A Bias for Murder Read online

  They watched in surprised silence as she walked across Elderberry Street, ignoring a driver that honked as he swerved to miss her

  When she reached her car, she paused and looked back at Po and P.J. as if knowing they’d still be standing there, watching her.

  “I’m not a fool, Po Paltrow,” she called across the street. “I am very aware that there are people in this town who, number one, want me out of here, and secondly, want my property. But neither of those things are going to happen. And I will prosecute anyone who stands in my way.” She opened the door and slid in behind the wheel. In the next minute, she was gone, driving far too fast for the quiet neighborhood shopping area.

  Po shook her head. “There’s something very sad about that woman.”

  “Nasty, is more like it,” P.J. said. He shoved his hands in his jeans’ pockets and looked up at the sky. “I think I need something really nice to get rid of the taste.”

  “Like Kate?” Po asked.

  P.J. laughed. “Now you’re a mind reader, Po. Scary.”

  “Will you follow up on Adele’s claims?”

  He nodded. “I’ll make a call to the station and have someone go out to the house. And then I think I’ll see if Katie has any of her grilled salmon and orzo salad lying around looking for someone to eat it.”

  Po laughed and looked into P.J.’s clear blue eyes. They were quite bright these days. That not only made her happy, it would delight Kate’s mother, though she might have preferred he stuck to practicing law than turning to police work. Liz Simpson’s daughter’s safety was always her topmost issue, mostly because her daughter wasn’t a very good judge of danger.”

  “Think you can handle the men in there by yourself?” P.J. nodded toward the bistro window where Max now stood, hands in his pockets and peering out, a puzzled look on his face.

  Po turned and waved. “I’ll fill them in on Adele’s concern, and then I am heading home myself.”

  Home. It was the only place she wanted to be right now. Alone on her screened porch with Hoover at her side. Alone to watch the sky darken, to talk to Bruce up there somewhere.

  And to sort through the days that had suddenly robbed her of the peace that the small town of Crestwood had always wrapped her in.

  Chapter 9

  “What do you think, ladies?” Phoebe held up a finished block for her quilt.

  “Phoebe, that’s wonderful!” Kate set her coffee cup down and leaned across the table to see the colorful green and pink flowered block. Phoebe was using the butterfly pattern from one of the Kansas City Star’s quilt books. She’d chosen playful calico prints in pink, bright reds, greens, and yellows.

  Kate looked more closely. “Except for that bit of goldfish cracker stuck to a butterfly wing.”

  She flicked it away and Phoebe hooted.

  “It’s the world I live in,” she said. “But except for the goldfish, I think it’s pretty cool myself.”

  “Adele wanted at least one crib quilt. That was thoughtful of her, don’t you think?” Selma said. “Phoebs, you’re the perfect person to make it.”

  “Perfect, hah. Jimmy is getting worried. We’re about to move Jude and Emma into youth beds, and Jimmy knows it’s painful for me to have an empty crib in the house. When he saw me working on this block he, like, freaked. He turned as white as Eleanor’s hair.”

  Eleanor laughed and patted Phoebe’s hand. “You are a good mom, Phoebe dear. You should have twenty little ones.”

  “Twenty little what?” Susan asked, coming into the sewing room.

  “Phoebe’s deciding her future,” Po said. “And while she does, let’s see your quilt, Susan. It’s for that gigantic king-sized bed in the tower suite, right?”

  Susan opened a cabinet and pulled out a stack of finished blocks. The pile of colors—yellow gold, greens, silvery blues and grays, and deep pinks—was remarkable, even without being set in a design. “Adele wanted something different in that room—something contemporary—so I didn’t use a traditional pattern.”

  “Susan, you could scatter those colors on a bed just like they are and you’d create a beautiful tapestry,” Po said.

  Susan smoothed out one of the blocks. “Adele—believe it or not—had a trunk filled with gorgeous silk fabrics. She’d collected them from her travels all over the world. We went through it together and I pulled these out for the quilt.”

  Selma stood next to Susan and looked closely at the design sketched on the piece of paper. “I think people will pay to stay in this room for the quilt alone. It’s gorgeous, honey.”

  Strips of gray and blue would form the border, and in the center a vibrant swirl of pink, spiraling out into yellows and golds drew everyone’s attention. The design was all movement and color. “I went over to check the paint color and figure out the border. The house is really coming along,” Susan said. “Kate went along to keep me company.”

  “To nose around is more like it,” Kate said. “The Harrington house fascinates me and when Adele showed us through, I wasn’t able to snoop. It always intrigued me, even when I was little, although it frightened me back then. The Harringtons were so private. And after the parents died, Ollie sometimes let the house go, with weeds all over.”

  Phoebe nodded. “Some of my playgroup moms refused to take their kids trick or treating over there. Silly. Ollie was harmless. But the house did look a little like Boo Radley’s house in To Kill a Mockingbird—frightening and mysterious—“

  “But holding something decent,” Kate added. “And now the house is beautiful—”

  “But that something decent is missing,” Po said. “At least in the person of Ollie.”

  Kate nodded. “It’s sad. And unnerving, and until the guy who did this is caught, the real beauty of that house can’t come through. It just can’t. It’s messing up the town. We need to end it.”

  “Kate,” Po said. The single word held a warning, and everyone in the room could hear it in Po’s soft tone.

  “There’s no danger, Po,” Susan said with a smile. “None of us are going to become vigilantes. Not even Kate.”

  “All right, I overreact sometimes. But someone has been murdered, Susan. We can’t take that lightly.”

  “But surely it’s someone far removed from us. And sure, he or she needs to be caught, but I don’t think any of us are in danger. Whoever did it is probably a world away by now. The life Ollie lived here was such an ordinary one. It had to be someone distant, maybe someone from another part of the Harringtons’ life, settling an old score or something.”

  “Susan, I love that you are our peacekeeper. But you’re dreaming,” Eleanor said. “There are a half dozen people within a mile of here who might have killed Ollie—and in their own twisted minds, had reason to do it.”

  “It’s usually the spouse or guy next door. The one you least expect,” Phoebe added enthusiastically. “Gus Schuette gave me a book to read on murder motives, and it’s not complicated at all. It’s pretty much for love or lust or money.”

  Kate laughed. “Phoebe, what are you reading books on murder for?”

  “Someone has to solve this crime,” Phoebe replied. “No offense against P.J. and his buds, Kate, but I don’t see anyone being arrested. And if we don’t clear this all up before Adele’s grand opening next month, there will be no one making reservations in that bed and breakfast. And that means no one will see these works of art we’re rushing to the finish line.”

  “The crime will be solved,” Po said confidently. “And by the police, not us, not Kate or Phoebe rushing in to do heaven knows what.” But deep down, Po didn’t feel confident at all. Adele Harrington lived just a few blocks from her home, and the same distance from Kate’s. Phoebe’s apprehension was credible. Even when the trouble wasn’t being talked about, it was there in the background of their lives—the awful fact that there might be someone in their midst who was capa
ble of killing a kind, gentle man. And until that someone was found, the restlessness would remain.

  “On a brighter spot, where’s Maggie?” Eleanor asked.

  “Don’t know. And it’s odd. I talked with her yesterday and she was definitely planning on being here to show off the progress on her quilt,” Kate said. “Maybe there was a pet emergency.”

  Po frowned. “I hope that rattletrap truck of hers didn’t break down on the way over.”

  Kate laughed. “I think Mags keeps that truck as a sign of her independence—snubbing her nose at that awful ex-husband of hers.” A few years before, Maggie’s then-husband had almost bankrupted her clinic, whittling away at her money on weekend junkets to Las Vegas. The truck was one of the few things Maggie didn’t lose. But through hard work and with the help of good friends, she now had one of the most successful veterinary clinics in Kansas.

  The sound of wheels on gravel in the alley behind the Elderberry shops broke into the conversation, and in the next minute, Maggie burst through the back door. But in place of the smile that almost always filled her round face was a disturbed look with brows pulled together and a clench to her square jaw.

  “What’s wrong?” Po asked.

  Maggie plopped down on a chair and rested her elbows on her knees. “It’s Emerson,” she said.

  “The poet?” Eleanor asked, handing Maggie a cup of coffee.

  “Adele’s dog,” Po said, suddenly understanding Maggie’s lateness. An emergency. “Is Emerson all right?”

  “Someone tried to poison him,” Maggie said.

  Chapter 10

  The quilting group disbanded shortly after hearing Maggie’s news. The good news was that Emerson was going to be okay. But Maggie wasn’t so sure about his owner. The vet was used to distraught dog lovers, but Adele, she told them, was deeply upset.

  Po tried to move into the rest of her day but had trouble concentrating on much of anything. Her books lay stacked on the desk, unopened. Her computer silent. And the diminishing daylight cast a chill that even a cup of hot tea couldn’t dispel.

  A quick phone call to Max convinced him he needed to spend time on Po’s deck that evening.

  “First Oliver’s death. And now a dog being poisoned. Max, what’s going on here?” Po handed Max an icy martini, then wrapped a thick wool sweater around her shoulders and sat down next to him on the old wicker couch. She had repeated the story of Emerson’s poisoning in full detail, down to the good news that Emerson would be returning home with Adele that night. “She wouldn’t leave without him, and Maggie completely understood. She told Adele to call her any hour of the night if she noticed anything unusual with Emerson, and needed confirmation that he was going to be all right.”

  “Good for Maggie. And Adele can’t be all bad. She really loves her dog.” Max looked off into the deepening night. The flicker of small lights beneath the ancient trees cast shadows across the deep backyard. He stretched his legs out and sipped the martini. “It’s not good, Po, that’s for sure. I dropped some legal papers off for Adele on my way over but she didn’t want to talk. Now I understand why. But Emerson will be fine.”

  Po nodded. She reached down and scratched Hoover’s ears. Her ancient Irish setter thumped his tail in thanks.

  “How did Adele seem to you?” Po asked.

  “She was pure Adele. Always wanting to appear in command. But there’s a softness there, no matter how hard she tries to hide it behind her accusations. She’s convinced everything going on is ‘evil doing,’ as she put it. She tosses out names of suspects without a second thought. It’s a long list, let me tell you. Everyone from Tom Adler, to neighbors, to the president of the College Board. People who want to scare her into leaving town.”

  “I know she’s suspicious of Joe Bates, too, but that’s probably just an excuse to urge him to find another place to live.”

  “Well, she can’t force Joe out. It’s in Oliver’s will that he has a place there as long as he wants it. It was Adele’s mother’s wish as well.”

  “I’m glad to hear he’s protected. But it can’t be fun living where you’re not welcome. And I know it irritates Adele. She doesn’t much like being told what she can and can’t do.”

  Max laughed. “That’s putting it mildly, Po. She’s got quite a temper.”

  Po took another sip of her martini and thought about Adele’s life—or the little she knew of it. After college she’d followed her mother’s suggestion and gotten a job with a pharmaceutical company, then traveled the world. By all accounts, she made plenty of money. Selma heard that she might have been married briefly, but no one knew for sure. And now here she was, back in Crestwood, Kansas, opening up a bed and breakfast. And turning neighbors and others against her with dizzying speed. Her life track didn’t make logical sense, but then, sometimes that’s how life was. “I think Adele might be all sound and fury,” Po said.’

  “Signifying nothing?”

  “No. Maybe something. Perhaps a vulnerability—a fear of being hurt. If you push everyone away, no one is likely to hurt you.”

  “Well, it isn’t working,” Max said. “I think this thing with Emerson is hurting her.”

  Po nodded. Of course Adele was hurting, Max was right. “And there’s Ollie. It’s clear she loved her brother deeply.” A breeze rustled through the branches and Po looked up beyond the trees, into a glorious fall sky. The stars were abundant, filling the black vastness with a brightness that belied the cloud hanging over Crestwood. She reached for Max’s hand and felt his fingers comfortably wind through her own, icy now from the martini glass. But Max’s was warm.

  Warm and comforting.

  He looked over at her and smiled. “Po, this mess will be solved, you know that. I know that. And soon, I suspect. Peace will return.” Po rested her head on his shoulder. Yes, it would pass and the cloud would lift. The Harrington House at 210 Kingfish Drive would open to fine reviews. But between now and then, Po suspected life wouldn’t be the same at all. And she wondered to herself how many lives would be touched in that interlude.

  The ringing of the telephone scattered her thoughts. She rose quickly, then paused. For a moment her heart beat too fast and she felt a fogginess inside her head. She stood still beside the couch, listening to the night sounds.

  And for that instance, Po didn’t want to answer the phone at all. The news, she knew instinctively, would not be good.

  Chapter 11

  Po walked into the kitchen and looked around the counter for her cell phone.

  It was Kate, her voice higher than usual and her words coming out too quickly.

  Po’s heart skipped a beat. Since Kate’s mother’s death, Po had assumed that role with Kate that she had with her own three children—fearing, when the phone rings late at night, that a child might be hurt.

  “Kate, what is it?”

  “Oh, Po, when is this craziness going to end? P.J. and I were out on our bikes tonight, riding along the river toward the sushi place. Then—”

  “Kate,” Po stopped her, her knuckles white against the receiver. “Are you all right? P.J.?”

  “Yes, yes,” Kate said, impatient to get on with her story but having a hard time getting it out. “Everyone you love is fine. But there are others in Crestwood not so fine.”

  Po slowly released the air that was burning her lungs. “Go on, sweetie.”

  “We rode past the Harrington estate on the way back to my house, and as we were going around the corner, we heard sirens, then a police car, and then the emergency medical van spun around the corner and pulled into 210 Kingfish.”

  “Oh, Kate…”

  “P.J. thought he could help, so we followed.”

  Po nodded into the still air.

  “Adele Harrington was standing out in the driveway in her nightgown, though it was only nine or so. And Halley Peterson—that nice librarian from the college wa
s there. And Joe Bates, the gardener.”

  “An odd threesome. Were they all okay? Why the police?”

  Po could almost feel the adrenalin surging through Kate’s body and wished, for a moment, that her goddaughter didn’t love danger quite so much.

  “Halley was in tears,” Kate continued, “and Joe had blood streaming from his forehead.”

  “Good grief. That poor man. Is he all right?”

  “It was mostly superficial, P.J. said. Apparently, Adele hit him with one of the workmen’s tools because she thought he was breaking into her house. At least that’s what she said.”

  “And Adele called the police?”

  “No, Halley did. She was walking up the drive and heard Joe scream. Then she saw the blood as he was trying to get back to the carriage house. So she called 911 from her cell phone.”

  “What was she coming to see Adele for at that hour? That’s so odd, especially since Adele isn’t very fond of her.” She felt Max standing close behind her and turned, assuring him with a smile and one hand raised that everything was okay. She nodded toward the coffee brewing on the counter and the apple pie beside it.

  Max walked over and helped himself to a generous slice, then settled down at Po’s table with Hoover at his side, listening as Po clicked the phone to ‘speaker’ mode.

  “I don’t know why Halley was there,” Kate was saying. “Things were a little crazy, as you can imagine. Adele was upset that the police came. She said she could handle things herself.”

  “Did she bring charges against Joe?”

  “No. She wanted everyone to go home and forget that the whole thing happened. Which they did, but of course the police had to file a report of the call.”

  “What happened then?”

  “It was kind of anticlimactic. Adele went inside. Joe shuffled off to his carriage house with a bandaged head, and Halley kind of disappeared. I really don’t know where she went.