Free A Murder of Taste: A Queen Bees Quilt Mystery by Sally Goldenbaum

and not in the way any husband would approve.”
    “That same column declared improprieties about Eleanor when she hosted a political dinner the columnist didn’t approve of,” Po reminded her, nodding toward Eleanor’s three-story mansion on the corner of the campus.
    Selma laughed. “I remember. Eleanor loved it.”
    “But you’ve a point, Selma. Even though the rumors may be nonsense, the fact of the matter is that there’s a smidgen of truth mixed in. Laurel did place a domestic violence call just days before she was killed. And when there’s a bit of truth involved, rumor and truth become mixed until you can’t tell one from the other.”
    Truth be told, Po was worried sick over Picasso and all the gossip spinning around him. And she knew that the phone call Laurel made to the police wasn’t good. It indicated marital trouble, even though Picasso denied it. And he had told Po earlier that day that he was going to reopen the restaurant, just to have something to do. Would people interpret it as a lack of grieving? Po wondered, and thought she might have to talk to Picasso about it, even though she knew that for some, grieving had to be woven into a productive life or it became suffocating and unbearable. But she would tell Picasso to go slow, to take time for himself, too.
    Selma held open the door to the Canterbury College auditorium, and the two women walked into the lobby. “Looks like a good crowd,” Selma observed. Leah’s lectures were popular, and in addition to students and faculty, townspeople often came as well.
    “There’s Janna Hathaway,” Po said, noticing the young woman standing near the window.
    Po caught her attention and waved her over. “I’m happy to see you here, Janna—we share an interest in women’s history, I guess.”
    Janna smiled and explained to Po that Bill had a meeting with Max and some others that evening about business matters, and had suggested she come. “He thought it’d be good for me to be aware of things going on in the college community.”
    Po was disappointed, hoping Janna’s motives were personally, rather than politically, motivated, but she quickly swallowed the unkind interpretation of Janna’s motives and introduced her to Selma. “Selma has the most amazing fabric in her store that you’ll find anywhere, Janna.”
    “Bill and I will be having some things made for the wedding, Selma. I’ll bring my mother’s decorator by some day.”
    “When is the wedding?” Po asked.
    “Not for nearly a year. My mother said it will take that long to get everything prepared, though I’d prefer to run off and get married tomorrow.”
    “Why don’t you?” Selma asked. “One of my daughters did that. I was briefly disappointed, I must admit, but she was shy and didn’t want all the hoopla. We had a great picnic celebration a few weeks later and everyone was happy.”
    Janna didn’t smile. “That’s not the way it works in my family,” she said. “One doesn’t cross Charles Hathaway.”
    Janna said her father’s name in the way one talked about a foreign dignitary—with distant respect and no warmth—and Po felt an instant of pity for her.
    “Come sit with us, Janna,” she said, wanting the moment to pass. “Kate may be along as well.”
    But it wasn’t until the question and answer period, following the intriguing lecture on women leaders during the ‘60’s Civil Rights movement, that Kate slid into the seat next to Po. “Sorry, Po,” she whispered. “I got caught up in cropping some shots I took today. But there’s some I especially want you to have so I brought them along. How about we go for coffee after?”
    Coffee ended up being decaf lattes at the college coffee shop. Janna excused herself right after the lecture, but Selma, Kate, Leah, and Po gathered around a corner table and curled their fingers around warm mugs of strong coffee. Kate pulled a handful of photos out and spread them across the tabletop. “Okay folks, look what I