Lethal Dose of Love

by Cindy Davis

  Claire woke in a cold sweat. She got up and shut the shades, then climbed under the comforter still in her cake-delivery clothing. The tea was cold but she drank the rest in two swallows. She fluffed the pillows and looked out at the gray sky, the dream still too vivid.

  Edna and Rodney had paid for Claire to go away and have her baby. They took what they told everyone was a much needed vacation. When they returned, they brought with them their newborn son, Sean. He was a handsome child, with downy blond hair and a turned-up nose. And his bright blue eyes, so knowing, so intelligent. Claire remained true to their agreement: she wouldn’t interfere with Sean’s upbringing so long as she could be close and watch him grow.

  At first Claire made excuses for the boy’s school behavior, saying it was the change from a doting mom to the freedom of the school life. It was just a phase he was going through.

  Then something happened when Sean was twelve that Claire thought would scare him straight. He woke one morning to find both his parents had been stabbed to death by burglars. Sean’s behavior improved, for a while. He went to live with his godmother, Edna’s sister, Elaine. Things had been good—for a few years. Then he’d returned.

  FOURTEEN

  Claire watched the news for an announcement about Sean’s death. She went out and bought a newspaper. Nothing.

  Probably MaryAnn never came home. The body wouldn’t be discovered until Sean neglected to open the café. If he had eaten the cake. If the poison worked.

  Claire ate a bowl of cereal then went downtown and visited Payton. They sat together on a long flower-patterned sofa.

  The shop door opened and a dervish whirled in, pushed ahead of the early morning rain. The woman was encased from head to foot in yellow plastic. “Whew!” she cried, stomping water on the mat inside the doorway. The hood flung back to reveal a pretty face with high cheekbones and the pale skin of a person who spent too much time indoors. Mid-length brunette hair exploded from the confines of the hood like cotton from its boll. “Whew!” She finally stopped moving long enough for identification.

  MaryAnn, in her mid-twenties, had gained quite a lot of weight over her eight years with Sean. Claire didn’t think it was from sampling the decadent French food. The stress of living with him would turn anyone into a comfort eater. Her smiling face said she didn’t know about Sean’s death.

  There was a definite discoloration under her left eye. She’d tried to cover it with makeup, but rain had become her enemy. Anger pushed into Claire’s limbs. She gulped down the emotion. At least Sean wouldn’t hit anyone again.

  “MaryAnn! My goodness, Mamie and I were talking about you just yesterday saying we hadn’t seen you in ages. Have you and Payton met?”

  MaryAnn shook more water from her raincoat. “Sure have. I’m her new employee.”

  “We walked up from the dress rehearsal together,” Payton explained. “And it just happened.”

  “I didn’t see you at rehearsal,” Claire said.

  “I was hiding. Sean would have made a scene.”

  “Claire, would you like some coffee?” Payton didn’t wait for a reply; she headed for the back room and returned quickly. “The water’s heating.”

  At that moment, a large box van rumbled into the side parking lot. Payton looked out the window. “Sorry for the interruption; my delivery is here. They’re switching living room sets around.” Payton picked up a pair of pink flowered African violets from the end tables and set them on the front counter.

  “I’ll do that for you.” Claire moved pillows and knickknacks.

  “Did Payton tell you she and I are racing Zephyr today?” MaryAnn asked.

  “No.” It seemed there was a lot she didn’t mention. Claire’s disappointment was palpable. She thought she and Payton were friends. Friends told each other things.

  “It’s only for this week though,” MaryAnn continued, “so she can see how the boat goes. Since Sean and I are divorcing, he’s got to give me back MaryAnn.”

  “He doesn’t own MaryAnn?”

  “He was really pissed last night when I reminded him.” MaryAnn gestured at her eye.

  Claire lowered her voice. “Excuse me for asking why you’d live with a man who strikes you.”

  “I’m a slow learner. Excuse me, I’ll get the coffee.” MaryAnn returned with three cups and a jar of powdered creamer on a small tray. “I could only find one spoon.”

  When the deliverymen left, Payton stood with her arms crossed, surveying the room. “That’s probably the ugliest upholstery I’ve ever seen.”

  “I don’t think it’s so bad,” MaryAnn said. “If you do this.” She squinted and tilted her head at an odd angle.

  Payton laughed and shoved the sofa to the side.

  “You throwing it out?”

  “No, I just want a different arrangement. I think the couch would look better against the wall. Well, really I think it would be best hidden under a tarp, but…”

  Giggling, MaryAnn took the opposite end and pushed. The sofa in place, Payton appraised the room again. “Doesn’t help.”

  There was another rumbling in the street and a second truck turned into the lot. Payton stood. “That’s my other delivery. While I supervise, would you go out back and see if you can find some throw pillows or an afghan to help deflect some of this pattern?”

  MaryAnn followed Payton and returned carrying an armload of solid-color pillows. She dumped them on the sofa beside Claire. “I brought as many as I could find.” MaryAnn spent a moment arranging them. “There aren’t enough.”

  “There can’t be enough.”

  Look how cool and innocent they were. How completely unaware their world was about to change. When the news about Sean came out, would MaryAnn cry? Payton wouldn’t. In the privacy of her home, she might even do a little dance.

  An hour till race time. An hour till they realized Sean was missing.

  Something bounced in Claire’s stomach, flipped over twice, and jumped into a rhythmic pitterpat. She put a hand against it, but it didn’t ease. She jumped up. “I’ve got to go.”

  “So do we.” MaryAnn picked up the tray. “Gosh, I hate the idea of meeting up with Sean.”

  “Don’t let him get to you. Be the stronger person.” Claire’s heart thrummed against her ribs like it tried to escape. She ran to the door.

  “Your purse.” Payton handed it to her.

  “Wouldn’t be good to forget that, the stopwatch is inside.”

  “We’ll walk down with you.”

  Claire didn’t want to walk with anyone. She didn’t want to see anyone’s reaction to Sean’s death. Didn’t want to time a race. She only wanted to be home, safe in her four walls.

  She envisioned Sean’s body lying on his kitchen floor in a pool of vomit. Claire took a breath and rubbed a palm on her stomach.

  FIFTEEN

  The big white tent was visible from the top of the marina driveway. Claire could see the crowd and the buffet tables. Buffet! Everyone was supposed to bring a dish. Not only hadn’t she brought one, she hadn’t made anything.

  “Are you all right?” MaryAnn asked.

  “Yes, fine.”

  “You look pale.”

  “I just realized I left my dish at home.”

  “Looks like they’ve got plenty,” Payton said.

  “You can eat it for supper,” MaryAnn said.

  People were everywhere. No one crying, no one looked the slightest bit sad. Sean’s body hadn’t been discovered. Well, at least the race would go off as planned, though they’d be minus one racer. The only one who’d worry when he didn’t show up was Frank, his partner. Claire couldn’t see him in the crowd.

  Helen disengaged herself from a small group and came toward them. She wore white slacks and a sailor top with a navy blue tie. “Good afternoon, ladies. Isn’t it nice the weather broke for us?”

  Claire hadn’t noticed. The rain had indeed stopped. The dark clouds gone. A mix of sky and puffy whites looked down on them. Sun beat down in all its
glory. The temperature must be ninety degrees.

  “Are you excited about your first race, Payton?” Helen asked.

  “A little.” She held out the dish of tossed salad.

  “Just find a spot on a table.”

  MaryAnn followed Payton. Helen bent toward Claire. “Is that a black eye I see on MaryAnn?”

  Claire nodded. “She reminded him that MaryAnn belonged to her.”

  “Damn him.” Helen shook her head. “I used to really like him. Dear, are you all right? You’re all flushed.” She laid the back of her hand on Claire’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”

  “I’m a little nervous. Timing the race is a big responsibility.”

  Helen smiled. The movement made the crinkles at the corners of her mouth turn into craters. “Me too.”

  Payton returned and stood beside Helen, who said, “Come, I’ll introduce you to the Chaumont team.”

  People milled around the long food tables. Sylvie and her partner, holding almost-empty plates, wore serious expressions. Sylvie pointed at the harbor, then down the bay, obviously talking race strategy. Nearby stood Aden, Edward, Amanda and Seymour, all holding plates or cups. To their left was an industrial-size coffee urn, beside it, Frank Simpson. He forked something into his mouth and chewed. He gazed around, at ease, seemingly unconcerned about Sean’s tardiness. Claire thought about going to him, seeing if he’d heard from Sean.

  Someone stepped from behind the urn. Athletic, handsome, smiling. Claire’s knees buckled. She groped for something solid, finding one of the oak poles that held up the tent. Fingers closed around the wood, expression tightened, brain churned. Sean Adams spotted her and smiled. Claire squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the phantasm still looked at her. Frank touched his sleeve. Sean broke eye contact to heed his partner.

  Sean still lived. The monkshood didn’t work! She hadn’t used enough leaves. The cup water was too warm, too cold. The cooking temperature killed the poison; too many variables to determine the culprit.

  Strong hands grasped her waist. Guided her downward. Something enveloped her backside. “There, there, sit. Take it easy.” Claire squinted into sunshine. Aden Green smiled down on her. “Someone get her a glass of water.”

  She tried to rise. “I’m all right. Really.”

  Aden’s hand held her in the chair. “Just sit a minute. It’s very hot out.”

  Someone handed her a bottle of water. She drank, feeling the liquid trickle down her esophagus and strike the boiling lava in her gut. She could almost hear the sizzle when the two made contact. She coughed down the explosion, leaned forward, arms wrapped around herself, afraid to open her mouth for fear steam would come out.

  “Someone call an ambulance.” She thought it was Aden’s voice, but it could have been anyone.

  Many concerned legs appeared. Her eyes followed one pair, clad in white gabardine, upward. Pale blue shirt. Clean shaven chin. Nicely shaped lips. Sean Adams’ eyes. He knelt before her. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  He’d found out somehow. Claire blinked. He was still there. He grinned. A shark’s grin. What would he do? Surely he’d get retaliation.

  His face blurred, and spun. Worried voices grew louder, closer, then wafted away.

  PART TWO – SIXTEEN

  Payton watched the ambulance speed out of sight. She wished they’d allowed her to ride with Claire. “Heat exhaustion,” they claimed, but Payton wasn’t so sure. The past few days she’d seemed distracted.

  “Gather round, folks!” Edward raised Sackets Harbor Yacht Club’s brand new burgee on the pole, tying it off ten feet below the Stars & Stripes. The breeze lifted the sleek emerald flag and alternately displayed the gold crossed mainsails with the SH on the left and the YC on the right. Everyone cheered.

  In a Billy Grahamesque gesture, Edward raised his arms in the air, palms facing the crowd. Silence fell. Even the terns stopped their incessant squawking. He lowered his hands and clasped them in front of himself. “Before we say our regular race prayer, let’s have a moment of silence for Claire. The EMTs said it was probably heat prostration and she’ll be fine in a day or so. For that we’re thankful. We’re also thankful Felicia has agreed to be her understudy and take over timing our race.” There was a polite round of applause.

  “Lord, please watch over our race today,” Edward said. “Keep the waters smooth and the participants safe…”

  “…And could you see your way clear to putting a prevailing tailwind on Paves the Way?” Helen added.

  A chorus of groans went through the crowd.

  Payton remained silent. Claire shouldn’t be alone right now. Cameron had died alone. Stabbed through the heart on her kitchen floor. Not that Claire was in danger of dying, but still, she should have someone there. The psychiatrist’s words spoke in her head: “Face your fears. Face your troubles. You’ll find out how strong you really are.”

  Not strong. Not strong at all.

  “Did you say something?”

  Amanda stood beside her. Payton shook her head as Edward finished the prayer. “Thank you Lord. Amen.” Murmured amens, and everyone shook hands, wishing each other good luck.

  Payton took another step backwards. The air was cloying, heavy with something above and beyond the heat of the day. It wasn’t something palpable, or even definable in words. Something was wrong. So why did everyone act so normal? Was she the only one who could feel it?

  Feet thumped down the dock heading for individual sailboats. Aden appeared on Payton’s left. “Nervous?”

  “A bit.”

  “Try not to worry about Claire. She’ll be fine.”

  Payton stopped at the tip of Zephyr’s bow and ran her hand along the polished surface. “Thanks for the support,” was all she could think of saying.

  He kissed her cheek and patted her on the behind. “Happy sailing.”

  MaryAnn giggled from Zephyr’s deck. Aden was undaunted. “Just sail ’er like you did the other day and you’ll do great. Maybe you’ll even beat us.”

  “You can bet on that,” MaryAnn called.

  “Bet, you say?”

  Payton moaned. “We’re not wagering on our first run in a strange boat.”

  “Come on, live dangerously.”

  MaryAnn stuck out a hand to help her aboard.

  “Good luck!” Aden called and strode away, his footsteps silent in the boatshoes.

  Payton checked the riggings. MaryAnn bent over the rail and cast off the mooring lines, then turned the key and the motor chugged to life. Payton knelt on the deck as they headed to the starting line.

  As they passed Diplomat, both Aden and Brighton tipped their caps. Aden hollered, “It’s not too late to lay down a bet!”

  Payton groaned, but it was erased by the sound of the waves swooshing against the fiberglass.

  “Got the stopwatch and compass?” MaryAnn shouted.

  Payton reached inside her shirt and pulled the silver chain from which hung the requested items. She dangled them so MaryAnn could see. Not only would Felicia time the race from shore, but each individual boat ran their own times, later comparing leg times, water and wind conditions against previous races.

  Payton unfurled the sail in her charge, hauling hard on the lines, feeling the familiar bite of rope on her palms. Aden had been right, she felt better already. The wind caught in the white fabric, sounding like thunder. Memories roared through her brain: Cameron hauling on the mainsail ropes, his powerful muscles rippling from shoulder to spine. Uptilted face serious, brilliant green eyes squinting into the sun, jaw tense. Payton let the wind dry the pair of tears as Zephyr’s bow cut through the water. Now wasn’t the time for nostalgia or regrets. She inched the sail up a little more, trying to gauge the wind and currents and distance to the starting pin as the boats lined up. Timing had to be perfect; Zephyr could not reach the committee boat before the starter gun sounded. It echoed down the lake.

  Their timing was off a bit. The gun cracked .07
3 seconds before they hit the pin. Valuable time lost already. A flood of adrenaline rumbled through her veins.

  The race committee gave thumbs-up to the Zephyr. Payton raised the jib sail to its fullest point and tied off the line. The wind was strong and the craft fairly flew atop the choppy waves. To their port side, Aden and Brighton both worked to maintain course and increase speed, as did the crew of a Chaumont boat on the starboard side. Exhilaration throbbed against Payton’s ribs. She held tight to her perch and let adrenaline overwhelm all thoughts.

  “Wind change SSE!” MaryAnn shouted from her spot beneath the mainsail.

  Payton adjusted the jib accordingly.

  “Another boat starboard, be ready to luff off!” MaryAnn hollered.

  Diplomat approached rapidly, its hull cutting through the water like a hot spoon through ice cream. The sound of it sent a rush of memories crashing inside Payton’s head. MaryAnn’s voice became Cameron’s. Zephyr became Ace. The warm air blew with the chill of a Minnesota spring, the scent of fresh pine became factory smoke, Lake Ontario the Mississippi. “Racing is like sex,” Cameron always said. “Reading winds, adjusting to currents, anticipating your boat’s needs is just like making love to your woman.” At this point he’d put his hand on her breast, flick a thumb across her nipple then roll the pert nub between his fingers. “Pilot her unerringly around the first pin,” he’d add, and do it again.

  MaryAnn bent forward, the boom rode over her back, and the boat headed crosswind toward the second pin to the northwest. The distance across the bay would be 2.3 miles. The sun was hot, the sky brilliant blue. They were in open water, the wind propelling Zephyr through the still-cold Lake Ontario water. The mainsail line thunked against the mast.