Murder on a Starry Night: A Queen Bees Quilt Mystery (14 page)

Today Gus sat on a chair behind the wooden checkout counter, his head lowered over a book, his glasses hovering low on a wide, misshapen nose. He looked up and stood as the entrance bell pinged. His face broke into a grin. “My Sunday ladies are here at last. Let the day begin.” He set his book on the counter and automatically reached beneath the counter for two reserved copies of the Sunday
New York Times
. “I could set my clock by you two,” he said, handing them the thick newspapers.

“You say that every single Sunday, Gus,” Po said.

Gus laughed. “What would we do without our rituals, Po?”

Po smiled. The familiarity of routines and dear people were what Crestwood was all about. Perhaps that was true of small towns everywhere. But this Sunday morning routine was one of her favorites. She and Leah had started it years ago, when Leah was a brand new professor at Canterbury College. Sam Paltrow soon discovered his new employee’s husband loved Sunday morning golf as much as he did. So while Sam 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 Sunday
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 at that moment P.J. and Kate walked into the room, their arms loaded with books. They were dressed in jeans and turtlenecks, windbreakers wrapped around their waists, their faces flushed. Po suspected they had been riding bikes along the river, leaving the town’s worries behind for a while.

“We supported Gus’s kids’ education,” Po said. “Looks like you two are supporting his retirement.”

“As it should be.” 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.”

Kate punched his arm lightly. “You’re all talk, Gus Schuette. You loved our trouble, and you know it.” She turned toward Po and Leah. “So Po, what’s the word at Marla’s?” Kate’s face grew serious with the question, knowing the café would have been rife with talk of Joe Bates’ death.

Po watched P.J. loop an arm over Kate’s shoulder and draw her to his side. She knew exactly what he was thinking. Kate, murder is dangerous business.

“As you might guess, Adele is getting the brunt of the speculation.”

“It doesn’t look very good for her,” P.J. said. “Too many people heard her talking about Joe, criticizing him, wanting him off her property. But I don’t think there’s anything but anecdotal evidence at this point.”

“Don’t know why anybody’d want to murder that old man,” Gus said.

“Did you know him, Gus?” 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.”

“You’re right, Gus. And after awhile, he only worked for her, then moved in and that’s when we didn’t see much of him anymore,” Po added.

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. He wasn’t wanting to talk, though I told him how good it was to see him and tried to chitchat a bit. Showed him some new garden books. I watched him through the window when he left and saw him trudging back toward 210 Kingfish Drive, head down, face a mask of sadness. He seemed determined, kind of, like he was on a mission, but you could see that Ollie’s death had taken a toll on him.”

“Maybe he was finally trying to move beyond the Harrington House—to begin a life without Ollie.”

“Maybe.” Gus scratched his square chin. “Maybe so. He was, well, agitated. But I hadn’t seen him for so long, that could have been his normal look.”

Po frowned. “Joe was a good sort. His murder is so troubling and senseless. It’s awful for the whole town, but above all, for Adele Harrington. Having someone murdered in her backyard isn’t going to help promote her bed and breakfast any.”

“Some folks say it might have been an accident. Adele has quite a temper. Maybe she just meant to shake him up,” Gus offered.

“I’m afraid there’ll be a lot of ‘maybes’ floating around,” Kate said. “And they will only hurt Adele.” She turned toward P.J. “Does all this speculation hurt the case, P.J.?” P.J. shrugged. “Probably not. The investigation will go forward on its own course. But what speculation does is hurt innocent people.”

Kate nodded. “I don’t know what it is about Adele Harrington—she’s insulted so many people—but there’s more to her than that. When Phoebe and I helped her into the house yesterday after those awful moments at the lily pond, we could see agony in her eyes. Real, genuine hurt. She mumbled something we couldn’t quite understand, something about her mother. And Ollie. And how horrible this would have been for them both.”

“I’ve seen traces of that, too, Kate. Something real and decent,” Po said.

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt the woman to let a few others see that side of her,” Gus said. “Rita and I invited her to a book signing here at the store—one of those cocktail things we do. We thought maybe she’d like getting to know some folks—”

“And maybe fill her B&B library from books she’d buy here?” Leah teased.

“Sure, a little business. A little pleasure. But you know my Rita, she decided this is what a newcomer in town needed and she would have introduced her to everyone within fifty miles.”

“But she turned you down,” Kate said.

“Flatter than Kansas,” Gus said. “And was rude in the process.”

“It’s a protection, I think,” Po said. “But I think in time she’ll warm up.”

“Well, let’s hope she’s not finding herself warming up in the cooler.”

Po shook her head. “You’re hopeless, Gus, and on that note, I need to get moving. Leah and I are going to stop by Adele’s to see if there’s anything we can do.”

But when Po and Leah drove down Kingfish Drive a few minutes later, they could see that the iron gates leading to the drive were closed and locked, and in the distance, crowding the curve of the drive, three police cars stood guard over a murder scene.

That night, Po’s Sunday dinner group started out small. The tradition her Sam had started years ago still held the unknown—twenty people might show up—or four—one never knew. But no matter the number, those who came were welcome and could always count on a tasty meal that Po seemed to whip up out of nothing. Dinner, martinis, and always dessert. It was a mystery how it all came about, but one her friends and neighbors were eternally grateful for. This Sunday night, Maggie, Max, P.J. and Kate, Leah, her husband Tim, and Eleanor dropped in, each carrying a bottle of wine or loaf of bread—and tidbits about Adele Harrington. Po had tried to reach Halley, thinking she might enjoy the gathering, but she had to leave a message when Halley didn’t answer.

P.J. manned the grill while Kate prepared drinks, and Po urged everyone out to the deck to enjoy the wonderful starry evening, and maybe the last outdoor gathering before winter set in. They’d gotten a later-than-usual start and P.J. was piling shrimp and vegetables on the grill.

“I got a strange call this morning,” Maggie said, standing near the deck railing. She wore faded jeans and a soft fleece jacket. “Adele Harrington called me at home. She asked me to open the clinic so she could bring Emerson in to board him.” Maggie eyed the platter of Thai spring rolls that Eleanor was placing on the long deck table. “Isn’t that kind of odd? Emerson seems to be her one true friend—you’d think she would want to keep him close, especially at times like this.”

Eleanor pushed up the sleeves of her silky red blouse and handed Maggie a paper plate with a spoonful of peanut sauce for the spring rolls, which were overflowing with tiny pink shrimp and flecks of cilantro and mint. “That’s odd,” Eleanor said. “Adele loves that dog more than life itself. I ran into her down at the river park the other day while my yoga class was exercising on the lawn. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a few days, but every time Emerson rubbed against her, her face relaxed and she seemed almost happy.”

“Seems like Adele placed more than one call this morning.” Leah looked over at Max. “Po and I saw her leaving your office bright and early.”

Max took a chilled martini from the tray Kate held in front of him. “This is a difficult time for her,” he said. “She wanted to check some insurance policies to make sure the property was covered. She just needed assurance that her legal affairs were in order.”

“That sounds ominous,” Maggie said. “Isn’t that something you do before you die—or go off to jail?”

Po listened to the conversation as she walked back and forth between the kitchen and the deck, piling napkins and silverware on the table, bringing out pitchers of water and salt and pepper. The night was so pleasant and the group so small that she’d decided they would settle into the comfortable deck chairs and settees and eat right there beneath the stars. She had thought about calling Adele to see if she needed company and would like to join them, but she knew as surely as anything that she’d be turned down. And with good reason. Were she in Adele’s situation right now, socializing would be the last thing on her mind.

“Did Adele talk about Joe’s funeral at all?” P.J. asked from his position at the grill. “They won’t release the body for a couple days, but someone should be making plans to give the guy a decent burial.”

“No. I asked, but she ignored me,” Max said. “I don’t think she feels responsible for burying Joe, and I suppose, officially, she isn’t.”

“Reverend Gottrey will take care of it if no one steps up to the plate,” Po said. “I called him about it today. It’s so sad when there’s no family—or even close friends—to take care of these things.”

P.J. carried a platter of skewers stacked with plump, spicy grilled shrimp and scallops to the table. Po followed with orzo sprinkled with feta cheese and snow peas, a basket of sour dough rolls, and a heaping bowl of spinach salad. She slipped her arms through a thick blue cardigan sweater, fixed herself a plate, and settled onto the glider beside Max. “It’s good to be with friends,” she said softly.

Beside her, Max nodded. He reached out and touched her hand, then looked up at the stars flung wide across the black sky. “This sky makes me think of Ollie. He was so brilliant when it came to the heavens.”

“I never even met him, and that’s so odd in a small town like this,” Maggie said.

“I think you had to fit into a certain compartment of his life,” Leah said. “Otherwise your paths wouldn’t cross. His life seemed to be the college, his classes with Jed, the library, and his home. Being there with Joe.”

“And Halley Peterson,” Po added. “It’s somehow comforting to know that Ollie had a friend like Halley. And it’s clear to me she genuinely cared for him. And for Joe, too. The past couple weeks have been difficult for her.”

“P.J. and I saw her today after we left Gus’s store.” Kate rose and put her empty plate on the table, then propped herself up on the wide railing, her arms folded over a thick cotton sweater Po had knitted for her. “She and Jed were walking toward campus, deep in conversation. I don’t think they even saw us. Halley looked upset, and so sad. And Jed was clearly a comforting shoulder to lean on.”

“Jed was so good to Ollie,” Leah said. “They have that in common. I’m glad Halley has someone to talk with. As busy as Jed is, he’s making time for her, and that’s a good thing.”

“Coffee anyone?” Po asked, rising from the glider.

“And I brought ice cream,” Eleanor added. “Let me help, Po.”

As the two women headed for the French doors leading inside, the sound of a siren in the distance cut through the crisp night air. Eleanor paused at the door. “Such a mournful sound,” she said. “And it always means distressing news for someone.”

Po looked out into the darkness. Tiny lights illuminated the giant oaks and pine trees in her backyard—a perfect, peaceful setting. But she felt it, too, the unsettling feeling of unknown lives being changed in an instant by an auto crash, a heart attack, a random, freak accident. She walked on into the house. “Let’s hope it’s no one we know, El.”

Eleanor busied herself in the kitchen, scooping large portions of ice cream in bowls while Po filled a tray with cups, cream and sugar, and the coffee pot. “Fudge sauce?” Po asked.

But before she could open the refrigerator, a different sound, much closer, joined the sirens.

“Now that’s a sound you don’t often hear,” Eleanor said, wiping her hands on a towel and glancing toward Po’s front hall. “It’s your doorbell. Who in heaven’s name uses your doorbell, Po?”

“Not many people,” Po admitted. “Not when they know it’s just as easy to push it open and walk in.” Po walked quickly toward the front of her house. The sound of the sirens quickened her step as she reached the front door and pulled it open.

Po looked out into the darkness, and before she could speak, Halley Peterson flung herself into Po’s arms.