A Murder of Taste: A Queen Bees Quilt Mystery (17 page)

Kate nodded. That fit with Danny’s story. She looked over at Po. “Maybe wherever she went, she met Laurel St. Pierre. Maybe that’s how she got the quilt?”

A customer called for attention at the cash register, and Kate took a step backwards to let Selma through, bumping into someone standing directly behind her.

“Oh, I’m sor—,” Kate began, then looked up into Janna’s embarrassed face. “Oh, Janna! I didn’t see you standing there. I hope I didn’t kill your foot. I think it’s these shoes.” She started down at her thick-soled sandals, scolding them with her eyes.

Janna shook her head. “My fault, Kate. I didn’t realize you were standing there when I squeezed in to look at this bolt of fabric.”

“You’re with your decorator?”

“Yes, we’re looking for fabrics for our couch and curtains today. I guess I’d better find her,” Janna said nervously. Her eyes darted over the rows of fabrics until she spotted the tall women Kate had seen earlier. With a quick nod to Kate, she turned and hurried off.

Kate glanced at the fabric Janna had been fingering. It was a bolt of coarse, black muslin. Hmm, Kate thought. Can’t wait to see what their bedroom looks like!

***

Po said goodbye to Kate and walked the short distance home. She left the shop with far more on her mind than thread for Picasso’s quilt. She couldn’t shake the conversation with Kate and Selma about Esther having a daughter close in age to Sophie and Kate. She felt like Selma, losing those tiny pieces of memory, and thought if only she concentrated hard, she’d put the pieces together that would make Laurel St. Pierre’s death make sense.

Po didn’t want to support Kate’s inquiry openly because she knew that brazen as she was, Kate could plunge into dangerous waters without a backward glance. But Po felt Kate was on to something. And finding out how Laurel St. Pierre came into possession of Esther’s quilt was a missing link that might help them clear Picasso’s name.

But it wasn’t until the middle of the night, when she stood at her window thinking about Kate and Picasso and quilts, that she realized just what that link might be.

CHAPTER 18

“Kate, are you teaching today?” Po asked, as soon as it was decent to call Kate. She caught her goddaughter just as she was leaving for Crestwood High and her digital photography class. They call it an enrichment class, Kate said. Kids who are interested sign up and come in before school starts. “I have about twenty kids registered,” Kate told Po. “I’m taking an advanced digital class at the college in the afternoon, which works perfectly. I stay one step ahead of the kids.”

Po listened politely to Kate’s chatter, then asked, “Can I meet you at school when the class is over?”

“Of course. But what’s up? I doubt if you’ve set foot in old CHS since mom and dad dragged you to my graduation.” Kate held the cell phone to her ear as she slid into her Jeep and lifted her backpack onto the passenger seat.

“Dragged you to your graduation, you mean,” Po said. “You were aiming to skip the whole ceremony, if I remember correctly.”

“Okay, okay,” Kate laughed at the memory. “But seriously, why the visit?”

“I want to talk to you a little more about Esther’s daughter,” was Po’s cryptic answer.

Po arrived at the door of the photography classroom just as class was being dismissed. A noisy gaggle of students poured into the hallway, laughing and whispering teenage secrets. The smells and sounds were just the same as when her own three walked these halls, Po thought. She remembered all those nights in the football stadium praying that David wouldn’t lose an arm as he propelled the Crestwood Hatchets to victory. And the honor assemblies for all three of the kids, and the art displays in which her son, Sam Jr., had displayed his fine sculptures. She smiled into the memories and tried to ignore the sweet-sad tug to her heart.

Inside the classroom, Kate sat on the edge of a desk chatting with a student. She looked up as Po walked in. “Hi, Po. Do you know Amber King? She’s one of my favorite students.”

“Of course I do,” Po said, smiling at the self-composed teenager. “Sophie used to baby-sit for you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Paltrow. Sure, I remember. Sophie’s the best. She was my role model.” Amber shot Kate a quick glance. “And of course you, too, Ms. Simpson.”

Kate laughed. “Always the diplomat, Amber.”

“And what are you up to, Amber?” Po asked.

“Well, graduation—then off to Northwestern. Journalism, I guess. And for the here and now, I’m working like crazy on the CHS yearbook.”

“Amber is editor,” Kate added.

“Then this is definitely a serendipitous moment,” Po said. “I came up here to see if Kate and I could snoop in your yearbook archives to find an old student.”

“As any self-respecting journalist will tell you, snooping is both our pleasure and our forte,” Amber said. While Amber’s stature and conversation were definitely beyond her years, her giggle was pure teenager and brought smiles from both Po and Kate.

“Then we’ve come to the right person,” Po said.

“Most definitely,” Amber said. “And I happen to have first period free to work on ‘The Book,’ as we call it, so follow me ladies, and we shall snoop away.”

Po and Kate followed her down the wide hallway, empty of students now and filled with a tomb-like silence as students settled down to first-period classes.

“Takes you back, doesn’t it?” Kate whispered to Po in the hushed voice the halls seemed to demand.

Po nodded. “How many times did your mom and I come up here to find out what you or my kids were up to?”

“Lots, I would guess,” Kate said. “Gads, that was a lifetime ago.”

Amber opened the door that led into a room filled with long tables cluttered with photos and pieces of paper. Along the wall, another long table held several computers. “Welcome to Yearbook 101,” she said. “This is where I’ve been living for the past year. And there’s our elegant archives room.” She pointed to a door leading into a tiny room that was once a walk-in closet. “Just turn on the light and snoop away.”

Po followed Kate into the small room. They scanned the walls, looking at the bookshelves crammed with yearbooks, memory collections, and other historical documents. “Okay, Kate,” Po said, rubbing her palms down the sides of her jeans, “Let’s have a go at it. What year did Nancy, Sophie, and Maggie graduate?”

Together they pulled down four or five books covering the years before and after the graduation. “They were all seniors when I was a freshman,” Kate said, as she blew dust off the cover of one of the books. “I remember looking up to those kids. P.J. would have been a junior. Funny that none of us can remember Esther’s daughter.”

Po pulled another book off the shelf. She flipped through it and found her daughter’s picture. “High school was a good time for Sophie—but not my boys. Sam Jr. and David couldn’t wait to move on. Kind of like you, Kate.” She smiled at Sophie’s senior picture.

Kate nodded. “High school wasn’t my favorite world. But there were good moments.”

Po and Kate collected a half-dozen books and took them out to the larger room, spreading them out on the table.

“Okay, I’ll start with the senior year. Why don’t you take the year before?”

Together Kate and Po poured through the books, looking for Esther Woods’ daughter. In Nancy and Sophie’s class there were two Woods—a football player named Jerrod, and a petite girl named Shelly who wore broad-rimmed glasses. “I know Shelly Woods—she lived behind us,” Kate said, when Po pointed to the picture. “Her older sister babysat for me.”

“We’re assuming the Woods girl was in the same class as the girls,” Po said. “But that might not have been the case. Selma just said she was in school about the same time.”

“I was a freshman when Sophie was a senior—but I don’t remember any upper classman except for Sophie and Maggie’s group. I was treading fiercely just to learn my way around the school.”

Kate poured through the senior photos from a year later but the name Woods didn’t show up in that class, nor the two years after that.

“Let’s go back to Sophie’s year and check underclassmen. If she left Crestwood, like Danny said, she might not have had a senior picture.”

Kate began looking at the smaller pictures of the junior class, then moved to sophomores. Although Crestwood had less than 25,000 residents, it only had one high school. And busses still brought many students in from the surrounding areas, making it one of the larger schools around.

“The only class left is mine. I don’t remember a Woods, but who knows? I don’t remember much from that year.” Po and Kate leaned over the table and together looked at the small photos as Kate turned the pages.

“There!” Kate pointed to a small picture at the edge of a row. Ann Woods, the type beside it read. “What do you think, Po? Could that be Esther’s daughter?”

Po picked up the book and looked closely at the picture. “Ann Woods. Does she look familiar to you, Kate?”

Kate squinted at the picture and tried to pull the plain features of the girl in the photo from her memory. She had medium brown hair, a slightly pocked complexion. She looked like a million other kids, Kate thought. Plain and forgettable. The one distinguishing factor was the blouse she wore. It was white, with an old-fashioned collar. And on each wide lapel was an embroidered design.

Po took the book from Kate and looked closely at the picture. “Look at that, Kate.” The tip of her nail touched the collar of the blouse. “Does that look like a bird to you? I think we may, indeed, have found Esther’s daughter.”

As tiny as it was, they could distinguish the shape of a bird appliquéd on the blouse collar. “It’s probably beautiful,” Kate said. “But imagine how Ann Woods must have hated it then. It couldn’t be further from the black sweaters, jeans, and t-shirts that made up my high school wardrobe.”

“Well, you weren’t exactly run-of-the-mill, Kate.” Po laughed, remembering Kate’s constant bouts with conformity and how Po and Kate’s mother used to cringe when Kate brought home her finds from the used-clothing stores. “But I would never have worn a hand-made blouse. Nobody would have. It was inviting ridicule, Po.”

“You’re right. I wonder if Esther made her dress that way. Such a shame. It must have made her life difficult.”

Amber moved away from the computer where she was finishing up the editor’s page and looked at the picture. “That’s hard to see, isn’t it? Here—” She checked the date on the yearbook, then opened a metal cabinet and dug through it until she found the right CD. She walked back to her computer, slipped the CD into a slot and clicked on the icon that popped up on the screen. Kate and Po stood behind her, watching the screen while Amber found the same page of photos, focused in on one with her cursor, and enlarged it.

“There, better?” she asked. “We had film of old class books and have started putting them all on CDs to preserve them a little better. Of course, everything is digital now, so we’ll have it all neatly stored from the beg—”

“Oh my lord,” Kate said, interrupting. Her eyes were glued to the photo on the screen. “Now I remember her.”

She leaned over Amber’s shoulder and pointed at the picture that loomed large in front of them. “Kids called her Carrie—after that Stephen King movie. She never smiled, like in the picture, maybe because her teeth were terribly crooked. I always wanted to nab her parents and give them the name of the orthodontist mom and dad made me go to. It made me mad that her folks wouldn’t do some simple things that would make her look a little better so the kids wouldn’t make fun of her.”