Murders on Elderberry Road: A Queen Bees Quilt Mystery Page 8

  “A half-hour wait,” someone called out as Po and Leah approached.

  “Perfect timing,” Po said. “Mary Hill has the most remarkable paper weight display in her shop. Maybe we can catch a peek through the window while we wait.”

  The two strolled down the street, walking in and out of patches of bright sunshine and savoring the cool crisp fall air.

  They moaned in unison as they passed Daisy’s plastic flowers display. “I swear they’re growing,” Leah murmured.

  Po laughed. “Owen was assigned the task of telling Daisy to shape this up, I hear. She was fit to be tied.”

  “Daisy’s wrath is scary,” Leah said. She looked up ahead at the brick front of Windsor House Antiques. Small green awnings shielded the windows from the bright sunshine.

  “I hear Mary is back at work.”

  “It’s the best thing for her, I think.” Po stepped close to the plate glass window and looked in at the display of vases and desk lamps. Beyond the window the shop was nearly dark except for several small security lights. Po pointed toward the new cabinet by Mary’s desk. “The paper weight display is over there.”

  Leah cupped her hands around her eyes and peered into the store. “Oh, my — even from here, I can see how beautiful they are,” she said. “Tim bought me a Perthshire weight when I graduated. It’s one of the loveliest things I own. I’ll definitely be back to see Mary’s collection when the store is open.”

  Leah turned to go when Po stepped back to the window, wrinkled her forehead, and looked intently through the smudged window glass. “I saw movement,” she said, and motioned for Leah to look. A sliver of unexpected fear circled Po.

  Leah peered through the glass. “It’s just Mary, Po.”

  As Po’s eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the store, she could see her, too. Mary Hill was standing at the opposite side of the store, nearly hidden from view by a large armoire and a hanging tapestry. Po frowned. “I think there’s someone with her.”

  A man stepped out of the shadow of the armoire and moved slowly toward Mary. He was medium height, not much taller than Mary, but his face was hidden from view.

  Po raised her hand, ready to knock on the window and scare him away. But before she could move, the man handed Mary something. It looked from the window to be a handful of papers. Mary took them and looked down at the white sheets. The man stood by quietly while Mary stared at the papers. Even from a distance, Po could see the vacant, sad look on her face.

  Before the two women could pull themselves away, Mary’s narrow shoulders slumped and her small body seemed to collapse in on itself. The papers fell from her fingers and floated to the floor.

  “Po, does she need our help?” Leah whispered. “What’s happening?”

  “I can’t tell, but he doesn’t seem to be threatening.”

  Then the man bent over and gathered the papers scattered on the floor. He stood and slipped the papers into a briefcase.

  Mary’s eyes were lowered and her face seemed shadowed in grief. The man set the briefcase on the floor and took her in his arms in a gentle embrace. Mary didn’t respond, and the man stepped back, his head lowered. He looked like he was trying to console her or help her with her sadness. He pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Mary.

  “Who is that?” Leah whispered.

  “There’s something familiar about him. The way he stands, maybe?”

  “Whoever he is, she seems okay with him being there, don’t you think?”

  Po pulled back from the window and pushed a handful of hair behind her ear. “Yes. And I’m beginning to feel guilty, standing here like this. Poor Mary. She was probably down here to deal with her grief in private, and here she is, on a stage instead.”

  “I agree. And my stomach can’t hold out much longer. Let’s eat.”

  They glanced through the window once more to assure themselves that everything was all right. Mary was sitting in a chair now, and the person with her was leaning over her, talking quietly. She seemed more composed and was looking intently at the man.

  “She seems to be in good hands, whoever he is,” Po said. They turned and headed down the street. “It’s good to know Mary has people to help her through this. Sometimes she seems so alone.”

  “It couldn’t have been easy for her being married to Owen. He was involved in a million things at the college, and I don’t think they interested Mary very much.”

  “But she certainly stood at his side at all those faculty events. And if you’ll pardon me for saying so, Leah, those things could be dryer than your martinis.”

  “And they still are.” Leah laughed. “You adapt.”

  The crowd had thinned in front of the cafe, and Marla waved them in.

  “Where’ve you two been?” she scolded and ushered them to a table near the window. “Thought you weren’t coming. I might have sent the National Guard after you. It wouldn’t be Sunday if you two ladies didn’t show up.”

  “You know we can’t go more than a week without one of your breakfasts, Marla,” Leah said.

  “That’s a fact. Sit down and I’ll have Stella pour you some coffee. Eggs’ll be ready in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” She wiped her hands on a dirty white apron that bulged out from her waste like an awning. “It’s been busier than a Macy’s sale in here this morning.”

  “Mostly the church crowd?” Leah asked.

  “Yup. And quite the happy crowd today, at least the ones from Reverend Gottrey’s church. Too bad I don’t have a liquor license — there’d have been many Bloody Mary takers.”

  “Why’s that, Marla?” Po smiled her thanks to Stella as she filled two blue mugs with Marla’s special blend coffee.

  “You haven’t heard?” Marla’s face lit up like the sky on the Fourth of July.

  Leah and Po glanced quickly at each other. Nothing brightened Marla’s disposition faster than the chance to pass along juicy news or gossip.

  “Heard what?” Po asked half-heartedly. She wouldn’t have asked, but that could have been worse. No one ever knew what would trip Marla’s tongue.

  “Reverend Gottrey announced at today’s service, right directly from the pulpit, that Mary Hill was donating the Hill farm — all eleven hundred acres of it — to the Crestwood All Holy Saints Church.”

  “What a generous gift,” Po said. She knew the land, a wooded haven hidden between well-tended farms and rolling wheat fields just a short drive from Crestwood. She and Sam had been guests at the farm a number of times. Owen Hill had loved the place dearly. He told Po once that it was the one place he could putter and play and be completely at ease. He had a tool shed, an old truck, and lots of fences that always needed fixing. Sometimes he hosted faculty events in the sprawling rustic home on the property. And sometimes Owen had friends out just to enjoy the peace.

  Po remembered one day especially, a sunny, snowy day shortly before Sam died. Owen invited the two of them out to cross-country ski. She couldn’t remember now how it all came about, how Owen had discovered her love of skiing. But somehow he had and for hours the three of them had skied across the expanse of rolling white fields, in and out of narrow snow-padded paths through the quiet woods. She remembered the still beauty that enveloped them. Po rubbed her arms as the force of memory wrapped around her and squeezed her heart. It had been a cherished day, finished in front of a fire with hot buttered rum, soft jazz playing in the background, Sam at her side — and Owen a humorous, delightful host. A special day.

  “Po?” Leah said.

  Po looked up. She blinked the present back into focus. “I’m sorry.” She wrapped her fingers around the coffee mug and let the warmth seep into her hands. “I was swept up by a host of lovely memories of that farm. Reverend Gottrey’s church is very fortunate.”

  “Fortunate and then some,” Marla said. “That place is a huge hunk of prime real estate. Worth a small fortune, according to the mayor. He was in here after church with the wife and those two pretty daughters of his, and he s
aid that everyone in the whole church gasped right out loud when it was announced. The mayor said he sure wished he’d have gotten his wish list in before the Reverend did. City could have used all that land for a park or something.”

  Po and Leah settled back and sipped their coffee. Marla was on a roll. There was no telling when they’d get their eggs.

  “Mary Hill was at church, too. Gracious, the mayor said. Gorgeous, his wife said. She’s a pretty lady, that’s clear.

  “And here’s the clincher,” Marla continued. Her fingers pressed down on the tabletop forming a fat pink tent. She took a deep breath, then said dramatically, “It’ll be called the Owen Hill Spiritual Retreat.” Marla stood straight and moved her hands to her heavy hips. She shook her head. Her chins moved back and forth in slow motion. “Owen’s Spiritual Ranch, now what do you think of that?”

  Po ignored the question. She wasn’t sure what Marla was getting at but suspected she was insinuating that Owen wasn’t a very religious person. But there was something more pressing than Marla’s innuendoes on her mind. “Did you say Reverend Gottrey announced it today, Marla?” she asked.

  “Yep. At the early service today.”

  “And Mary Hill was there?” What she and Leah had just seen didn’t mirror a joyful woman announcing a generous memorial gift. That should have been such a special time for Mary.

  “In the front pew in one of her expensive suits. The Reverend talked about how generous it all was. The mayor said it embarrassed her some, all that attention, but she was gracious afterwards when they all gathered on the steps outside and thanked her. And he said she looked better than she has since, well, since it all happened — not so pale and skinny, and she was smiling again.”

  Before Po or Leah could comment, a customer two tables over insisted he talk to Marla immediately. His wife’s eggs were gummy, he announced loudly, a comment Marla wasn’t about to take nicely. She lurched her huge body in his direction and prepared to challenge the complaint.

  Po looked at Leah across the steam of her coffee. “Well, something stole Mary’s smile between church and the Elderberry shop. Either that or she has a double.”

  “Maybe it was the memories it stirred up?” Leah suggested. “People probably besieged her with kind words and stories about Owen after the service.”

  “And sent her into a tailspin of grief. It doesn’t take much. That’s probably exactly what happened.”

  Stella appeared at the table, her thin arms and long skinny fingers balancing two heaping plates of the Sunday special. Stella was as taciturn as Marla was chatty. She placed the plates on the table and disappeared without a word on her tiny, cat-like feet.

  The sweet smell of fresh tarragon and butter rose up on the warm steam.

  Leah closed her eyes and leaned into the smell. “Delicious,” she whispered.

  Po took a forkful of eggs and confirmed it. Marla was an amazing cook. And she assumed that everyone’s appetite matched her own. In addition to the eggs, the plates were heaped with crisp strips of bacon, thick hunks of buttered whole-wheat toast, pan-fried potatoes, and a small mountain of fresh fruit topped with a dollop of yogurt. A basket of jams and jellies and goblets of freshly squeezed orange juice completed the feast.

  Po and Leah ate in comfortable silence. Outside the window, leaves danced across the street, chased by a brisk fall breeze, and groups of people strolled by — churchgoers, joggers, and neighbors — all soaking in the last remnants of Indian summer.

  Leah sat back in her chair and poured cream in her coffee. An amused smile played at the corners of her mouth. “About this land donation, Po — don’t you wonder what Owen is saying about it all, wherever he is?”

  “I suspect he’s doing a bit of groaning right now.”

  “I know the church is important to Mary, but I don’t think Owen ever set foot in that church, do you? As far as I know, he spent nearly every Sunday out on the golf course.”

  “He certainly wasn’t religious in the same way Mary is,” Po said. “Well, who knows. Maybe he’d consider this a good thing. He could contribute land, if not his presence, to the church.”

  “Po, you have this wonderful way of putting a good spin on everything. It’s one of the reasons I love you so. But you and I both know that Owen loved that farm passionately. I could imagine him someday turning it into a nature sanctuary or an arboretum — a place where people nurtured their spirits privately, maybe … ”

  “A nature sanctuary with a putting green tucked away somewhere.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But apparently the Reverend had other things in mind. And I don’t think Mary liked the farm particularly, so maybe this is the best thing to do. I’m sure it will be well-used, whatever Reverend Gottrey does with it.”

  Po scraped up the remaining eggs from her plate. Flakes of tarragon fell from her fork. “Marla has outdone herself today. This is a great combination.”

  “It’s a good thing we only do this once a week, Po,” Leah murmured. “It takes me a week of running to work it off.” She drained her orange juice, her eyes drifting to the moving figures outside the window. Suddenly she stopped, her glass in midair. “Po, look —” She pointed out the window.

  Mary Hill walked slowly along the sidewalk. Her eyes downcast and her face the chalky color of the sidewalk. As she neared the café window, they saw the tears on her face, rolling down her cheeks and onto the collar of her suit. In her hand she clutched a piece of paper.

  Po’s heart lurched at the sight of the grieving widow. But before she could rise from her chair to comfort her, Mary turned down the narrow alley between Daisy’s flower shop and the Brew and Brie and disappeared from sight. Po leaned from her chair and looked down the street in the opposite direction, half-expecting to see someone following her.

  The street was empty.

  CHAPTER 11

  Chain Links

  Monday night quilting at Selma’s shop was strictly a hit-or-miss gathering. Someone would drop by the store for needles or thread — or to ask Susan or Selma how to make the corners on a quilt binding come out square. And before long, there’d be three or four Bees sitting around the table drinking cups of Marla’s coffee or diet soda and pulling squares of fabric from their bags. Lately the group was gathering with increased frequency, Po noticed, and it wasn’t unusual for the whole group to gather — unofficially — beneath the skylight in Selma’s back room. Usually they’d talk about books and movies and family news, new restaurants in town or who was running for the school board.

  Tonight, however, they had more urgent things on their minds.

  Phoebe and Kate walked in together, right after Po. Eleanor and Leah were already busy ironing the seams on several squares of stitched fabric. Kate hung her jacket on a hook near the back door and sat down at the table.

  “Well, Po,” she said, resting her elbows on the table, “It seems you were right.”

  Po looked up from the rich purple and gold print that would form the corners of her star. She pulled her glasses down to the tip of her nose. “If only I had a tape recorder,” she said to Kate.

  “Oh shush, Po — you know I almost always think you’re right. But this time, you truly are.” The tone in her voice was one of concern, though, rather than congratulations.

  Selma was standing at the end of the table. “Kate, spill the beans before a customer comes in and I have to leave.”

  “The murder suspect was released. He wasn’t the man who murdered Owen Hill. It was just like Po said.”

  Maggie and Susan came in from the front of the store. Susan was carrying a stack of calico-printed fabrics. “What did you say, Kate?” she asked.

  “The man that they had in jail for Owen’s murder,” Phoebe answered for Kate. “That truck driver from Oklahoma — he didn’t break in Selma’s shop, and he didn’t kill Owen Hill. For once, Marla had her facts straight.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” Eleanor said. The others were silent, absorbing the information. Susan sat
down at the end of the table and fingered the stack of material. She looked at Kate and Phoebe intently. “How do you know this?”

  “P.J. called me tonight as I was leaving to meet Phoebe,” Kate said. “He was going to stop by the store himself, but things were crazy at the station. He wanted us …” — she looked over her shoulder at Selma —” … especially you, Selma, to know. Apparently the man was telling the truth — he found the watch and the wallet in a trash container at that truck plaza on the west side of town.”

  “How do they know he’s telling the truth?” Susan asked.

  “A couple of things — for one, he was nowhere near here the night Owen was killed. At first he didn’t reveal his alibi, P.J. said, but he finally admitted that he was at that huge Rip Griffith truck stop in Limon on the night Owen was killed, halfway or more to Denver. Seems he has a girlfriend there. And a wife in Tulsa. That’s why he was reluctant to mention it.”

  “But a murder charge trumped the wife finding out,” Eleanor said. She was sitting quietly at one end of the table, piecing the tiny nine patches she was making for the center of her squares.

  Kate continued. “Yes, it seems so. But there was more. A waitress at the truck plaza here in Crestwood saw the man going through the trash when she was out having a cigarette break. She remembered him because he was such a flirt. And right after he found the watch and wallet, he came into the restaurant, ordered a Kansas City Strip dinner, and left her a fifty dollar tip.”

  “Paid for by Owen Hill’s credit card,” Phoebe said.

  “That’s right. Apparently the police had their doubts all along — the whole thing didn’t quite connect. But, as P.J. said, the town wants closure on this — there’s an urgency to settle it. And there was circumstantial evidence — the watch and the credit card.”

  “What are the police going to do now?” Susan asked.