A Bias for Murder Read online

  My darling Po, tread lightly and safely, he’d say.

  And then he’d pull those thick brows together and try to look at her sternly, but the look would be more one of loving concern, tinged with great pride as he whispered to be careful.

  But the time was right—time to get all their lives out of limbo. Time to start living again.

  Chapter 22

  Po briefly drifted off, but was up with the first light. She plugged in the coffee pot and filled Hoover’s bowl with fresh water. It was too early to approach the world beyond her doors, so she’d begin instead with what was close by, anything that would bring her closer to understanding the lives of the two men who had lived on the lavish Harrington estate. And perhaps in understanding their lives and their friendship, she’d come closer to understanding why they had died.

  There was plenty of Joe and Ollie’s lives spread out in her basement, drying in the warm furnace-heated air. She had laid them out, then left them alone without another glance. A good place to start.

  Po poured herself a mug of coffee, flicked the light switch in the back kitchen hallway, and headed down the narrow stairs. The pungent odor of the remains of a fire assaulted her. She stopped on the steps for a moment, adjusting to it, then continued on down.

  Bruce and Po had finished one side of their basement as a playroom for the kids years ago, just after Sophie was born. The knotty-pine walls spoke of another era but held warm memories, as did the eight-foot table that had hosted countless birthday parties, Cub Scout projects, and craft sessions—and sometimes doubled for a noisy game of Ping-Pong. Today it was spread end-to-end with remnants of Joe Bates’s carriage house apartment—pads of paper, books propped open to encourage drying, photographs, and small paintings of flowers that she suspected Joe had done himself. When she’d emptied the boxes, Po had discovered that she’d brought home more than she had intended. And there was still a box that she’d forgotten in her car.

  But more was better, and she’d get around to it all. Spread it all out, dry it, and return to Adele what was salvageable. The pictures, especially. Adele would want those. She set to work, carefully removing the photos from their frames, pressing them smooth, and placing them on paper towels.

  Carefully, she peeled away small pieces of paper stuck inside books, some written on in Ollie’s careful handwriting. The distinctive blend of printing and cursive was intriguing and unmistakable.

  She smoothed out the pages torn from a yellow legal pad, wondering absently what people would find out about her if someday they went through her books, her papers, her small notebooks filled with thoughts and ideas and lines from poetry she loved. Would they be able to interpret the underlinings, the notes in the margin, the dozens of small pieces of paper and sticky notes she’d put in a book to save her place, or on which she’d copied a line she especially liked? Ollie had made plenty of notes on scraps of paper, perhaps intended to teach Joe, to help him understand the stars, the heavens, the things that Ollie loved.

  She picked up the copy of Jed’s book. She’d have to buy a copy of it one of these days. Gus had sold out, but was going to order more for the store. There were notes in the column here, too. Some washed away by the firemen’s efforts, but others still intact, with passages underlined and handwritten stars scribbled next to favorite passages.

  The ringing of her phone startled Po for a minute, then drew her out of her thoughts and up the basement stairs where she’d left it on the counter.

  “Hi, Po. Are you up?”

  “Have I ever slept beyond seven o’clock in my entire life?” Po set her empty coffee cup in the sink and looked out into the deep green of her backyard. The oak leaves were beginning to turn, and there was already a light coating of maple leaves on the ground, scattered now as Hoover chased a squirrel around a bed of mums.

  “Sorry, Po,” Kate said. “It seemed a logical question when you’re calling someone at eight in the morning.”

  “Why aren’t you at school?”

  “There’s a teachers’ conference in Kansas City. It seemed optional, so I stayed behind. I need to run by the college to pick up some books, but after that, you up for coffee? Your place?”

  “Better yet, let’s meet at the college. The new coffee house is carrying Peet’s coffee. Give me an hour.”

  Po closed the basement door and headed upstairs. She took a quick shower and slipped into a pair of light corduroy slacks and a soft gray turtleneck. Heeding the weatherman’s advice, she grabbed a jacket, called Hoover inside, then headed out.

  She had planned to pick up some books at the college library today—and hopefully, to run into Halley Peterson.

  Po walked the few blocks to the college—she would never get used to calling it Canterbury University—a bit pretentious, she thought. Stuffy. The opposite of the campus that had been a second home to her for so many years.

  She hurried across the quad, stepping aside several times for students burdened with massive backpacks passing her by. One wall of the coffee shop was nearly all glass, and through it she spotted Kate, commandeering two leather chairs and a small round table. Po hurried in.

  “Got here just in time,” Kate said. “The place is a zoo with everyone wanting their start-the-day jolt of java.”

  Po dropped her bag beside the chair and sat down. She looked around, taking stock of the crowded, early morning crowd. Halley Peterson waved at her from her place in line across the room, and Po waved back, motioning for her to join them when she was through. “She’s one of the reasons I wanted to stop by the college today,” Po said, nodding toward the librarian. “You don’t mind, do you, Kate?”

  “Nope, not at all. I like Halley—and she someone we should be talking to even if I didn’t like her. P.J. and I ran into her the other night at Jacques’s. She and Jed Fellers came in for dinner. In spite of everything, they seemed to be having a good time. At least that’s how it looked—lots of gabbing going on and Halley had a pretty blush to her cheeks. I think difficult times can bring people together more quickly than the normal course of living.”

  “She does seem a little happier, though I know Ollie’s and Joe’s deaths have taken a toll on her. I’m glad she has Jed to help her through it.”

  “Sometimes we forget that Jed is going through all this, too. Leah said he and Ollie were close.”

  Halley walked over to their table with coffee and a cinnamon roll. “You don’t mind?” she asked, putting down her mug and pulling over an empty chair from the wall. She was smiling.

  “A new haircut?” Po asked. She looked more closely and realized it was the first time she’d seen Halley with makeup, and her usual jeans had given way to a skirt and soft cashmere sweater. “You look lovely,” Po said.

  Halley blushed. “I’ve decided that shabby wasn’t chic on me.”

  “You were never shabby, but you do look great,” Kate said.

  “So what’s new? Is there any news?” Halley asked, clearly anxious to divert attention from herself.

  “Well, you may have heard that Adele Harrington sprained her ankle,” Po began.

  Halley frowned. “I didn’t know that.”

  “She was going up to clean out Joe’s place after that awful fire,” Kate explained. “Po found her.”

  “Did she do it?”

  “Do what?” Po asked.

  “Clean out the apartment?” Halley said.

  Po was quiet for a moment, wondering why Halley seemed to skip over the more obvious question about Adele’s injury.

  Halley seemed to read Po’s thoughts and said quickly, “I don’t mean to seem uncaring about Adele Harrington. She and I simply don’t see eye to eye on things. I think it might just be that we handle our emotions, our grief, differently. But I hope she’s okay. I certainly don’t wish her ill.”

  “I understand. Adele hasn’t been very understanding about your friendship with
her brother.”

  Halley ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head. When she spoke, her voice had an edge to it that seemed out of place, coming from the quiet librarian. “No, she hasn’t. And I don’t know…I still think Adele maybe knows more about Ollie’s death than she’s saying. I’m not sure Ollie wanted Adele to have the house.”

  “Who should have it? Adele grew up there, too,” Kate said.

  Halley stared at her plate. Finally, she looked up. “I don’t know. Maybe…maybe me. I told him that was silly, but I don’t think he had many people he was close to. And he wanted the house cared for.”

  “Ollie told you he had changed his will?” Po asked.

  “Well, sort of.”

  “And that’s why you think Adele had something to do with his death? That seems severe, Halley. Ollie was her twin brother and her only sibling. I don’t know how you can make that leap.”

  Halley nodded. “At first I couldn’t imagine someone killing her own brother. But it happens all the time. Most murders are within families.” She looked at Po, then Kate. “It’s true,” she said.

  Po listened intently, watching belief fill Halley’s eyes. Her words seemed to strengthen her resolve and the smile fell from her face as she talked.

  “Well, it’s not true in this case,” Kate said.

  “But you don’t know that,” Halley said. “There are things you don’t know about Adele Harrington. She’s greedy, she’s not a good person.”

  “Why do you think that, Halley?” Po asked. “I know Adele is abrupt and can even be rude, but she has had an enormous amount of grief to bear these weeks. Her life has been pulled apart. Your judgment seems unduly harsh.”

  Halley bit down on her bottom lip, as if preventing herself from saying something she might regret. She looked at Po, her eyes flashing. “I believe what I believe. And I respect that you have your own convictions. You’re wrong, though.” She pushed back her chair and forced a smile to her face. “I better get over to the library. My shift starts in a few minutes.”

  Po and Kate watched as Halley dropped her napkin and paper plate into the refuse container, then took her cup and hurried out the door. They watched through the glass as she stopped and waved at someone.

  Jed Fellers was walking across the quad, an armload of books in his hand and a student at his side. He returned her wave along with a broad smile.

  As if by magic, the concern and consternation fell from Halley’s face. In its place was a bright look of joy.

  “Now I understand the change in dress. The makeup,” Kate said.

  “Halley Peterson is in love,” Po finished.

  “I wonder if she’s shared her dislike of Adele Harrington with Jed?”

  “Probably not. Jed has been supportive of Adele. I don’t think Adele trusts people easily, and Jed hasn’t quite received a warm welcome, but he’s been gentlemanly about trying to help where he can.”

  “Why do you think Halley is so concerned about Joe’s apartment?” Kate asked.

  “I think she just wants some remembrance of Ollie. Maybe it’s just a sentimental thing.”

  Kate shook her head. “It doesn’t ring true to me, Po. Her efforts to retrieve something of Ollie’s seem kind of weird. She has her memories, and surely Joe would have given her what he thought Ollie might want her to have.”

  “Actually, I agree with you. I wanted to ask her about it, but it didn’t seem like the right time.”

  Kate nibbled on her scone. “So what do you think? Why has Halley continued to barge into Adele’s life when she’s been told to stay away?”

  Po drained her cup. Why indeed. What was Halley Peterson thinking?

  Po and Kate went their separate ways with promises to talk later.

  But between now and then, Kate explained that she was heading to the park to take some photos. And to think about Ollie Harrington and Joe Bates. And Tom Adler, and Adele and Halley. She confessed to Po that she’d had dreams about them all the night before. She was walking through a forest, following Joe and Ollie. And they kept nearing the edge of the woods where the trees fell away and sunlight flooded the rutted ground. But they never quite reached the light. They were always a few footsteps away. And the darkness kept getting deeper.

  A few footsteps away. Po thought. She felt that, too. The pieces were scattered all around them. If only they could scoop them up and fit them into the right places, perhaps they could bring some closure—bring some light into the darkness—before someone else got hurt.

  That thought was never far from Po’s mind. She went home and put in a load of wash, trying to shake the awful foreboding that weighed heavy on her. She ran Hoover over to Maggie’s for a checkup, then finally settled down in her den to work on an article she was writing for a quilting magazine. She’d been asked to write about the origin of quilting bees, and describe how their own local quilting group worked, sewing together art and friendship. A topic close to her heart. It would practically write itself.

  But after an hour of staring at an empty screen, Po realized her mind was too full of other things. It was futile to sit there any longer. Instead, she reached for a yellow pad and began to doodle. Somehow, writing down scattered thoughts sometimes made them more comprehensible. She and Ollie, perhaps, were alike in that way.

  Ollie. Joe.

  People on her mind. Two good friends.

  House. Apartment.

  It occurred to Po that dwellings figured prominently in the lives of these friends. Bound them together. She scribbled on the pad, drew circles around their names. Doodled stick figures. And stars.

  Halley.

  Halley seemed to love the Harrington house almost as much as Ollie had. Perhaps that was why she loved it—because it had been his. And Halley thought Ollie had wanted her to have it. An odd thought for casual friends. If the words carried truth, Ollie seemed to have promised his house to many people. Maybe it was Ollie’s way to avoid conflict. To win friends.

  Po frowned. She looked again at her pad. Ollie’s name. Joe’s. And Halley’s. Halley had wanted something from Joe’s apartment. But there was little there. Writings of Ollie’s? But why? Sentimental reasons maybe. Something more? Something about the house. Revised wills? Notes of intent? Did Halley know something about Ollie that might help find his murderer? As much as she didn’t want to distrust Halley, she agreed with Kate that there was something odd about it all.

  Po hadn’t had the chance she was looking for to talk with Halley. Maybe tomorrow she’d invite her to come look through the things from Joe’s apartment. There was a picture she knew she would like. Halley and Ollie out beside the pond. Po wondered if Joe had taken it.

  Such an odd, unlikely threesome.

  Po began squinting at her own words and realized while she’d doodled, the room had grown dark. She looked over at the clock above her stove and pushed back her chair. Max would be there soon to pick her up. They were taking Eleanor to Jacques’s for her birthday. A most welcome treat to take their minds off fires and suspicions and people’s pain.

  But first she’d call Halley. She pulled a card Halley had given her earlier from her purse and tapped in the numbers on her cell, suspecting Halley might still be at work and not checking her cell. She left a brief message, that she had found something at Joe’s that Halley might like. Then she hurried upstairs to dress.

  The message would bring Halley over, she thought. And then they could talk. Po suspected Halley had answers that Po didn’t even know the questions to.

  Chapter 23

  Po, Max, and Eleanor arrived at Jacques’s early, hoping to beat the usual Friday night crowd. “The better to hear you, my dears,” Eleanor said, confessing that the din in restaurants was beginning to bother her eighty-three-year-old ears.

  Max laughed. “El, you’re amazing. I’ve been bothered by loud noises for years. What’s your secret?�
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  “Jacques’s escargots. One plate a day keeps everything working just fine.” She smiled up into the round face of the restaurant owner. “And how are you, dear Jacques?”

  He leaned down and kissed Eleanor on each cheek, then repeated his European ritual with Po. “Beautiful ladies, you honor me tonight with your presence.”

  “Oh, shush, Jacques,” Po said, waving her hand in the air. “You say that to all the women.”

  “But never with such passion, dear Po,” Jacques said, his clear blue eyes twinkling. “That I reserve only for you, mon amie.”

  “It looks like we’re not the only ones coming in early,” Max observed, looking around.

  Jacques nodded. “Business is good tonight, but not so good other nights. Bad vibrations from the Harrington house are invading our Elderberry shops.” He waved one plump hand in the air. “Go away, bad vibrations.”

  “I know, Jacques. It’s a bad thing.”

  “But maybe it is solved tonight.”

  “Oh? What do you mean, Jacques?” Po pushed her glasses up into her hair.

  “Monsignor Adler—he was around here earlier—out on the sidewalk. Drunk as a skunk, as you say here in America. Shouting awful things at Madame Harrington.”

  “Adele? She was here?”

  “Yes, she was here in my restaurant, her ankle bandaged and swollen, but her face quite beautiful. She came in for dinner on the arm of Professor Fellers. A magnificent-looking couple, those two.”

  “Jed Fellers and Adele?” Po’s brows lifted.

  Max frowned. “That’s odd. Jed told me Adele doesn’t give him the time of day, and I’ve seen her be rude to him.”

  “Maybe she changed her mind,” Eleanor said. “People do that, you know.”

  “Agreed. I think it’s good that she’s getting out,” Po said. “Was Halley Peterson with them, too? A younger woman, brown hair—”

  Jacques shook his head. “Non. Just the two of them. They had drinks, then my escargots. The professor was gentlemanly and gracious, but he was a little uncomfortable, I think. Not quite himself. And then that awful man began banging on the window, threatening Madame Harrington. The professor shielded her, moved her away from the window.”