A Bias for Murder

by Sally Goldenbaum

  Po shook her head. No matter how badly Adele was acting, her grief was still fresh. She picked up a finished block of her quilt hanging and held it up to the light to check the hand stitching on the abstract design. She was trying something new—piecing together bright oranges and yellows and minty green strips in wavy swooshes. She would put it in the upper hallway, she thought, where it would brighten up the interior space. “I agree with Kate. Imagine all that she’s dealing with. Figuring out the service, the burial, and what to do with that enormous house. It’s difficult—”

  “So you haven’t heard?” Leah asked, her brows lifting in surprise.

  “What?” Maggie, Phoebe, and Kate asked in unison.

  “People at the university went over as soon as Adele arrived. Professor Fellers suggested the college help with the memorial service for Oliver. Jed Fellers was Ollie’s mentor, you know, and he spent a lot of time with him. Ollie was such a sweet guy—a little different like you said, Po—but he loved the library and learning and the college. He even sat in on some of my classes once in a while. Anyway, Adele said no to Jed’s offer.”

  “Why?” Po asked. “That was such a generous offer. And appropriate. The college was Ollie’s world. That and the galaxy.”

  Leah took a breath, then filled in the rest of the story. “Her brother’s body was already gone when she arrived.”

  “Gone where?” Phoebe asked.

  “Probably to the funeral home,” Maggie said. “If Adele came in a day later, maybe whoever takes care of their estate matters had the body removed.”

  “No,” Leah said. “It was gone because the police had it moved to the morgue and are arranging for an autopsy.”

  “What?” Eleanor asked. “Why? He had a heart attack, right?”

  “But Ollie was in great health. And sometimes in cases like that, an autopsy is done—even though it’s entirely possible he did die of a heart attack. Apparently, whoever made the decision was new to the police department and thought Ollie had no family, so no one got Adele’s permission to move the body. She was furious about the whole thing, the way it was handled. Everything. Perhaps that’s why she’s been less than civil to people.”

  “I’m not sure I blame her,” Po said. “Having your twin die unexpectedly is an awful thing. But they can still help her plan a memorial. It will just be slightly delayed.”

  Leah shook her head. “According to university officials, she doesn’t want anything. No memorial. No funeral. Ollie will be cremated as soon as they allow her to arrange it.”

  The group fell silent, massaging the news by concentrating on the beautiful pieces of material in front of them. The cotton squares of color, vibrant enough to light up a dreary day.

  “Do you suppose Adele will leave soon, then?” Phoebe asked. “What will happen to the home on Kingfish Drive? My in-laws say it’s worth zillions.”

  “It’s a magnificent home,” Po said. “I remember going to parties there when Adele and Oliver’s parents were alive. And I stopped by now and then when I saw Ollie around, just to say hello, to take him some cobbler or bread. He’d always been a bit of a loner, but we had good talks. I was fond of him.”

  “Did you know that the house is haunted?” Phoebe asked. “Shelly Rampey at my kids’ playgroup told us all about it. But that can be, like, good, depending on the ghosts, I guess. Shelly said that her yoga teacher is wanting to buy the place for a retreat house for busy moms—a place they can go to refresh their spirits. I said, ‘sign me up, sister.’”

  “Phoebe, if your spirit were any more refreshed, we’d have to tie you down,” Po said.

  Phoebe giggled.

  “I wish you’d been alive to watch Goldie Hawn on an old TV show, Laugh In,” Esther said as she laughed right along with Phoebe’s contagious sound. “You laugh just like her. And even look a little bit the same.”

  Po laughed too, agreeing wholeheartedly. “But about that property—Phoebe’s in-laws are right. It’s priceless. Neighbors are already concerned that it might be sold to the wrong party.”

  “What’s that mean?” Kate asked. She reached behind her and grabbed a pastry from the side table.

  “Well, it’s almost too big for a single family, at least nowadays. And the neighbors don’t want anything that will bring traffic, that sort of thing. That’s understandable. And there are so many beautiful old magnolias and oaks and pines on that property—the thought of a developer tearing it down and putting up condos is very sad. I think it’s one of the oldest houses in Crestwood. It needs to be taken care of properly.”

  “Do you think Adele Harrington will care about any of that?” Eleanor asked, her tone of voice conveying her own opinion clearly.

  “The house has been in the family for over one hundred years. Adele will surely consider that and do the right thing.” But Po frowned as she spoke. The “right thing” was a very relative term in cases like this.

  “Well, the controversy surrounding that beautiful old home is waking up a sleepy Crestwood,” Esther said.

  “That’s for sure,” Kate said. “I ran by it this morning and there’s all sorts of activity going on—cars, a couple trucks, people walking around the front taking pictures. It was crazy and noisy. I wondered why the neighbors weren’t out protesting it all.”

  Esther had driven by too. “I noticed Tom Adler’s Prairie Development truck moving like a drunk snail past the place.”

  “He’s been after 210 Kingfish Drive for years,” Po said.

  “And I’m not sure I share your confidence in Adele’s sense of doing what’s right, Po,” Selma said. “She doesn’t live here, after all, and doesn’t give a hoot about the town.” Selma sat with her back to the main room of the store, one ear on the customers being helped by two college girls who helped out on Saturdays. “There’s so much money at stake. If you ask me, that’s what will decide what happens to that beautiful home—money. Mark my words. And let’s just hope it helps the town, not hurts it.”

  “Why, Selma Parker,” a new voice floated into the mix. “Who would ever dream of hurting this little town?” Heads moved in unison and all eyes focused on the tall, commanding figure standing in the wide doorway, directly behind Selma.

  The woman smiled slightly, acknowledging them as a group. Then her gray eyes focused on Selma, and she took a step into the room. “Please, don’t let me interrupt, ladies. Go on with your chitchat. I find your conversation quite amusing.”

  Selma stood and wiped the palms of her sweaty hands down her rumpled slacks. Then she held one hand out in greeting and forced a smile. “Hello, Adele,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”

  Chapter 2

  Adele Harrington brushed pastry crumbs off the table and set down her Balenciaga bag.

  “Yes, it has, Selma.” Adele turned her angular face toward Po. “And Portia Paltrow, you’ve aged agreeably, I see.”

  Po felt the tension in the room but forced a smile to her face. “We’re all sad to hear about your brother, Adele. He will be missed.”

  Adele waved her long fingers through the air as if dismissing Po’s thought. “Death happens. Perhaps Oliver would have lived longer if he hadn’t shut himself up in that house like a damn monk. He was a genius, you know.” Adele looked around the table. She looked at Phoebe for a long time and finally shook her head. “Who are you, young lady? And what did you do to your hair?”

  Phoebe waved away the reprimand. “My name is Phoebe Mellon.”

  “Mellon?” Adele said. Her voice indicated she was about to argue with Phoebe about her name.

  “Yes. Those Mellons. You might know them. I’m married to their son.”

  Adele frowned, as if unable to accept that a woman with a pixie haircut could be a part of a notable Crestwood family.

  Phoebe raked her fingers through her shorn hair, which she had clipped down to an inch or two once Jude and Emma were
born. “It’s not exactly a debutante cut but it sure helps when you have twin toddlers.” Her tone was just like her pixie haircut—friendly and happy.

  Adele’s hand had risen to her shoulder-length hair, smoothing it as she stared at Phoebe’s head. “So you’re married to that Mellon boy,” she said, as if those were the last words she had heard.

  “Is there something you wanted, Adele?” Selma asked, dismissing the moment and hoping Phoebe wouldn’t run for her FlowBee haircutting device and offer to cut Adele’s hair too. Phoebe wouldn’t allow herself to be pushed around for too long. “Would you like a cup of coffee? There’s a plate of Marla’s pastries over on the side table. These must be difficult days for you.”

  Adele was silent for a moment, as if considering the coffee question, then she looked over at Phoebe again. “I like your spunk. It will fare you well with that family.”

  She turned back to Selma, her face softer. “And yes, I’d like a cup of coffee.”

  Po wondered what Adele had done in her years away from Crestwood. Offering opinions certainly came easily to her. She poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. “Cream and sugar are on the table.”

  Adele nodded her thanks and sat down next to Po. “I’d like to talk with all of you.”

  A befuddled look passed among the women at the table as they fiddled with needles and pieces of fabric.

  Selma touched the iron to see if it was hot. “This is a quilting group, Adele. You’re welcome to stay, but we’ll want to continue finishing up our—”

  “I know what this is, Selma. My mother was a member of this group, lest you forget.”

  Eleanor smiled from her corner chair, remembering. “Of course she was. Dolores Harrington was an excellent quilter and a very lovely woman.”

  Po watched Eleanor’s face and held back a smile, reading her friend’s thought. And how in the world did she bear the likes of you? But Eleanor, thankfully, held her silence.

  Adele looked over, noticing the elegant gray-haired woman for the first time. “Eleanor Canterbury?” she said. “Good grief, are you still alive?”

  Eleanor’s delicious laughter floated above the cluttered table. “I suppose that’s a matter of opinion, Adele. But yes, I believe I am. Would you like a pinch?” She held out her arm. Dangly gold bracelets chimed against one another.

  Adele stared at Eleanor for a moment. “Amazing.” She shook her head. “My mother liked you, if I remember correctly.”

  “Your mother liked everyone, Adele,” Eleanor said. “And everyone liked her.”

  “You’re right about that, Eleanor.” Adele smiled for the first time. “Please go on with your work, but I’d like to tell you why I’m here.”

  “That would be nice,” Selma said. She picked up an all-white hanging that she had made for a new stationery store opening up down the road, looking down at the feather pen and scrolled piece of paper design if it might hold some words of wisdom in response to whatever Adele had to say.

  “How cool is that, Selma!” Phoebe said. She leaned over the shop owner’s shoulder and touched the stitching with the tip of her finger. “That’s perfect for the stationery store!”

  Adele cleared her throat, pulling attention back to her.

  “Adele, do you know everyone here?” Po asked. “We sometimes get so involved in our art that we forget there is a world beyond it.”

  “I can see that you do.” Adele glanced around the table. “I know who most of you are. I’ve checked the group out.”

  Po frowned. Checked them out? What on earth was Adele Harrington thinking, coming in and confronting them this way? Her brother’s death had been a shock. That had to be the explanation.

  “You’re Kate Simpson,” Adele said, looking at Kate. Her tone was accusatory, as if she were making some sort of judgment.

  Po looked over at her goddaughter. Even in jeans and a T-shirt, her normal Saturday attire, Kate stood out in a crowd, not always for reasons that pleased her mother or her mother’s best friend. But that morning Kate had been unusually silent, her too-loud laugh absent. But she was still Kate and still stood out in a crowd. She was the tallest of the quilters by several inches, as slender as Kansas wheat, and her thick, unruly hair seemed to have a life of its own. Kate leveled a look at Adele, as if wondering what Adele would do if she denied Adele’s declaration.

  To Po’s relief, she didn’t.

  “I am,” Kate said simply.

  The two women must have met several times, Po thought, although she wasn’t sure if Adele remembered. The Simpson’s house was just a couple blocks from the Harrington mansion, and Adele knew Kate’s mother, of course.

  “I’ve seen you riding that fool bike past the house,” Adele said. Then, abruptly, she turned her attention to Maggie and nodded, recognition and a trace of pleasure softening the sculpted lines of her face. “I’ve met you, Dr. Helmers,” she said. “You are good to my Emerson.”

  Maggie nodded. “Emerson is a wonderful dog.”

  “Yes, he is.” Adele managed a smile, enough to ease the tension that was settling around the table. “Dogs are a great comfort.”

  Leah Sarandon fiddled with a pair of scissors sitting in front of her. She had been watching Adele carefully, wondering if she would recognize her.

  “And you are?” Adele asked now. “You don’t appear to be a Crestwood native.”

  She didn’t remember, Leah thought, which was fine. “I’m from the East Coast, but my husband and I have lived here for a while. I teach at Canterbury and my husband is a pediatrician in town.”

  “And you do some of the design work with this group?”

  “Some. I like to try new things with the group and they indulge me.”

  Adele nodded, as if in some sort of approval. “And yes, I do remember you. You attended the college banquet honoring my brother several years ago. I never forget a face, although your name escaped me.”

  Adele seemed to study Leah for a moment and then she said, “You were on the committee that chose his essay on the Milky Way over the other submissions. It was unusual attention given to a nontraditional student, something of which you can be proud.”

  They were all looking at Adele now, her voice several decibels quieter as she spoke about her brother.

  “HIs essay was sparse and elegant,” Leah said.

  “It was that. As his professor said, ‘it was the work of a genius.’”

  Leah agreed. “Jed Fellers is head of the astronomy department and he considered Ollie his protégé. He took your brother under his wing and encouraged him to write, to learn. He made Ollie feel at home at the college.”

  “As well he should have,” Adele said.

  Her sentence was definite, ending the conversation. Her gaze moved on and rested on Susan Miller, sitting next to Leah.

  Before Adele could ask, the shop assistant introduced herself, and told Adele that when she wasn’t working with Selma, she, too, was a nontraditional student, thanks to her generous employer, who had insisted she return to school to get her fiber arts degree.

  “It was pure selfishness,” Selma said with a laugh. “What Susan has learned about design and fibers has benefited all of us. And all my customers, too.”

  “Are you responsible for that quilt display in the college library?” Adele asked.

  “Leah and I put that together,” Susan said. “They often display students’ work. Recently they have featured quilts honoring life on the Kansas prairie, all designed and quilted by Kansas women.”

  “It’s a fine display,” Adele said. “I never liked the Kansas prairie. Too barren for me. But seeing it on those quilts made me see it differently.”

  The sudden compliment from the unlikely source caused Po to chuckle. “Adele Harrington, I believe you are all show,” she said. “But we still don’t know why you’re here with us. I know you must have a millio
n things on your plate.”

  “Po’s right,” Selma said. “I’m sure getting that huge house of yours ready for an eager market is a formidable task.”

  “An eager market?” Adele frowned.

  “I’d say that everyone from the college board of directors to the city council to outside investors would like nothing better than to be the proud owners of your beautiful acreage and that amazing house.” Po took a sip of coffee.

  “Is that what this silly town thinks?”

  Po frowned at the curious comment, but she wasn’t inclined to ask for an explanation. Instead, she continued in her own direction. “Those of us who love old beautiful estates are hopeful you’ll be discriminating when you decide who will own it next. Large condos wouldn’t endear you to the neighbors.” Po chose her words carefully. She had no right to tell Adele what to do with her inheritance, even if she could. Although she’d love for the house to be preserved, she wasn’t sure what the best choice would be. Perhaps a small museum to house local art? Something that wouldn’t cause traffic jams, something tasteful and discrete.

  “And do you think I care about being liked by the neighbors, Po?” Adele asked.

  “Yes,” Po said. There was something forced about Adele’s attitude. Po remembered her as a young woman, home from her first year at Smith. She had come over to the house one day with her mother. Po and Bruce had recently moved into the home she still lived in. Po remembered it with some clarity because while Adele’s mother and Bruce talked about a donation the Harringtons wanted to give to the college, Adele talked with her, excited about the things she was learning and the thrill of living near Boston and soaking up all it had to offer. Po wasn’t that far removed from her own experience at Radcliffe, and they had shared stories about classes and clubs and what are called the Seven Sister schools.