“I wonder if Joe is around today. You’d like him, Phoebe,” Po said. “I don’t want to come upon him suddenly and frighten him, though. His hearing isn’t very good.”
She stopped on the path and looked back toward the garage.
Kate and Phoebe walked on, rounding a granite boulder that allowed them a full view of the pond.
“Po,” Kate spun around and called out, her voice urgent. “Come fast.”
Po rushed around the curve just as Kate and Phoebe neared the edge of the pond.
“Look,” Kate said when Po reached her side.
She followed the point of Kate’s finger toward the distant side of the pond where a clump of lilies fanned out, separating from one another. A faded blue KC Royals cap floated between the leaves. On the shore just beyond it, lying beside a rock, was an abandoned thermos.
Po stared down into the water. And as the lilies moved in the chilly breeze, she spotted the cause of the urgency in Kate’s voice. The blue ball cap moved slowly away, and beneath it, a school of brilliantly colored koi swam in and out of the waving strands of Joe Bates’s thinning white hair.
Chapter 15
Going to Marla’s Bakery and Café Sunday morning with Leah Sarandon was a tradition as old as Po and Leah’s friendship, and it was in keeping with that tradition and nothing else that found the two women sitting in the busy bakery the day after finding Joe Bates’s body.
Po looked around at the nearly full breakfast spot. The line was beginning to form outside the windows and would soon be winding down Elderberry Road, people coming from church or home or a college dorm.
“Bad news brings people out,” Leah said. “I guess they want answers. But gossip is such a bad place to look for them.” She sat back as a young waitress put an omelet down in front of her.
“It’s so ugly,” Po said, the images of finding Joe’s body still tightly wrapped around her heart.
Adele had spotted them out at the pond and walked down, mildly irritated that they weren’t sitting at the patio table. And then her face changed, the blood draining out and her eyes focused on the lily pads, the cap floating among them. On the grisly sight in her beautiful backyard.
Phoebe and Kate helped her back into the house, though she tried to shrug them off. Po stayed behind, calling the ambulance and the police from her cell phone.
She stood alone at the lily pond, feeling a need to protect Joe until help came. To not leave him all alone. To talk to him, hoping his spirit was hovering around her, listening.
Within minutes the driveway was once again filled with spinning blue lights and the kind of attention no new business would wish upon itself. After the quilters were questioned by the police, they left, except for Po and Kate, who urged Adele to rest. The asked if they could contact any of Joe’s relatives.
But there were no relatives, Adele had told them. That much she knew about the old man. And then she had collected herself, looked out at the garage and carriage house, and announced that she’d now need to do some renovating of the apartment. It could be a suite—perhaps for honeymooners.
Po had cringed, grateful no policeman was around at the time. Sometimes Adele was her own worst enemy. And sometimes shock did strange things to people.
Po shook off her thoughts and looked up into the unsmiling face of Marla Patrick. “I wondered if you two would show up,” she said, a slight scolding tone carrying her words. Her brow was dotted with perspiration as she leaned over the small table near the window. “Who would have imagined that skinny woman had it in her?”
“What are you talking about, Marla?” But Po knew the answer. Marla had already convicted Adele Harrington. And that meant there were many others in the room uttering that sentiment. Marla’s opinions were often formed—and usually fueled—by her customers.
“Adele Harrington, that’s who. She did old Joe in as sure as I’m breathing. I knew she was up to no good soon as she came back to this town.” Marla straightened up and scanned the room. Then she continued in a lower voice. “Tom Adler’s over there. He said that he was over at the house the other day and heard Adele say she wanted to get rid of old Joe.”
“Tom isn’t too fond of Adele, Marla,” Leah said.
“Tom hates her, sure. He would love the place to fail, and then he’d scoop it up himself. But that doesn’t matter one whit. What matters is that the Harrington woman will stop at nothing to make things go her way.”
“You don’t know that,” Po said. “And talking about it that way doesn’t help anyone.”
“I know what I know,” Marla said, maintaining her stance. Her small green eyes moved from one woman to the next. “I don’t like to speak ill of anyone any more than the next one, but the town is filling up with bad vibes. I can feel it. It’s going to affect business, too. We need all out-of-town folks to keep coming to Elderberry Road and they’ll stop coming if this evil cloud hangs around much longer. Adele Harrington needs to be put in jail or driven out of town.”
Driven out of town. The words lingered uncomfortably in Po’s head, reminding her of articles she’d written about the early days of quilting. It often was the way of dealing with people not wanted in a town all those years ago. Drive them out. And often it was what folks did. Cruelly and unfairly.
She shivered and looked over at Tom and his wife. He was standing now, handing his wife her sweater and collecting his bill. He would certainly like the B&B to fail. But to kill for it?
Po watched him talking with his wife, then walking to the next table and greeting the mayor. Could Tom possibly have done something as awful as drown poor Joe Bates to make Adele look bad? To try and to run her out of town? Was her peaceful town turning into a vigilante community?
None of it made sense. But Marla was right about one thing—the activities at 210 Kingfish Drive needed to stop now, before any more damage was done.
“Po?” Leah said. “Marla has moved on. You can come out of your cocoon.”
“Sorry. I’m trying to piece some of this together, but it’s impossible. It’s like piecing a quilt with shapes that don’t match.”
Leah agreed. “Adele may not be the most lovable person in town but I think Marla is wrong about her. Besides, you don’t kill someone just to get them off your property. A sheriff can do that.”
Po moved her eggs around on the plate. She and Leah were of like mind. But no matter how you looked at it, things were not looking good for Adele.
“Am I interrupting?”
Po and Leah looked up into the swollen eyes of Halley Peterson.
“Oh, Halley,” Po said. She took Halley’s hand and pressed it lightly. “I am so sorry about Joe.”
Halley shook her head.
And then they saw that Halley wasn’t alone. Jed Fellers walked up behind her and gently rested one hand on her shoulder. He nodded to Po and Leah. His face was drawn, his eyes troubled. “Not the best of days, is it?”
“No, it’s most definitely not,” Po said.
“Halley called me about Joe as soon as she heard,” Jed said. “It’s all over town. Not too many people knew Joe, but it doesn’t matter. It’s affected everyone. But especially those of us who knew Ollie—and knew what an important person Joe was in his life.”
“I couldn’t stay in my apartment,” Halley said. “I wanted to scream or beat on someone or be sick. Jed suggested a walk instead.”
“Halley was probably one of the few people in Joe’s life since Ollie’s death,” Jed said.
“I saw how he greeted you that day,” Po said. “Joe didn’t let many people into his life. I think you were one of the few.”
Halley managed a sad smile. “He and I had been spending more time together since Ollie died, going through the few writings and things of Ollie’s that Joe was able to wrest from Adele or dig out of the trash. He was such a good man.” Her voice broke. “He certainly didn’t
deserve to have his life end like this.”
“No one deserves something like this, Halley,” Leah said.
Po watched Jed as he motioned to a waitress and ordered tea and scones for Halley. She was grateful that the librarian had someone to lean on. Dealing with Ollie’s death, and now having another tragedy touch her life, must be nearly unbearable. A slight blush had colored Halley’s cheeks when she looked at Jed, and his returning smile was comforting. Po wondered if it was more than friendship. They seemed an unlikely couple, but the difference in age seemed to fall away in the looks they exchanged. And Jed was certainly a very young fifty. Something lovely in the middle of all this sordidness would be a good thing for everyone.
“Do you know if there will be a service for Joe?” Halley asked. “I know he doesn’t have family. I’d like to do something if I could. I wanted to call Adele, but she doesn’t like me very much—”
“I’ll try to find out, and I’ll let you know,” Po said. “I’d like to help, too.”
“I could pack up his things, too. I don’t want Adele throwing them out—” She looked up at Jed.
He agreed and offered to help her. “Adele probably doesn’t want to be bothered with it. And from what Halley tells me, she and Joe didn’t much like each other. But I know Ollie liked him. He used to talk about Joe often.”
Po agreed that Adele might not want to be bothered. But she also knew that she didn’t like strangers on her property, and Po doubted if Halley and Jed’s kind offer would be received well. It was a shame, because Halley would treat his belongings with respect. Adele would most likely shovel everything into a dumpster.
Halley sensed her hesitation. “I know, she probably won’t want me meddling. But it’s worth a try. I’m going to ask anyway.”
Leah finished the last trace of her eggs and sat back, her napkin beside her plate. “On a happier note, congratulations again on the book, Jed. I hear it’s receiving good reviews. A feather in your cap. Or your cap and gown I should say.”
Jed smiled awkwardly. “I guess you could say that.”
Leah looked over at Po. “Jed is being modest. The chancellor has offered him the department chair.”
“Good for you, Jed. You certainly deserve it,” Po said. She remembered those tense days when Bruce was a young professor, needing that affirmation from the college administration. Well, this was good. And they needed good news these days.
Jed seemed uncomfortable with the attention and soon had turned the conversation back to Po and the quilters, asking about their quilts for 210 Kingfish Drive.
“Almost finished,” Po said. “We’re working on borders and backs now, and then they’ll be quilted by a wonderful lady over in Parkville. It’s been a nice project, except for all the grisly goings on over at the Harrington place.”
Po placed a bill down on top of the check and pushed out her chair.
“How about you two take our table before Marla gives it away,” Leah said.
Po gave Halley a hug, then turned and followed Leah toward the front door. “Let’s make a getaway before Marla heaps more gossip on our shoulders,” Po said softly into Leah’s ear. “She means well, I suppose—”
“Or not,” Leah laughed. She pushed open the door, and Po followed her out into the bright cool sunshine of the fall day.
Po started to walk down the street when Leah grabbed her arm. “Po, look.” She pointed across the street.
Po turned back and followed Leah’s nod.
Tom Adler stood across the street next to a pear tree, bending low and staring through the closed car window of Adele Harrington’s empty Cadillac. He straightened up and scanned the block, looking both ways.
Just then, a figure emerged from Max Elliot’s law office a few doors down. Adele Harrington, dressed in a bright blue silk suit, walked down the office steps and headed toward her car. Sunday walkers passed her by, a few nodding a hello, others casting curious, suspicious looks. Adele seemed to ignore them all, her head held high and her eyes cast straight ahead.
Po and Leah watched as Tom stepped away and moved behind a shade tree. hidden from Adele’s sight.
She removed her keys from her purse and for a minute it appeared Tom was going to step forward and say something to Adele. But then a horn honked and Tom’s wife waved to him from a bright red BMW parked a few spaces back. Tom lowered his head, turned, and hurried to his car.
Chapter 16
Po and Leah watched Adele’s car pull away from the curve and head down Elderberry Road, taking the corner fast enough to scatter leaves in all directions.
“What’s that about?” Po asked.
Leah shrugged. “Beats me. I’m glad Tom’s wife had the good sense to remind him not to do anything dumb.”
“I wonder what Adele was doing at Max’s office on a Sunday morning.” Po shifted her purse on her shoulder and she and Leah began walking down the street toward Gus Schuette’s bookstore.
“With all that’s going on at her home, she probably needed some legal advice.”
Po had had the same thought, and Max would meet someone in need in the middle of the night if they asked. She glanced over at the small brick building that housed his office and noticed his car was gone. He’d clearly come in just to solve Adele’s problem, whatever that might have been. She’d probably see him later, but Max was a paradigm of discretion and wouldn’t bring it up. But that certainly had never stopped Po from asking.
They reached Gus’s bookstore and walked into the comfort of books and soft music.
Po’s shoulders seemed to loosen the minute she walked through the door. Gus had modeled it after an old bookstore he visited in London—hardwood floors, paintings placed on available wall space, and lots of small rooms crammed with shelves and library ladders and overstuffed chairs begging to be used. She loved it all, and the owners, too. Gus and Rita Schuette had been in her life longer than she could remember. Bruce used to tell Gus that he and Po had singlehandedly paid for the Schuette kids’ education with the money spent in the store.
“Hey there,” Gus called out from a chair behind the wooden checkout counter. His glasses hovered low on a wide, misshapen nose. He stood, his face breaking into a grin. “My Sunday ladies, here at last. Let the day begin.” He automatically reached beneath the counter for two reserved copies of the Sunday New York Times. He handed them across the counter. “I could set my clock by you two.”
“You say that every single Sunday, Gus,” Po said.
“Sure I do. What would we do without our rituals, Po?”
Po smiled. Gus was right. The familiarity of routines and dear people were what Crestwood was all about. She and Leah had started the Sunday routine years ago, when Leah was a brand-new professor at Canterbury College. Bruce Paltrow soon discovered his new faculty member’s husband loved Sunday morning golf as much as he did. So while Bruce and Tim swung clubs, Po and Leah, the sixteen years between them melting away in a flash of an eye, began their Sunday morning walks to Elderberry Road for Marla’s eggs or waffles, for talk and friendship, and always, for a quick trip to Gus’s store for the Times.
“Kate was in soon as the doors opened.” Gus looked over his shoulder and nodded toward a side reading room. “She and P.J. are in the back, sitting on the floor with a stack of books in front of them, just like when they were kids.”
“Except he isn’t pulling her ponytail like he used to.”
Gus laughed and waved as the “kids,” as he called them, walked out of the side room, their arms loaded with books. They were dressed in jeans and turtlenecks, windbreakers wrapped around their waists, their faces flushed and water bottles hanging from belt buckles.
“Early morning bike ride,” Leah called out.
Kate laughed. “You got it. It’s all those mysteries you read, Leah.”
“Looks like you two are supporting Gus’s retirement.”
> “It’s only right.” Gus grinned at Kate. “Lord knows you gave me enough trouble when you were a kid. Always reading. Never buying. Glad to see things have changed a little.”
Kate punched his arm lightly. “You’re all talk, Gus Schuette. You loved our trouble.” She turned toward Po and Leah. “So what’s the word at Marla’s? P.J. and I tacitly agreed to stay far away.” Kate’s face grew serious with the question.
P.J. looped an arm over Kate’s shoulder. “Have they figured it all out over there?”
“Most of the talk was about Adele and Joe’s contentious relationship. At least that’s the nice version,” Leah said.
P.J. frowned. “Yeah. Adele doesn’t do herself any favors. A lot of people heard her talking about Joe, criticizing him, wanting him off her property.”
“But it’s all anecdotal,” Kate broke in.
“That’s my line, Simpson. You’re starting to talk like a cop. Cool it.”
Kate laughed.
“Don’t know why anybody’d want to murder that old man,” Gus said.
“Did you know him?” Leah asked. “Joe was such a recluse, most people only knew him by reputation.”
“Except for people our age,” Po said. “In his youth, Joe was the person we all went to when grass wouldn’t grow or we needed the best ground cover or our dogwoods weren’t blooming. I don’t think there’s a home in my neighborhood that hasn’t been touched by Joe Bates.”
“He was smitten with Mrs. Harrington, I think,” Gus said. “Absolutely devoted to her.”
“I remember that, too. After a while, he only worked for her, staying in the garage apartment, and that’s when we didn’t see much of him anymore.”
Gus rang up Kate’s books and handed her the receipt. “I was surprised when Joe came in here recently. Almost didn’t recognize the fellow, been so long since I’d seen him.”
“Joe was here?” Po asked.
“Just a few days ago. Wanted me to order him a book. I tried to get him to stay awhile, to catch up on things. But he wasn’t having it. I showed him some new garden books but even those couldn’t convince him to hang around. I watched him through the window when he left, trudging back down the street, toward 210 Kingfish Drive, I suppose. His head was down, his face all pinched together in sadness. He seemed determined, kind of, like he had things to do, but you could see that Ollie’s death had taken a toll on him. Wiped him out.”
A Bias for Murder Page 10
