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supplies in your brother Pete’s hardware store?” She looked around. “Who here wants a pink bedroom?”
    The laughter stopped and so did Liv, finally. Andrea looked up from her sewing and seemed understandably put out by the comment. “You’re in a good mood, Olivia. Could it be because the storm has made your life easier?”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?” Liv asked. She removed her fifties-style sewing glasses, which matched her wardrobe, I noted, and cast an angry glance at Andrea.
    â€œI mean your worries about Daisy’s shop encroaching on your customer base are gone now that she’s out of the picture,” Andrea said.
    All the noise in room ceased; it seemed quieter than ithad been during our moment of silence. Liv’s face turned red. She put her fabric across her lap and opened her mouth to speak.
    â€œWhat a terrible thing to say,” Molly Boyd cut in, followed quickly by overlapping comments from everyone except me. I was too stunned to join the chorus and was glad when Eileen stepped in.
    â€œLet’s try Molly’s new cheesecake recipe,” Eileen said, holding up her hand as if that would be enough to block further unpleasantness. A trick she’d learned from years of elementary school classes, I was sure.
    Molly, in spite of her bad ankle, put down her sewing and hobbled over to carve a delicious-looking raspberry-bedecked creation. In deference to Molly’s lameness, and to mask my nervousness, I took over the job. The clatter of china dessert plates and silverware became the only sounds in the room, but not for long.
    Andrea hadn’t finished, starting up again to address Liv, but in a normal conversational tone. “Well, we all know you’ve been losing money since Daisy added a line of cards to her inventory.”
    â€œExcuse me?” Liv asked, her whole stocky body stiffening.
    â€œI get it,” said Terry, the youngest in the group, ready with an explanation. Was she naive, thinking one was needed, or was she trying to keep the pot of trouble boiling? “Andrea is referring to how you think Daisy should have stuck to fabrics and not tried to be a card shop, too, since you already run one. Everyone heard you two arguing.”
    Apparently, she liked the boiling-pot option.
    â€œNot everyone heard anything,” Eileen said, scrambling her negatives. She cleared her throat and pulled out her schoolteacher voice again. “Maybe we should change the subject. Did I show you my latest?” Our hostess bravely held up a block we hadn’t seen before, a star quilt in shades of green. “Do you think this will be okay for a guy’s dorm room? My grandson hinted that quilts were not just for girls, so I’m taking him up on that.”
    â€œI think it’s perfect,” I offered. As the newest person in the group, and inherently averse to conflict, I’d have said anything to get us back to quilting.
    â€œIt’s manly,” Molly offered.
    Liv, however, had more to say on the controversial topic. She turned to face Andrea straight-on. “Are you saying I’m glad Daisy is dead?”
    Fran, who’d been quiet until now, gasped. “What a terrible thing to say.”
    Bride-to-be Terry looked eager to say something else, but bit her lip instead. Good choice, I thought.
    Liv kept her eyes on Andrea. “If anyone is glad, it’s probably you. That’s one less obstacle in the way of Reggie’s proposal for a farmers’ market.”
    More gasps and words of explanation for those not in the know. Like me. By listening carefully to the snippets of conversation around me, I was able to piece together the story. Reggie Harris, Andrea’s husband, a big developer in the county, was spearheading a proposal for a farmers’ market in town, every weekend between Memorial Day and Labor Day. The plan called for blocking off the cross streets at both ends of the