Murder on a Starry Night: A Queen Bees Quilt Mystery by Sally Goldenbaum

was through with any detective work for the night, she hung up and sat beside Max at the table while he finished his second piece of pie. She filled him in on the pieces of the story he hadn’t grasped from hearing one side of the conversation. The facts were unpleasant— and the thought of Adele swinging a hammer at old Joe Bates was an unforgiving one.
    But beneath all the facts, Po suspected Kate was right. Adele’s façade was crumbling. And she wasn’t the ogre she wanted everyone to think she was. There was, indeed, a crack in the stone.

CHAPTER 12
    Po had been trying to get to the Canterbury library for several days. Her excuse was to pick up another book Leah was holding for her and to do a little research. But the real reason was to talk to Halley Peterson again, to find out what in the world she was doing at the Harrington mansion late on a Saturday night.
    A quick call to the library confirmed that Halley was working that day, and when Halley herself came to the phone, she agreed to meet Po for a cup of coffee around three. Po wasn’t sure if she was reading into it or not, but she thought she heard relief in Halley’s voice, or at the least, a desire to talk with Po.
    Po threw a bright blue cotton sweater over her white blouse and jeans and walked the few blocks to the college. It was another amazing fall day with temperatures in the upper sixties, and everywhere Po looked, trees were turning into bouquets of color. The ugliness of Oliver’s death hanging over the town was an aberration and didn’t fit at all with the beauty around them.
Soon
, Po thought.
Please let it end soon
.
    In ten minutes, Po reached the edge of campus and slowed down as she passed Eleanor’s big house. Eleanor was like Joe Bates, she thought, admiring the large urns, filled to overflowing with crimson mums. The two of them just looked at a plant and it eagerly responded with beautiful blossoms. She’d have to remember to tell Eleanor how wonderful her home looked.
    A bevy of coeds in shorts and t-shirts ran by, and Po stepped aside, admiring their speed and energy as they ran toward town. Her own jogs were not nearly so speedy, but they energized her just the same. And, she thought with a slight trace of pride, kept her in the same-sized jeans she’d worn thirty years ago.
    Po walked beneath the large stone entrance arch and across the green area that centered the college. She loved the small campus and welcomed the flood of memories that warmed her from the inside out every time she walked the tree-lined lanes crisscrossing the campus. When Sam Paltrow had been president, Po stopped by nearly every day for one thing or another—to bring one of the kids by to see their dad, to have a little quiet time with her husband in his high-ceiling office in the administration building, to attend benefits and meetings. It was a second home, and Sam’s early death hadn’t changed that feeling—the faculty and staff considered her family and she always felt welcome here. She wondered briefly how Sam would feel about the difference in status, the college growing into a university. It was a matter of funding, she knew, simply semantics. But she resented the pressure it put on friends like Leah and Jed to have to publish articles and books to remain in good standing. It all seemed like a rather childish game to her.
    Po greeted several faculty members as she walked past the theatre building and crossed over to the library on the other side of the quad. Inside the cool stone building, she was greeted by an enormous painting of her Sam, looking down at her from the paneled wall in the entryway. She nodded at him, smiling into his clear blue eyes. She let the catch in her breathing pass before moving on. Dear Sam. Always with her, but always, always, giving her permission to move on.
    The library was busy with students cramming for exams. Po didn’t see Halley behind the curved desk, but she was a bit early for their coffee date, so she