The cubbyholes in the old desk were stuffed with bank books and scraps of papers, a small garden guide filled with newspaper clippings on gardening and notes Joe must have written to himself. She picked up a still-intact book jacket, soggy now and darkened from heat. A Plain Man’s Guide to a Starry Night. She smiled at the thought of Joe reading the book, maybe sitting by the window, looking up at the night sky that Jed had written about in his book. Yes, Adele was wrong. Joe did read. And he read books that Ollie would have liked, perhaps that Ollie had encouraged his friend to read.
Po piled the desk contents into a box and continued poking through the cavernous lower cabinet of the old desk, pulling out more pictures, an old pipe that still had tobacco packed tightly inside the bowl, and a whole stack of legal-sized yellow pads of paper. Po smiled at the pads. She and Joe had something in common—capturing thoughts on yellow pads of paper. Po had them lying all over her house. She picked one up and realized it was Ollie’s, his familiar, neat printing filling the lines. Notes from a class, it looked like, and another cited books from the library, and in the margin of one, she spotted Halley’s name and a small heart doodled next to it. This is the kind of thing Halley must have been looking for, she thought. The things she had shared with Ollie and that Joe had taken from his room before Adele arrived. Po scooped up the pads and added them to her stash. Perhaps she would give Halley the pad with her name on it—a small reminder of how much Ollie cared about her. It would mean something to Halley, and Adele surely wouldn’t want it.
A few hours later, Po decided she had done all she could do and the rest could be done by workmen who would remove the debris and prepare the small apartment for its renovation. She hailed a painter walking behind the house and had him help her pile the salvageable things in boxes—the telescope and a couple of lamps that had escaped the fire’s wrath. Some silverware that might have belonged to Adele’s mother. Po decided Adele should see them and decide their fate. She directed the painter to carry some of the boxes over to the house, storing them for now in the basement where the smell wouldn’t bother Adele.
The other things—the desk contents, some books, a pile of photographs, and the yellow pads—she piled in boxes and carried to her car. She’d dry them out at home and return to Adele anything that might have memories of Ollie attached to it.
A day’s work well done, she thought, driving down the driveway and tugging her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans. She was pleased that she had relieved Adele of a task that would clearly be a burden to her.
And now that Adele was settled and she’d removed personal things from the carriage house, there were other things Po needed to put her mind to. Phoebe, bless her platinum head, was right this time. Things were moving too slowly, and a woman’s reputation was at stake—and maybe her life. Something had to be done soon to salvage Adele Harrington’s reputation—and what could soon be a beautiful bed and breakfast inn at 210 Kingfish Drive.
Po paused at the end of the drive and pushed the buttons on her small silver phone. “P.J.,” she said out loud. “How wonderful that I’ve caught you. How would you like to share a bowl of spicy shrimp soup with me tonight?”
Chapter 21
“I’m only here because of your cooking, Po,” P.J. said, standing over the stove and stirring the rich coconut milk broth. He closed his eyes and breathed in the pungent smell of garlic, ginger, and parsley. “It’s definitely not the fact that I strongly suspect I’m being lured here for other, less delicious motives.”
Po smiled and put two placemats out on the oak table that had been the heart of the Paltrow home for thirty years. Small indentations along the surface spoke of years of homework, games being played, and friends gathering to argue politics, literature, and philosophies of life while eating and drinking in the warmth of the Paltrow family room.
“Better set three, Po,” P.J. said, glancing at the table.
“Kate knows you’re here?”
P.J. nodded. He scooped up a small amount of soup in a ladle and tasted it. “This is fantastic. You’ve outdone yourself, Po.” He walked across the kitchen to the small bar in the family room bookcase and began mixing gin and ice cubes in a silver shaker. “Kate doesn’t care about me, Po,” he said over his shoulder. “I made the mistake of mentioning your Thai soup.”
Po pulled out another placemat. She had purposely not called Kate because she didn’t want her around when she talked to P.J. about the murders. But that was probably silly. Kate had never fit nicely in a cocoon, and Po’s instinct to put her there whenever there was a chance of anything bordering on danger or sadness was irrational, if heartfelt. And as usual she’d made enough soup for an army, planning on taking some over to Adele the next day and freezing the rest.
“Kate had a yearbook meeting with the high school kids but will be here when it’s over. She was skipping pizza for your Thai soup.”
“I’m honored,” Po said. The sound of a car in the driveway announced Kate’s arrival, but when Po looked over at the back door, it was Leah coming in, a deep rust corduroy skirt swishing around her ankles and a hand-woven scarf wrapped around her neck. And just a step behind her was Jed Fellers.
“It’s getting chilly out there,” Leah said, taking off a short wool jacket and hanging it on a hook by the door. “I hope you don’t mind my barging in, Po. Jed and I had a committee meeting, and I convinced him that the only antidote for it was a bowl of that soup you told me you were making tonight. Tim was on call, and I needed to be with people.” She waved across the room at P.J. and gave Po a hug. “And I convinced Jed that he did, too.”
Behind her, Jed smiled sheepishly. “Hope it’s okay, Po. Leah makes it difficult to say no.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” Po said, smelling the bouquet of flowers Jed handed her. “I’d have been offended if you had said no, Jed.”
“It’s all this unrest,” Leah went on, searching in Po’s cupboard for a vase. “I feel it on campus every day. Bad vibes everywhere.”
“The students are confused,” Jed agreed. “It’s a tense time.” He took the vase from Leah and filled it with water.
Po pulled out a couple more placemats. “The soup will ease the chill. But you’re absolutely right about the tension. The neighborhood is filled with bad energy. And, unfortunately, it’s going to take more than soup to get rid of it. How is Halley handling it all, Jed?”
Jed thought for a minute before answering. He put the flowers in the vase, set it aside, and leaned back against the counter. “I think she’s doing all right. We’re both wondering now if we’ll ever know who is at the bottom of all this. Halley is trying to accept that, trying to move on.”
“I was inclined to think that myself. But the fire changed that. It brought the presence of someone evil closer to us again, not someone who did those awful deeds, then skipped town.”
“There’s the possibility that they’re not connected,” Leah said.
Po thought about that and looked over at P.J. He was being unusually quiet. He had suggested the same thing—that perhaps there wasn’t a link.
But Po didn’t buy it. There were connections between all the happenings at the B&B, she felt sure of it. Unfortunately, feelings didn’t solve crimes. She needed some facts.
A minute later, Kate breezed through the back door. She strode across the kitchen and dropped her shopping bag on the counter. “French bread from Jacques’s, pricey wine and a hunk of cheese from Brew and Brie. Oh, and Marla’s cheesecake. Elderberry Road in a bag. I figured since I wasn’t really invited I’d sweeten my presence.” She planted a kiss on Po’s cheek and hugged Leah.
“Come here, woman,” P.J. bellowed in a deep feigned accent from the other end of the room. “What am I—chopped liver?” He put down the martini shaker and spread his arms wide.
Kate walked across the room and into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her hair brushed his che
ek. “Hi, you,” she said into his chest.
P.J. breathed in her scent. “Katie, you smell almost as good as Po’s soup.”
“And you smell like gin.” Kate pulled her head back and looked into P.J.’s wide smile. A lock of sandy hair fell across his forehead, and she brushed it back with her finger, then pulled away. “Enough PDA. I’ll leave you to your shaking, Flanigan. Make mine with an olive, please.” Kate moved back to the cupboards and began pulling out platters for the cheese and bread.
Po walked over to the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace that filled one end of the open living area. She pulled back the mesh screen. “I know it’s early in the season, but somehow a fire seems in order tonight.”
“My job,” Jed said. “I’ll put my Eagle Scout training to work.”
“Good idea,” Leah said, and carried the cheese and crackers platter to the coffee table. “Maybe it will warm our bones a bit.” She slipped out of her clunky clogs and settled down on the overstuffed couch, feet tucked up beneath her.
Po sat beside her and accepted a glass from P.J. “Maybe we’ll even warm each other’s spirit.” She sipped the martini slowly, enjoying the tingly sensation as it ran down her throat. The evening hadn’t turned out exactly as she had planned—a private talk with P.J. to pull what information she could out of him about the investigation into Ollie’s and Joe’s deaths. Although he wasn’t working the case, he always knew what was going on, especially when it was as personal and close to home as this case was. She wanted an update, wanted him to know she was absolutely convinced that Adele had no part in any of the bad things that were happening in their neighborhood.
She wanted him to help salvage what was left of a proud woman’s reputation. Maybe even her life.
Kate stepped into her thoughts. “I stopped by on my way over here to check on Adele.” She had curled up on the opposite couch, her long, jeans-clad legs twisted like a pretzel beneath her. A red cashmere sweater that Po had given her for Christmas last year matched the blush the fire was bringing to her cheeks. “She’s one gutsy woman. Tom Adler stopped by while I was there. That guy just doesn’t give up. He left his wife out in his Beemer and barged right into the house. He suggested the time had come for Adele to sell the place before she ruined the whole town. His words, certainly not mine.” Kate cut a piece of cheese and handed it to Leah.
“What?” Po sat up straight, nearly spilling her martini down the front of her black turtleneck. “What is he talking about?”
“He insinuated that Adele was personally responsible for two murders, a fire, nervous neighbors, and the loss of business to the town because people were afraid to come to Crestwood with her around.”
“The man is certifiably crazy,” Leah said.
“And desperate,” P.J. said.
Jed stoked the fire until the embers were glowing and flames began lapping at the bricks, then sat nearby where he could give it a poke when needed. “Adler came into Jacques’s the other night. He’d been drinking pretty heavily and Jacques asked him to leave. I think the fellow has some personal problems.”
“He’s in some financial trouble, but that’s no excuse for that kind of behavior. Adele should have accused him of trespassing,” Po said.
“Oh, she did,” Kate said. “She threatened to call the police, and I think she would have, but the damsel waiting for Tom became impatient and began honking the horn. Tom went running.”
“He’s such an angry man,” Leah said. “I wonder if he had anything to do with this.”
“He certainly has motive,” Kate said. “He’s been acting crazy ever since marrying again. I think this new wife has high expectations for him—especially when it comes to money.”
“That would be enough to make someone desperate, I suppose,” Po said. But she wasn’t completely convinced. There was something about Tom Adler that was far more show than substance. But if not he, then who could have murdered the two men who lived at 210 Kingfish Drive—one so gentle and naïve, and the other an old gardener whose sole goal was to protect Ollie Harrington from harm and keep his pond free of algae?
“How about we have some soup?” P.J. announced. “It smells ready and I’m starving.”
“P.J., if I ever open a restaurant, will you be my sandwich board guy?” Po asked.
“Your what?” P.J. asked, wrinkling his forehead. “Po, I’m far too young to know about sandwich boards.” He waved the others over. “Come on folks, get it while it’s hot. Jed, want to open a bottle of wine?”
Jed helped himself to a corkscrew and poured glasses all around while chairs were pulled back and soup poured into bowls with rice lining the bottoms.
“Where’s Max?” Kate asked, leaning in to light the candles.
“He was going to stop by Adele’s too. The renovation is taking longer than it should, and Max was going to help her check her financial situation.” Po repeated the news about the workers slowing down and staying away, not wanting to be connected with a murder scene.
“That’s awful,” Kate said. “This whole thing is awful. Phoebe’s right—we should all don black jeans and turtlenecks and snoop around until we solve this thing. I’ve been thinking we are all going down the wrong path. What if it doesn’t have anything to do with someone wanting to own the Harrington property?”
“What else makes sense?” Jed asked.
“I don’t know,” Kate replied. “But if teaching high school kids has taught me anything, it’s that things are rarely what they seem to be.”
Po had been thinking the same thing. So, what was going on here? What were they missing? Was it Adele herself? Was she back in Crestwood for reasons no one knew? Was there a family thing going on, something between the Harringtons and another family in town? The Adlers, maybe? Or maybe Ollie and Joe were mixed up in, something that had gotten them in trouble. Drugs? There were always rumors of people selling to the college kids. The thought was so ludicrous and uncomfortable that it made Po grimace.
“Are you all right?” P.J. asked.
“Yes,” Po answered, brushing off his concern. She forced a smile to her face. “I was just trying to sort through some things. Seconds, anyone?”
* * * *
When Max stopped by a while later, Po’s impromptu dinner companions had moved into the night—P.J. and Kate to walk along the river path while the weather still afforded it, Leah home to deliver a leftover container of soup to a tired husband. And Jed was headed to the campus library to walk Halley home from her late-night shift. And she hadn’t had a single moment to dump her concerns on P.J., other than the general talk that filtered in and out of the dinner conversation.
Po sat alone in the darkened family room, the lights dim and the dying embers of the fire casting shadows on the pine-planked floor. In the distance Segovia’s magic fingers strummed flamenco music. “Hi, Max,” she said, watching her friend walk across the kitchen. “Please don’t mind if I stay put. I’m exhausted. There’s leftover soup in the fridge.”
Max strode across the room and kissed Po on the forehead, then busied himself at the small bar. He mixed a Scotch and soda and finally sat down beside her. A sigh followed a long swallow of his drink.
“Good sigh or bad?”
“Long day. Adele’s not a bad lady, Po.”
Po moved her head in agreement.
“But what’s happening around her is not good. The workers are making things difficult. And rumors are spreading around the neighborhood that there’s a murderer in their midst, maybe next door, down the street.”
“Who’s spreading those rumors?”
Max shrugged. “Some well-intentioned folks, probably—there are some elderly people who live on that street and they’re understandably concerned. For a quiet neighborhood, there’s a lot of unusual activity at 210 Kingfish Drive. And then there are others—people like the moms in Phoebe’s playgroup. And some with other m
otives, like Tom Adler and College Board members who would love to get their hands on the property.” Max looped an arm around the back of the couch and took another drink.
“It’s not a good situation for Adele, that’s for sure. Bed and breakfasts conjure up images of cozy bedrooms and warm scones for breakfast, not arson and dead bodies floating in ponds.” Po looked into the crackling flames, watching flecks of gold shoot up the chimney. “Kate said something tonight that got me thinking. Something about things not being what they seem to be.”
“Sure. Let’s hope. If they are what they seem to be, Adele is suspect number one and Adler and Halley are probably tied for second place.”
“Halley?”
“I know. Doesn’t seem likely. Especially when it comes to Ollie. But the fire? She was there…”
“And so was Adele. But what if the motive isn’t the property at all. What if it’s something else?”
Max listened and nodded. “Could be something right in front of our noses. And all we need to do is step back a bit to see it.”
But they both knew that stepping back could also be dangerous.
* * * *
In her dreams that night, Po stepped back as far as she could, and as darkness folded in around her, she felt herself falling off a cliff. Suddenly, in the blackness, the fall was stopped and she was caught in strong, familiar arms. She awoke with a start, sitting up in bed, her heart beating wildly. As the fog and fear cleared from her head and her heart slowed, Po looked up at the moonlight streaming in the window. Bruce’s presence was so real that Po thought for a minute she could reach out and touch the arms that rescued her.
“So, my darling,” she said aloud, “what would you have me do now?” But she knew the answer, even without Bruce wrapping strong arms around her, holding her close.
A Bias for Murder Page 14
