A Bias for Murder

by Sally Goldenbaum

  “Why would anyone kill Ollie?” Halley asked suddenly. “Is land that important? Did Adele want that house so badly? Or the developers? Or even the college? Enough to kill him? In the four years I’ve known Ollie, Adele visited him once. Once! And it wasn’t pleasant—I think she loved her brother, but she thought she knew what was best for him, what would make him happy, and ignored what he really loved. She wanted Ollie to move into a small condominium near her and sell the house. Can you imagine Ollie in a condominium? It was an awful time for him. And now she’s back and has what she wants. The estate is all hers. And she’s turning it into something he wouldn’t have liked at all.”

  “Maybe he’d have liked his sister coming home, Halley,” Po said gently.

  Tears ran down Halley’s cheeks, and she looked away, embarrassed.

  “Do you really think Adele was involved, Halley? Maybe it’s your deep sadness in losing a friend and wanting some resolution to that.”

  Halley looked back at Po. She dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, then shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Somebody killed Ollie,” was all she answered.

  Po reached across the table and covered Halley’s hand with her own. “Yes, someone did that terrible thing. And someone will pay for it—and hopefully that will be soon.”

  * * * *

  Much later that night, Po stood in her robe on the back porch steps, looking up at the same sky Ollie Harrington respected and loved with great passion. Replaying her conversation with Halley Peterson, she wondered about her own hollow words. Halley was lashing out at Adele because there was no one else to focus on. Ollie’s sister was the visible sign of the loss Halley had suffered in losing her friend.

  But the thought of Adele killing her own brother didn’t fit easily in Po’s mind, not any more than it did when she’d first heard the rumor.

  A breeze whipped her robe about her legs and she stepped back inside, closing the screen door behind her. It was unsettling: her conversation with Halley, and even more, the uncomfortable feeling that there were secrets at 210 Kingfish Drive that threatened people she knew. A feeling of dread was building up in the neighborhood—a lovely neighborhood where people wanted to live, a street where she walked alone at night, safely, unafraid. Having that lifestyle threatened was disturbing, unsettling, and in the end, it made Po angry. She walked inside and put a kettle on to brew some tea before bed. It would be hard to sleep.

  Halley might be right. Sometimes it seemed like no one was doing anything.

  Chapter 13

  Joe Bates shuffled around the side of the wide garage and walked toward the pond in the back of the big house. The sun was slowly climbing above the trees in the east and he could feel the soft early morning glow on his leathered skin.

  It’ll be a chilly day, he suspected. A fall day tinged with impending winter. He clutched the thermos of coffee and planted one foot after another, drinking in the morning air. Not that the days had all been so great lately, but early morning seemed to escape the plight that affected the rest of the day. It was his special time, another world, and he could forget for a while the things that had gone bad, the dark days and the dangers all around him.

  It was still quiet at this hour, before the jostling groups of foul-mouthed workers invaded his home. They’d come today, even on a Saturday, he knew. No peace. But for this brief hour, it was just Joe and his pond and the soft flat lilies floating along the surface. But no Ollie, who used to bring him blueberry muffins that he’d make all by himself. They’d sit beside the pond and watch the last remnants of the galaxies fade into the light of day.

  Ollie would go on and on and on about those planets and stars that were so real to him they nearly became family. Lordy, how Joe missed that boy. Loved Ollie like a son, quirks and all. He was a good boy. Not sharp-tongued like that sister of his. Not cruel like his father. Kind and gentle, just like his sweet mother, God bless her soul.

  The thought of Oliver gripped Joe fiercely, and he paused on the flagstone pathway, his head cloudy and sad. Then, with the commitment he’d made to Ollie, he continued on toward his pond, trying to push the painful thoughts aside. Old Missus Harrington had left it up to him to watch over Ollie—even gave him the apartment up behind the garage so he’d stay close. And what’d he done? Let him get killed. And now he’d have to do something about it. Bring honor back to the boy. And now at last he knew how to do it. He’d right the wrong. Just like the Bible told him to do.

  Joe settled down on one of the boulders that ringed the lily pond. He remembered when they had lifted those rocks in place years and years ago. Brought in a huge old crane and dropped them right in place. Directed it himself. Joe carefully unscrewed the top of his thermos and felt the steam rise up his nose, wetting the thin hairs.

  He hadn’t understood Oliver’s ranting at first. Ollie’d been so mad, he didn’t make much sense. The boy didn’t get mad much, but this time he thought he’d lost not just what was his, but a part of his soul, he told Joe. People had given him the short end of the stick often. He knew that and had learned not to care. But this time it was dead wrong. They couldn’t take it away from him. He wouldn’t let it happen.

  Joe hadn’t quite understood. He had thought Ollie was talking off the top of his head like he sometimes did about the stars. Mostly he had wanted to calm Ollie down, to let him know he’d always be there. But finally Joe understood. And finally he had the proof he needed to make it right. He’d show the high and mighty Adele Harrington the way it was, sure as he knew his name was Joe Bates.

  Joe leaned forward, staring into the water, cleaned by the dozens of koi that swam in slow circles just beneath the surface. Soon his boy would rest in peace. Joe bowed his head and briefly removed the faded Royals cap from his head. With gnarled fingers, he made a sign of the cross over his chest. Requiescat in pace. It was the least he could do for his Ollie.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his arms around his body, shivering now, and he prayed all the way up to the heavens that he’d have the strength to do this one last thing for his boy. He slipped the cap back over his thinning white hair.

  With his eyes closed, Joe didn’t see the shadow fall across the pond. And with his hearing not so perfect anymore, he missed the quiet sound of shoes across the path, missed the lifting of the large stone rock behind his back, up in the air over his head.

  He didn’t see, nor did he hear. He felt only the rush of air as the large rock crushed down, unforgiving, on the top of his head.

  For a brief second, Joe saw the lilies and the fish look up at him. Spread apart. Welcome him.

  And then all was black, and Joe’s body folded over and rolled off the rock as gracefully as a seal that was finished sunning himself. With nary a sound, he slipped beneath the cool, soothing water of his pond.

  Requiescat in pace.

  Chapter 14

  Maggie’s new van was parked at the curb, directly in front of Selma’s store. She stood on the sidewalk beside it, beaming. “Okay, ladies,” she said, “this may be your only chance to ride in my new chariot before it’s full of dog hair, tools, and dings.”

  “Mags, it’s beautiful,” Kate said, admiring the shiny white van with “Helmers Pet Care” painted along the side in bright blue swirling letters.

  “Thanks.” Maggie put her hands on her hips, her eyes bright. “I’m keeping the truck for old times’ sake—but isn’t this a hunk? And before I take out a row for cages, it will nicely fit all eight of us, I do believe.” She slid open the big side door to reveal three rows of seats.

  “Very nice, Maggie,” Po said. “It’s about time you got something for yourself. And it’s a vast improvement from that rusty truck, beloved or not.”

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” Selma said. “I want to be back before the early Saturday morning crowd comes in and drives my staff crazy.”

  “Selma, don’t fret so,” Susan said. “Thi
ngs will be fine. You need to start taking some time off, away from the store.”

  “And realize that it really will survive without you,” Leah chimed in.

  Selma waved off their words and pulled herself up into the van, puffing a little as she settled herself near the window. “Hand me my bag, will you?” she asked Phoebe, who slid over next to Selma.

  “Very cool, Maggie.” Phoebe reached over and helped Eleanor up into the van.

  Kate, Leah, and Susan slipped around the settled bodies into the wide third seat, Po joined Maggie in the front, and in minutes the Quilters were off, heading down Elderberry Road toward the Harrington mansion.

  “Why do you suppose Adele wanted us all to come?” Maggie called back over her shoulder. “You’d think looking at quilts on the beds would be the last thing she’d be thinking about.”

  Po shifted on the seat. “I think she’s just wanting some assurance that something in her planning is going right and is under her control. She seemed jittery yesterday when I talked to her.”

  “Very jittery,” Kate piped up from the back of the van. “And a little paranoid. She stopped me yesterday as I was biking by the house—she was pulling out of the drive in that long Cadillac of hers—and wanted to know if I had seen anyone suspicious in the neighborhood. I felt kinda sorry for her.”

  “This is an enormous undertaking for her,” Po said. “Max said it’s costing more than she had anticipated.”

  “Well, that’s the way of the world,” Selma said, looking out the window.

  “Maybe we can cheer her up a bit,” Leah said. “I think our quilt tops are beautiful.”

  “Of course they are!” Phoebe said.

  “And we’re here,” Maggie announced, pulling into the driveway.

  “This is the first time in days I’ve been able to see all the way back to the carriage house,” Po said as Maggie pulled over to the side of the drive. “Not a truck in sight.”

  “But there will be,” Selma said. “The renovation crew is here seven days a week, old Mrs. Porter tells me. She said she can hear the commotion all the way from her house on the corner. She’s ready to spit fire at Adele. Her husband patrols the street, just waiting for something to go wrong.”

  “The Porters have a bone to pick,” Eleanor said. “A truck ran over their new chrysanthemum bed. She explained it to all of us in the supermarket. The lettuce practically wilted beneath her tirade. Unhappy neighbors are not a good thing.”

  Po was half listening, wondering about Joe Bates and the clobbering he’d taken. Maybe she’d try to find him before they left. “It’s good we’ve gotten here earlier before the workers,” she said. “Shall we get this over with?” She opened the door and began walking toward the house.

  The front door opened before they reached it. Adele stood just inside, waiting for them.

  “You’re prompt, as always,” Adele said, holding open the door. “I like that. Thank you for coming.”

  “Like I haven’t been dying to see the inside of this place?” Phoebe answered. She touched Adele on the arm and smiled brightly. “This is amazing, Adele. I want to see every single inch of it.”

  Po noticed the instinctive tightening of Adele’s muscles at Phoebe’s light touch. The poor woman probably isn’t touched much. The thought made Po sad.

  “I thought we would go directly to the guest rooms and lay each quilt on a bed so I can get a feeling for how they fit in,” Adele said. She led the group of women carrying their quilt tops up the wide, winding staircase to the second floor. Her back was rod straight, and her face unreadable.

  “Maybe my sweet Emma will get married here,” Phoebe whispered to Kate, her small hand sliding along the walnut banister.

  “Phoebe, she’s three years old.”

  “Well, one needs to plan.” Phoebe grinned, then lifted her chin up into the air, imagining herself walking alongside her daughter.

  At the top, Adele waved the quilters into separate rooms, directing them to smooth their tops out on the beds.

  Po walked down the hallway and into the small room that had been Oliver’s. Everything was the same as the last time she had seen it—the book case filled with books, the small desk positioned beneath the window with a yellow pad of paper and cup of pencils ready for his use. She stretched out her quilt on the narrow bed and stood back.

  “It’s perfect,” Adele said from the doorway.

  Po turned. “Do you think Ollie would have approved?”

  Adele nodded. Her smile was sad.

  “This must be difficult for you,” Po said.

  “I don’t let things be difficult, Po. It’s a choice.”

  “Not always. But you do seem to handle things that would get the better of most of us. At least on the outside they are being handled.”

  Adele didn’t answer. She walked over to the window and stood next to Oliver’s telescope, aimed up to the sky. Po walked over to her side.

  “I didn’t neglect my brother, you know.” Adele’s voice was so soft Po could barely hear her words. “I did the best I could under the circumstances. Things are not always as they seem.”

  Po felt an urge to wrap an arm around her, to pull her close and comfort her. To let her feel a warm body caring for her own. But she knew instinctively the slight crack Adele had allowed to open would close in a heartbeat if she disrupted the moment.

  Adele looked back at the quilt, and when she spoke this time, the softness was gone and the protective shield was back in place. “The colors are good and the paint color goes well with it, don’t you think?”

  Po nodded. She looked around the room and agreed that the deep blue of the walls and the wide white molding were perfect for the multi-starred quilt. And then her gaze settled on Ollie’s desk and the yellow pad, waiting to be used. “Ollie didn’t use a computer, I guess. But he loved to write. I can’t imagine writing anything in longhand anymore.”

  “He wrote all the time, even when he was little. It was one thing he could do well. It was his best way to communicate. Some people are like that, you know.”

  “I understand that. Especially people who take more time to process what they want to say. I sometimes feel that in my own writing.”

  “He wanted to write a book someday. That Peterson girl wanted all his writings, but I wouldn’t give them to her. Why would I do that?” Adele shook her head and bent over to smooth the quilt with the flat of her hand. “Everyone wants a piece of Ollie,” she said softly.

  “People liked him, Adele,” Po said. “Their reasons are honorable.”

  Adele didn’t answer, but the slight nod of her head told Po that she knew it to be true. And she wondered if for Adele, giving away Ollie’s things was losing some of Ollie all over again.

  “Here you two are,” Selma said, walking into the room. “I think all the quilts are going to work beautifully, Adele.”

  Adele turned around. “You’ve done a nice job in an impossible amount of time. Once they’re completely finished, we’ll have an open house so everyone can see. And now we will have coffee and scones down on the back veranda before you leave.”

  “No need for that,” Selma began, but Adele had already walked out into the hallway and toward the steps, motioning for everyone to gather their quilt tops and follow her.

  “I guess we’ll have coffee and scones,” Selma said to Po, shrugging her shoulders. “But let’s keep it short, Po. I have a full day ahead of me.”

  “We all do, Selma. I agree. Short it will be.”

  The wrought iron table on the brick veranda was set with an embroidered tablecloth. A platter of blueberry scones sat in the center, next to a vase of bright yellow mums and pot of sweet butter. Adele urged them to make themselves comfortable and walked back inside to get the coffee.

  “This is lovely,” Po said, admiring the tasteful setting. She walked over to the railing t
hat bordered the veranda and stood next to Kate.

  “It’s nearly perfect,” Kate said, looking out over the yard. Sunlight streamed through the trees, casting soft shadows across the recently mowed grass.

  “This backyard is awesome,” Phoebe said, coming up beside them. “So cool! If we put in a slide and wading pool, maybe a zip line for when they’re older, it would be a perfect park for Emma and Jude.”

  “There’s a pond down beyond that clump of trees,” Kate said, pointing to the flagstone path that led to Joe’s pond. “Much better than a wading pool, Phoebs. The gardener tends to it so lovingly you’d think Monet was going to show up to paint lilies any day,”

  “Can we see it,” Phoebe said. She looked back toward the French doors. “Let’s go look. Adele is still inside.”

  “She’d probably be happy to have it admired,” Po said.

  The three women walked along the winding path to the pond, bordered in hardy boxwoods. Miniature cherry trees and small gardens of ornamental kale and sea oats waved at them along the path.

  Po slowed and touched a colored leaf tip on a low-hanging Japanese maple branch. “I came out here a few times with Oliver and Joe to walk around the pond—it was lovely then, but now the plantings are so green and lush and filled with foliage that you can barely see the pond.”

  “It’ll be a magical place next spring when all the hydrangeas and dogwoods bloom,” Kate said. “I think you’re right, Phoebs. It’s the ideal spot for a wedding.”

  Phoebe lifted a brow and looked up at Kate. “But let’s not wait for Emma…”

  Kate laughed.

  “Do you know something I don’t, Phoebe?” Po looked over at Kate, one brow lifted.

  Kate ignored her and walked ahead.

  “I think I love it here,” Phoebe said, walking around a shade grove of hydrangeas that circled a clump of towering pine trees. “It really is a park.”