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

course they are all wonderful, Po. I didn’t mean to say they weren’t. But we — all the shop owners — we have a vision, you see. We share a common goal — to grow our block into a distinguished shopping area, one with a lovely, gracious ambience. An art center …”
    Now Po was the one to laugh, “Oh, Mary,” she said. “We love it the way it is. Please don’t change a single, solitary thing. The Elderberry shops meet all our needs — lovely antiques and gifts, wine, cheese, and our very own quilting center.”
    Mary’s face showed little emotion. She spoke carefully. “I understand what you’re saying, Po. And I didn’t mean to suggest that the present shops are not respectable. It’s just that, well, you can always make things better, you know.”
    “Oh, I certainly know that, Mary. Heavens, it’s the story of my life. I am on a continual quest to be better.” She took another drink of coffee and looked Mary in the eye. “But tell me, Mary Hill, do you really think the neighbors want a block of high-priced stores on Elderberry Road? They can get their fill of that in Kansas City. But the delightful mixture we have here in the neighborhood seems just right. There’s something for everyone.”
    Mary was silent. She seemed to be examining her coffeecake with undo seriousness. Finally she said, “Maybe, Po. But change is good.” She pushed back her chair and reached for her purse.
    “Mary, you have a lot to deal with right now, with Owen’s death and all the changes forced upon you. Changes to your business should be the last thing on your mind.”
    “As I said, Po, change is good.” Mary’s voice was steely.
    “Mary, if I have offended you, I’m so sorry.”
    “Of course you haven’t offended me, Po. But taking care of our house, our properties and charities, our store — well, that’s my life now. And I will do the best I can to make Owen proud.” Mary turned and walked out the front door. Po stood at the door and watched Mary walk down the porch steps and along the brick sidewalk to the street. Her sleek, elegant car was waiting at the curb. Po watched her slide behind the wheel, then drive slowly off to Windsor House and a day of selling extravagantly priced artifacts to people who didn’t need them.
    Po frowned. She brushed her hair back behind one ear, her hands on her hips, and shook her head. “Lord,” she wondered aloud, “what in heaven’s name was that all about?”

CHAPTER 7
Tumbling Blocks
    Early the next Saturday, Selma unlocked the door to her quilt shop and ushered the Queen Bees into the back room. A collective sigh of relief hung heavy on the early morning air.
    “A giant dose of normal — that’s what we need,” Phoebe said. She walked over to the far end of the eight-foot table, the spot where she always sat, and dropped her bag to the floor.
    “I don’t know if we’ve actually reached normal yet,” Selma said. “But by gum we’ll be there soon.”
    “Of course we will,” Po said, and settled down at the end of the table. “So let’s talk anniversary quilt. This is the day we start in earnest.”
    “I think Susan and I have it figured out,” Leah said. “Tell me what you think.” She walked over to the table and held up a diagram — a large page filled with tiny squares.
    “This is our version of an old pattern called the Crystal Star. Perfect for Selma, don’t you think?” She looked over at Selma.
    They all agreed that a star would be good. Even Kate, who expressed great fear that she’d have to master points, thought it was a great idea. “A star for our star,” she said, and smiled at Selma.
    “The Crystal Star pattern,” Susan went on, “was printed in
The Kansas City Star
in the 1930s. It was part of the series they did for all those years, reprinting quilt patterns that people sent in from Nebraska and Kansas and Oklahoma — from the whole center of the country.”
    “My mother collected every one of those,” Eleanor said.