A Bias for Murder

by Sally Goldenbaum

  Max placed his mug on the old coffee table that filled the space between the two overstuffed sofas. “Halley, this isn’t what you need tonight, but I need to tell you something.”

  Halley pressed closer into Jed’s side, but she looked directly into Max’s eyes.

  Po could tell that Halley wasn’t going to be surprised at what Max would say, though she was dreading the words.

  “Adele told the police that she saw a woman running away from the garage,” he said. “She didn’t name you. But she described you, from your brown hair, down to your Canterbury T-shirt.”

  Halley’s eyes were dry now, her face composed, and her look level and direct. “And I saw Adele, Max,” she said. “I saw her standing in the driveway as straight as an arrow, calmly staring up at the flames lapping at the side of the carriage house. That’s what I saw.”

  Chapter 18

  It was Phoebe who called the impromptu quilting gathering for Monday night. The emails went out first thing Monday morning and the tone was insistent.

  Meet at Selma’s at seven tonight. Bring your quilt, your spirit, and your desire to turn our town back into a safe place for my babies!

  Po wasn’t sure if it was Phoebe’s dismay at missing the excitement of Sunday night that precipitated her action, or simply her big heart and desire to help Halley Peterson out of the mess she’d fallen in to.

  But she knew it was more than her desire to put the finishing stitches on Adele Harrington’s quilts.

  The quilters worked better with food, so Kate brought a fettuccini salad with fresh dill, and crisp grilled vegetables, sprinkled with Romano cheese. Po brought leftover apple pie, and Eleanor brought two chilled bottles of pinot grigio. While Selma plugged in the coffee pot, Po gave an abbreviated account of the fire.

  “So poor Halley is under suspicion now?” she asked when Po was finished.

  “Yes, but poor Halley is a strong woman under her vulnerable façade. I suspect her life hasn’t always been easy. 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 Max 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 took the quilt from Phoebe’s hands.

  Leah poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down next to Maggie. The 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. “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?” Phoebe asked. She looked around the group.

  All heads turned toward Kate. As P.J.’s soul mate, she sometimes had news the papers hadn’t latched onto yet, but soon would. P.J. had become adept at ignoring questions Kate shouldn’t be asking.

  Kate stood near the back window, coffee in her hand as she tried hard not to dribble it on her crisp white blouse. The lights from the lampposts lit streaks of red in her thick hair. She ran her fingers through it now. “I don’t think so. At least none that P.J. has been willing to share with me. He can be obnoxiously stubborn sometimes. 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 pronouncement, but admitted that she was absolutely right. “P.J. said arson cases are often helped along by people calling in tips, things they saw that night. But geez, I don’t think tips are worth waiting for.”

  Susan walked over to the iron and began pressing a binding strip. “The bad thing is that Halley was the person seen leaving the garage. The news interviewed several neighbors—it was such a nice night that even though it was late, a few people were sitting out on their porches. 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 put her cup down and gathered her hair in one hand, impatiently pulling an elastic hair band around it, as if her unruly hair was somehow to blame. “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. And he had promised to go back with her the next day.

  A thought came to her and she turned to Maggie. “Didn’t you say Emerson stayed at the clinic last night?”

  “Yes. I was just about to jump in. Adele came to the clinic today to pick him up. Now that’s plenty weird, 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. “She owns all of it. 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 bowl with Kate’s pasta. “Sorry, friends, I can’t wait. I’m starving.” 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 thinking the same thing. Adele needed someone to talk to.

  “She didn’t say much, of course,” Selma went on. “That’s her way. But she wanted
to talk, I could tell. She looked 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 Po’s perception, too. And yes, so terribly sad. What would she have done without friends and shoulders to lean on when Bruce had died? And all the days since, when things went wrong or bad things happened to good people. Many, many times. Her life would be barren without her friends to bring warmth and color and love to it.

  “This pasta is great, Kate,” Maggie said, standing near the table. “Selma, I had that same feeling about Adele when she came into the clinic. She looked truly sad today. Not guilty. Not mad. Just sad. She was even nice to the office staff. I had this urge to ask her if she wanted to go get a beer.”

  “Well, the truth of it is, emotions are one thing, but 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 all these awful things, 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 for killing Ollie. And she had said in front of all of us that she wanted Joe gone.”

  “But the will gave him the right to stay,” Po said.

  “So, motive for getting rid of him,” Phoebe wrote.

  “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 because she wanted the bed and breakfast to be absolutely perfect. But Po kept 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 goose bumps to climb her arms. She 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—no make that protégé—of 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 quilters knew Phoebe’s relationship with her wealthy mother-in-law was a precarious one. Though she tried to get along with her because she knew the older Mellons genuinely loved their grandchildren, Phoebe—a former bartender—didn’t fit comfortably into 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.

  “Okay. But what about Joe Bates? And the fire?” Phoebe asked.

  “I suppose different people could have done these things, but it doesn’t seem likely,” Po said.

  Eleanor sat up straight and looked around. “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.”

  “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 she doesn’t seem so innocent, maybe, when you look at the facts,” Maggie said. “Apparently Halley was also told the house would be hers someday. Ollie liked her very much, you all have said. Let’s suppose he had told her she was in his will

  “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.

  “I don’t think she did it either. But she was seen running away from the burning garage,” Leah said. “That’s not good. 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. People that nice to my kids don’t kill people. 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 very 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, now that I think about it. 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 couldn’t talk to him right at that moment. His secretary calmed him down and promised she would get him in first thing the next day.

  “And then, that night he died. Before he ever got a chance to talk to the chancellor. 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 suspicious, but from what Po knew of Ollie, he could have been meeting with the chancellor for something else, 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. But what if it was something important? But maybe it had nothing to do with his house. “Phoebe,” 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 was looking 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 her nevertheless. 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 every chance he gets.”

  Po nodded and sipped her wine. Kate’s words were sincere. 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 and the board was filled instead with diagrams of how to match up patterns. She wanted the innocent to be able to get on with their lives.

  And she wanted those she loved to be 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—or a brisk walk, whichever way it went.

  She lifted her legs over the side of the bed and stretched out the sleep that had settled in her joints. In minutes she had pulled on bright green stretchy pants and a Trolley Run T-shirt, downed a glass of 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. Canterbury coeds were out in full swing and passing her frequently with polite, indulgent nods, reminding Po of the speed of bodies several generations younger than her own.

  Undeterred, Po continued her comfortable pace through the winding leaf-strewn streets that wrapped around the college. Hoover happily ran beside her. As she 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 that 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.