watch over her daughter, no matter what. Kate’s free spirit made that difficult sometimes.
“Po, I can read your thoughts,” Kate said softly, coming up beside her godmother. She put a hand on Po’s shoulder and squeezed it slightly. “You have P.J. on your side, too, you know, and he warns me to mind my own business at every turn.”
Po smiled up at Kate and sipped her wine. Kate’s words were sincere, she knew. But at the other end of the room, Phoebe was printing their hypothesizing on an erase-board that Selma used for teaching. And Po knew she wouldn’t be able to relax completely until the murderer was found. Both because she wanted the innocent to be able to get on with their lives. And because she wanted those she loved, safe.
CHAPTER 19
Po’s Tuesday calendar was filled to the brim. And the only way to approach a day filled with errands and book research and a conference call with her publisher was to get up early and hit the road with a nice slow run.
Po turned off the alarm, lifted her legs over the side of the bed and stretched. In minutes she had slipped into bright green jogging pants and a Trolley Run tee shirt, downed a glass of fresh orange juice, and with Hoover at her side, headed down the shady street.
Po loved this time of day, but early as it was, the streets weren’t empty. The fall semester was in full swing and passing her frequently with polite, indulgent nods were swarms of coeds, reminding Po of the speed of bodies several generations younger than her own.
But my speed is just fine, Po thought as she continued her comfortable pace through the winding leaf-strewn streets that wrapped around the college. Hoover ran at her side, always attentive, his golden fur flying in the breeze. As Po neared the Kingfish Drive intersection, she took an unplanned turn and headed down the long shady street that housed the Harrington mansion. She would tell Eleanor later that she hadn’t planned that route. But something, somehow, pulled her to the wide gated entrance of 210 Kingfish Drive. Hoover was the one who spotted the form on the driveway. And in the same instant, both Po and Hoover heard a frantic barking. In a flash, Hoover was gone, racing up the long Harrington driveway. Po followed quickly, calling to Hoover to stop. But instinct reigned over command, and in seconds Hoover stood near the figure of Adele Harrington, crumpled up beside the steps leading to the charred carriage house apartment. Emerson stood beside her, vigilant, and keeping Hoover at a respectable distance with a low growl.
“Adele!” Po reached her a minute later and crouched down beside her. “What happened? Are you all right?”
Adele was grasping her ankle, her face white and shadowed with pain. “Oh, Po,” she began, an artificial bravado forced into her voice. And in the next instant, the always-composed body of Adele Harrington collapsed into ceaseless sobs. Emerson wedged his way in between Po and Adele and began licking his master’s face.
Po rubbed the dog’s head, then wrapped her arms around Adele’s shaking shoulders and held her while tears ran down her cheeks. Finally the sobs subsided, and Adele reached for the tissue Po pulled from her pocket. “What a fool I am,” she said softly.
“Your ankle is swelling, Adele. Let me help you into the house.”
Adele forced a smile to her face. “Thank you,” she said and allowed Po to reach beneath her arms and help her to an upright position. “I fell, you see. Foolish me. Couldn’t sleep. So Emerson and I took an early walk around the grounds.” She hobbled beside Po to the back door leading to the kitchen.
Po braced Adele as she pushed open the door and helped her inside. Emerson and Hoover, their sniffing of one another complete, followed.
Po pulled a chair from the table and carefully settled Adele on the cushioned seat, then pulled out another for her throbbing foot.
“Now, let’s see if I can remember my first aid training,” Po said, grabbing a stack of towels from the counter and positioning Adele’s injured ankle on the soft cushion. Gently she moved her ankle to make sure there was nothing broken,
then carefully pressed the skin around her foot.
Adele, with Emerson’s head resting in her lap, wiggled her toes. “I don’t think there’s anything broken, Po,” she said.
“I don’t either. But you have a nasty sprain.”
Po went to the sink, poured Adele a glass of water and spotted a bottle of acetaminophen on the windowsill. She handed two small pills to Adele. “Take these for now—it will help the pain, and I’ll run you over to the emergency room when it has settled down some.”
Adele shook her head. “Not necessary, Po. I can tell it’s a sprain.”
Po found a bowl in the cupboard and filled it with ice from the freezer, while Adele directed her to an ice bag in the butler’s pantry. Po filled it, wrapped it in a towel, and gently placed it on her ankle.
“How did you fall, Adele?” Po pulled out another chair and sat beside her.
Adele took a drink of water and set the glass down on the table. Perspiration dotted her brow. She wiped it away with the back of her hand and sighed. “It was silly, Po. I looked up at the carriage house as I was walking with Emerson and realized I was going to have to go in there at some point, see what could be salvaged. And as long as I was up, I might as well be doing something. So Emerson and I started up the stairs. But I tripped and fell. Clumsy. Foolish.”
“No, Adele. Neither of those. But certainly unfortunate.”
Adele reached for a Kleenex from a box on the table. She dabbed at her eyes. “Thank you, Po. It was nice of you to stop.”
Po smiled. “You can thank Hoover. He spotted you as we were out for a run.”
“You run in the morning, Po? I used to run, when I lived back east.”
“You should start again.” Po looked at her ankle. “Well, maybe not for awhile. But when you’re feeling better, I’ll stop by someday, and we can run together. It’s beautiful down by the river early in the morning.”
Adele looked at her carefully, her eyes clearing. “Why are you being so kind to me? I haven’t been very nice to you.”
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