Murders on Elderberry Road: A Queen Bees Quilt Mystery by Sally Goldenbaum

beauty that could ride on the heels of terrible grief. Mary Hill was pale, and her sad eyes filled her narrow face. But despite the tragedy of the past week, she was striking to look at.
    “Bless Owen for buying Windsor House,” Mary continued. “The store is such consolation. His presence is everywhere in it.” Her eyes lowered and her voice dropped off. She fingered the knot of her sweater. For a moment, Po thought Mary may have forgotten where she was. Then the moment passed and Mary looked up and smiled again at Po.
    It was an odd smile, Po thought. Forced, perhaps, or maybe just a worn-out smile that had seen too much duty in recent days.
    “And I have my church, Po. I’d never have been able to get through this without Reverend Gottrey and his wife. Everyone there has been kind and caring beyond belief.”
    “Mary, you and Owen have been more than generous to that church. We all know that there’d be no roof over their heads — literally — if Owen hadn’t stepped in with his gracious giving.”
    Po led Mary through the wide hallway, its walls filled with framed family pictures — “Po’s gallery,” Sam had called it — and into the comfortable kitchen at the back of the house.
    “Please Mary, have a seat.” Po pointed to a chair on the other side of the large trestle table that anchored the center of the long kitchen and family room. For nearly thirty years, the heavy oak table had centered the life of the Paltrow family, bearing the weight of dinners and discussions, of tears and homework and sometimes heated, often humorous debate. “If this table had ears,” Po’s daughter Sophie often said. And the understated truth in the trailing sentence always made the family laugh.
    “This is a wonderful table,” Mary said, as if reading Po’s thoughts. “With a little refinishing, it could be worth a considerable amount of money. If you ever want to sell it …” She took the coffee mug that Po handed her and left the sentence dangling in the coffee-scented air.
    Po laughed, though the thought of anyone refinishing her table sliced painfully into her heart. Every pencil mark and wine stain, every dent and rough edge, held a story laced with affection. She wouldn’t refinish the table on her life. “This table is like a member of the family,” she said out loud, and slid a generous piece of lemon coffeecake onto one of her green depression ware plates. She set it in front of Mary, then served one up for herself and sat down across from her guest.
    “Speaking of vintage things,” Po said, “How is Windsor House doing? Will you be all right, Mary?”
    “All right?” Mary’s carefully fashioned eyebrows lifted as one.
    “Well, I know from Selma that it’s an enormous job owning a shop, especially one as elegant as yours,” Po said. “And now that you’re the sole owner …”
    “Owen had his academic career,” Mary said simply. “The store was my responsibility. It won’t really be that different.” She picked at the lemon cake with the tip of her fork.
    “And I have Andy Pearson, you know,” Mary continued. “He’s helped us for a while now and loves being at the store. Owen kept the books, and he was very involved in our trips to seek new merchandise, so I’ll need to think about that. But it will work out, I’m sure of that. Owen loved Windsor House dearly, and if for no other reason, I will make sure it continues to succeed.”
    “I’m sure you will, Mary. And I didn’t mean to indicate otherwise. You’ve done an amazing job at Windsor House. There isn’t another store like it in the whole state.”
    “No, there isn’t,” Mary said. “People come from all over, and with some work, I think we can make the rest of the block a draw as well.”
    Po cradled her coffee mug in her hands and leaned back in the chair. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Mary. The Elderberry shops are wonderful. How can you make them more so?”
    Mary laughed uncomfortably. “Of