Murders on Elderberry Road: A Queen Bees Quilt Mystery (11 page)

A few storefronts down, Po spotted Ambrose Sweet, out side his shop. He was sitting on one of the benches talking with an enormous man in a dark blue jacket. The man looked familiar to Po, even though he was sitting sideways and she couldn’t see his face. The sheer bulk of his frame and the slouch of his massive shoulders made him stand out. As she neared the bench, she was amused at the contrast between the two men. Ambrose Sweet probably gardened in his carefully pressed wool slacks and cashmere sweater. Po couldn’t imagine him in any other attire.

And the enormous, disheveled man sitting next to him, though wearing some sort of a uniform, looked like someone who had spent time “on the road,” as Sam used to say.

“Good morning, Po,” Ambrose said as she approached the two men.

Po smiled and waited for the other man to turn her way. He moved slowly because his heavy body didn’t pivot easily on the bench. When he turned toward her, Po took a step backwards, then stopped and regained her composure. She’d seen him from a distance plenty of times. But not up close like this, not nearly close enough to be assaulted by the stench of sweat and alcohol that radiated off his heavy blue security uniform. One front tooth was darkened with decay, the other slightly crooked. His lips puffed out and a small round chin seemed totally disproportionate to the massive face that housed it.

Susan and Kate and the others were right.

Wesley Peet was a frightening man.

This would probably be the last Sunday that she and Leah would be able to walk down to Elderberry Road without bundling up, Po guessed. Today she was comfortable in her yellow sweatshirt and soft pants, but in no time flat she’d be bundled up to her nose in heavy down. She walked at a steady clip, breathing in the solid earthy smell of autumn. Layers of leaves crunched beneath her running shoes and in the distance she smelled a hint of sage burning in a fireplace somewhere.

Just ahead of her, at the junction of Elderberry and Oak, Po spotted Leah. She was sitting on a bench in a tiny triangle of green that marked the beginning of Elderberry Road.

Leah stood and waved. She wore one of her signature earth-toned gauzy dresses that brushed her ankles as she walked. On Leah, it looked elegant and chic rather than a throwback to the ’70s, as did her leather sandals and long, beaded earrings. A bright multi-colored scarf tied loosely around her shoulders completed her look. Po suspected that Leah’s unique, arresting appearance caused many a coed to change their dress style, at least for those weeks that they sat mesmerized in Leah’s semester-long course.

Po and Leah had begun their Sunday morning tradition over a decade ago when their husbands discovered they were great golf partners and that late Sunday morning was the perfect time to indulge their habit. Po and Sam met the younger couple at a fall faculty tea where new professors were introduced to the rest of the Canterbury College family. Leah was the new Yale PhD, recruited to put together a women’s studies program in a school that was still shaking off its all-male influence. Her husband was the town’s new pediatrician. Although Canterbury had been co-ed for at least a dozen years, change came slowly, and Po knew that the then thirty-year-old Leah Sarandon would have her hands full. Leah surprised everyone, though, including Po. Hidden beneath her gentle beauty and quiet way was a steely strength that came through at that very first tea when she challenged several tenured professors to an animated discussion on the role of women in settling the state. Po determined then and there that she and the young woman would be friends.

The Paltrows invited Leah and Tim over soon after and almost immediately, despite the difference in ages, the four-some discovered shared passions that went beyond the game of golf: cross-country skiing, hiking in Colorado’s Gore Range, heated political and literary discussions, and — for Po and Leah — a love and appreciation for the fine art of quilting. Po brought Leah to a Queen Bees gathering shortly after and she’d been an integral part of the group ever since. Po met Leah at the corner with a quick hug and the two women crossed the street quickly, driven by growling stomachs and anticipation of Marla’s breakfasts.

Po waved at an elderly couple who lived just down the street from her. Only Elderberry Books and Marla’s Bakery and Café were open for business on Sunday mornings, but in nice weather people gathered leisurely, not going anywhere, content to greet neighbors after church, catch up on their reading in one of the old leather chairs in Gus’s book store, or chat in small groups waiting for their name to be called for a table at Marla’s. Today a line of people crowded the sidewalk outside the café, waiting for an empty table.

“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 said 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?”