Cancelled by Murder by Jean Flowers Page B

card-buying habits of North Ashcot citizens was one thing, but it was another entirely to link the local feud to the murder of Daisy Harmon, making Olivia Patterson the chief suspect. If that was all there was to police work, we probably wouldn’t even need a chief.
    I returned my focus to Cliff. “Maybe there was something else going on between Daisy and Liv, some issue bigger than greeting cards.”
    â€œIf there was, I don’t know,” Cliff said.
    I thought about the altercation at the quilters’ meeting. “I heard about the farmers’ market proposal and a hint that Daisy vocally opposed it.”
    Cliff nodded. “Right. That was Daisy’s beef with the Harrises. Reggie and Andrea. Daisy went at it a few times with both of them. But it wasn’t personal. It’s not like they’re farmers themselves who’ll profit from the new business. They just want the produce readily available, I think.”
    It occurred to me that Daisy might have thought otherwise, with the interests of local businesses in mind.
    I looked at our dinner plates, both still untouched. Roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls—it had sounded like a good idea at the time, but all either of us had had for nourishment so far was a bite or two of a roll and an entire pitcher of ice water between us.
    â€œWhy don’t I box this up again?” I said, already into the process. “You might want it later, or tomorrow.”
    Cliff looked doubtful, but he agreed to accept half of everything.
    I stored my half in the fridge, already knowing what I’d have for dinner instead. I planned to dig into a box of candy Quinn had sent me from a specialty shop in Ogunquit, Maine. I tried to focus on the sweet message that accompanied it, pushing away all the nasty, vengeful thoughts that had filled the day and evening.

5
    W ith no dishes to wash, and three truffles—one vanilla cream, one chocolate toffee, and one raspberry (they were small) under my belt—I settled down to work on my quilt. I started to sew together the pieces of my block depicting the 9/11 HEROES stamp, the most recent design the late Daisy Harmon had found for me in her efforts to help with my patriotic theme. She’d been thrilled when she tracked down the special fabric for me. When too many thoughts of her generosity as an instructor and her unthinkable end came to mind, I put the sewing aside.
    I turned to my pile of local newspapers. The top story of the last couple of weeks was the controversy over the farmers’ market proposal, submitted to the town governors for review, by Reggie Harris, quilter Andrea’s husband and the town’s biggest contractor. Cliff had made little of the animosity between the Harrises and Daisy, but I noted thatDaisy was not so dispassionate. Daisy’s Fabrics had taken out an ad inviting everyone to come to the shop and sign a petition against Reggie’s proposal. Not as trivial a difference of opinion as Cliff thought.
    Here I was, not just reading the newspaper, but looking for suspects. Sunni would not be happy with me.
    I read on. The pros for a market were clear: fresh fruit and vegetables for all, increased revenue for the town. And who could be against healthier North Ashcot citizens?
    No one objected to organic veggies. The main problem seemed to be the proximity of the proposed location to the regular downtown merchants, and the redundancy of items already being sold by established shops. The farmers’ market would carry products like honey, special teas, candles, and, as noted in a letter to the editor from our florist, Gigi, even plants and flowers. I imagined Gigi, a somewhat shy young woman, mustering the courage to put her thoughts in writing and air them to the public. Clearly, this was a sensitive issue for all concerned.
    I saw the dilemma: On the one hand, the farmers wanted their stalls close to where people usually shopped; on the other,