by Cindy Davis
Another sip gave her the energy to go inside to dress for her date with Aden. She’d been thinking of asking him if they could stay home tonight but suddenly she couldn’t wait to get out of the house.
She shut the sliders and started when she saw him standing there, a mixture of emotions playing across his face. He took the glass, set it down and wrapped her in his arms.
“It’ll be all right.” His warm breath tickled a strand of hair against her ear. He patted her bottom. “Go get dressed. We’ll get the hell out of here.”
TWENTY-TWO
Even though sun poured into Mamie’s gallery, the air was somber and sad. Their voices echoed in the near-empty room. Claire wrung her hands. “It’s all my fault.” Payton handed her a tissue, which she dabbed against her nose.
Mamie said, “It was just a sailing accident, Claire. It’s a terrible thing, but it happens.”
Mamie taped a large poster on the door proclaiming the opening of the new gallery at:
213 West Broad Street
11-5 Tues.-Thurs.
11-6 Fri. & Sat.
“It happens,” Mamie repeated.
“No,” Claire said softly.
“Yes.”
Payton had tried to talk to Aden last night, but he refused to allow the topic of Sean’s death in their conversation. After dinner and a nearly wordless drive up the coast, they’d returned to his house where he undressed her, ushered her to his bed and held her in a brotherly embrace all night. Payton couldn’t sleep. The warmth of Aden’s body, spooning her from behind, brought unwelcome thoughts into her head. She hadn’t slept with anyone since Cameron, hadn’t even considered it. Around 3 a.m., she’d nearly given in to the unbidden thoughts. There was a half hour stretch where she would have liked nothing more than a straightforward roll in the hay.
Here, Claire paced the squeaky floor. Payton stepped in her path and pulled her into an embrace. She wasn’t a hugging type of person, but if she’d had a friend two years ago, maybe the nightmares wouldn’t have been so bad. Maybe she could make it easier on Claire.
After a minute, Claire pulled away. “I’m all right now. It’s been such a shock.”
Outside Felicia was crossing toward them. She carried a plastic bag with the bookstore’s logo. Mamie waved her inside. “Morning, ladies.” Felicia peered around the big room. “Will you be keeping both places, Mamie? Now that the other is available again—”
“I’m not sure what’s going to happen yet. Miles and I have been very busy.”
Felicia frowned. “The man has galleries in big cities all over the world. I can’t help wonder why would he want one in this godforsaken town.”
Claire hissed in exasperation. “Felicia, not everyone thinks that way about Sackets Harbor.”
“Not to be rude, but if you hate it here so much, why do you stay?” Payton asked, though Felicia’s question bore consideration.
“Sometimes I wonder myself.” Felicia gave a heavy sigh.
“You mean because of Sean?” Mamie asked.
“Indirectly.”
“Did you see anything of what happened?” Payton asked.
“God, the cops have been all over me asking the same thing. I was timing the race. My eye was on Aden and Brighton in the lead.” Felicia shifted her bag from one hand to the other. “If a freak wave didn’t wash them overboard, what the hell happened?”
“I guess we’ll have to let the authorities figure it out,” Payton said.
Mamie moaned. “They’re going to be crawling all over the place, poking their heads into everyone’s affairs until they do.”
“Is this a problem for you?”
All four women jumped at Sergeant Espinoza’s voice.
“Your sneaking up on people is a problem, sir.” Felicia’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to ask Ms. Coutermarsh a few questions.”
Mamie leaned the broom against the wall. “Me?” she squeaked. Her cheeks paled, then reddened.
“Nothing to be alarmed about.”
Payton wasn’t falling for his manner, but Mamie did. She visibly relaxed and looked around the shop. “Will it take long? My gallery is opening later this morning, and I still have so much to do.”
“This will only take a minute.” Sergeant Espinoza’s eyes flickered over each woman but he lingered longer on Claire, who wiped her eyes with a tissue. No disguising that she’d been crying, and he wasn’t trying to hide his curiosity over it.
Felicia, Claire and Payton filed outside, like children being sent to the principal’s office. The sergeant had taken out his notebook. Mamie slid onto her stool, fidgeting her fingers in her lap. Payton gave her a thumbs-up, said bye to Claire and ran to her shop, not realizing till she entered the building that Felicia had followed.
Felicia cupped her hands around her face and peered across the street. “I wonder what he’s asking her.”
The question didn’t seem to require a reply. Payton went to sit on the new couch, replaced this morning by the furniture store. When a customer purchased the ugly set, she’d barely been able to contain her delight. This set was very pretty, white brocade with pastel pink hibiscus flowers among grassy green leaves. It had two matching chairs and a lovely carved-leg coffee table.
“They’ve questioned me twice,” Felicia called over her shoulder.
“Last night was the third time for me. The sergeant wanted to know how Sean and I got along.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth.”
“Did he believe you?”
“I hope so.”
“Did he ask about that painting Sean wanted you to buy?”
“I volunteered about our disagreement over price. Someone’s bound to tell him anyway.”
“I’m glad you didn’t fall for Sean’s rhetoric about the painting.” Felicia crossed the room. She remained on her feet. “How could I let him talk me into paying so much for Sunset? When Brighton goes to pay Aden for his half of that new boat, he’ll see I drained our account. And he’ll kill me.”
“Can I ask you a question? Tell me to mind my own business if you want, but there’s a rumor circulating town.”
“About me and Sean, right?” Felicia gave a wan smile. “When Sylvie saw us in Chaumont, I knew it was only a matter of time until talk got around. There’s no relationship. I can’t—couldn’t—stand the man. We met by accident, believe me.”
“Sylvie said you looked very serious.”
“He wanted me to buy another painting. I said no way.” She glanced toward the street. “I’ve got to be going.”
Payton remained on the couch for a long time after the door closed. Much of Felicia’s recent unease had been explained. Payton sat up straighter. Felicia said Brighton would kill her when he found out. What if he already knew and had killed Sean rather than her? Or, what if Brighton heard the rumors about her and Sean and killed him because of that?
Maybe, fearing Brighton’s reaction, Felicia killed Sean. Possible, but why wait till now? The purchase was made weeks ago.
Once thing Payton learned from this conversation—Felicia wasn’t all snob and arrogance as everyone said. She had a vulnerable side. Could vulnerability translate into murder?
TWENTY-THREE
Payton spent the afternoon shooing reporters away from the front of the store and dodging a hundred questions each time she poked her head outside. One photographer caught her wagging a threatening finger at them. Helen would get a kick out of seeing that on the six o’clock news. So would Aden, for that matter.
Reporters weren’t the only people clogging the sidewalks. The police contingency questioned storeowners, townspeople and tourists. No one was left out. Contrary to what she expected, the authorities hadn’t chased business away.
At the marina, authorities went over Sean’s boat again before pulling it from the water and wrapping it like holiday leftovers. They loaded it on a big trailer towed by a truck with the Coast Guard logo on the sid
e. They examined rental dinghies, sidewalks and the entire docking system at the marina, virtually shutting the place down. All this information came from Sylvie French.
At 5:30 Payton walked home. The weather had cleared, but intermittent clouds sill cast a gloom over her spirits. No sign of the sergeant. And she hadn’t seen Vaughn since the day of the murder. Helen said his nose was out of joint at being usurped by the Coast Guard and State Police in the investigation. Vaughn was a nice guy, a good cop and determined to solve the case, but Payton saw their point. Vaughn was too close to the people of Sackets Harbor to be objective.
Aden’s BMW was in his driveway. He’d mown his lawn today. The whole neighborhood smelled fresh and sweet. When she got to her property, she realized he’d mown hers also.
A rousing “Hello!” brought her alert. She went up Helen’s walk.
“How was your day, dear?”
“Okay, considering.”
“Are the police hovering like buzzards? I’m quite upset with that sergeant; he had Mamie in tears. That’s uncalled-for.”
“They’re just doing their jobs.”
“I have to admit, she’s miles stronger than when Donald died.”
Payton ran a hand through her hair, raking fingers through the tangles caused by the wind.
“She fell totally apart back then. Thank goodness she had Claire and me to hold her up.” Helen stopped for a breath and a change of subject. “I’ve got a crockpot of chili, if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks, but I promised Mamie I’d help put finishing touches around the house.” Payton gestured toward her house. “Was it busy over there today?”
“My word! Cars were parked along both sides of the street all day. I don’t know how the neighbors will react if it keeps up.”
“I never thought about parking when I offered the place to Mamie. I just wanted to help her out of her jam.”
“The crowds will ease off once everyone’s had their fill of seeing your house.” Helen smiled. Payton frowned. “I told you how curious everyone has been ever since you began renovations, dear. Tell you what. I’ll encourage her to get that empty shop in shape and move everything back over there. I’ll say how much better the location is or something.”
“No need. I’ve opened this can of worms. I’ll live with it. Well, I’ll be getting home.”
“I’ll bring over chili for two.”
“Thanks.”
She stepped through the back sliders and into her kitchen. Safe and sound. No police. No reporters. Mamie was seated at the dining room table sipping a cup of tea. She gave a guilty start and gestured at the cup. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I told you to make yourself at home.”
“Would you like a cup?”
“Yes, but don’t get up.” Payton dropped her jacket over the back of a chair and went into the kitchen calling over her shoulder, “Helen said it was busy today.”
“It was. Miles called. He was very impressed when I told him I made three sales.” Mamie said this not looking up from her cup.
Payton brewed tea and took the cup to the dining table. “You make out all right with the police?”
Mamie nodded. “Yes. That sergeant said it’s all routine.” She stood up and pushed in the chair. “I guess I’ll be heading home. I’m exhausted.”
“Why not stay a while? Helen’s bringing over some chili.”
“That’s nice of her.”
“She brings me food all the time. She thinks I don’t eat enough.”
“I agree.” Mamie looked Payton in the nose. “By the way, since the Main Street gallery is empty, I thought it would be a good time to start the painting classes… If you still want to, that is. I thought I’d offer the first class next Monday night.”
“Anyone else signed up yet?”
“Helen, Edward and Amanda so far. A while back, MaryAnn mentioned wanting to paint. Do you think it would be insensitive to ask her now?”
“No, it might be good therapy.”
The chili was delicious, Mamie left at 7:30, expressing total exhaustion. Payton agreed. The past few days had sucked the life from the whole town.
She went to her office and, before turning on a light, peeked out the window. Aden’s car wasn’t in his driveway. She wondered briefly where he’d gone, came up with no answer, then turned on her computer. She opened a new file and typed Winter Chronicles at the top of the page. Working from the outline she’d hand-written over the past weeks, Payton began the first chapter and somehow managed to immerse herself enough to finish seven pages. She did a spell check and word count, shut everything down and looked out the window again. 11:30, and Aden still wasn’t home.
She dropped the curtain and went to the living room where she looked out again. No movement on the street. No lurking police vehicles. No stray cats. No Aden. Why was she watching for him? She enjoyed his company, but that was it.
Right, that’s why she’d wanted him to make love to her the other night.
That was nothing to do with him in particular.
The last time she and Cameron made love was the night before he died. Emotion brought tears. Tears brought an overwhelming need to be moving. Payton slipped into a jacket and went outside. She turned right and walked briskly, keeping her eyes averted from Aden’s house. Where was he?
Helen’s living room light glowed, but she saw no movement inside. With determined footsteps, Payton crossed the intersection at Main and Broadway. She slowed her pace near Claire’s house. The bluish glow of a computer shone through sheer curtains on the second floor. Payton hadn’t thought of Claire as a computer person. She wondered how MaryAnn fared and almost stopped to check.
Sylvie’s house sat diagonally across from Claire’s. No lights there at all. Sylvie’s Chrysler was in her driveway. Payton turned and retraced her steps home. Instead of going in through the front, she walked around to the patio. The hard work had been worth it. The place looked wonderful, even in the meager light oozing out from the kitchen lamp. She sucked in cool air, deeper, deeper, until her lungs would hold no more. She blew it all out, till her insides deflated, empty of the feelings that had rooted there since Sean’s death.
Payton went upstairs and undressed. For better than an hour, she watched shadows march across the ceiling, fighting the desire to close her eyes. Finally the compulsion to sleep became too strong. She got up and threw on a robe. Fighting the urge to see if Aden had returned home, she went out on the deck. The bay looked peaceful and calm. Few lights shone on the opposite shore. Wispy clouds, like 70’s fishnet stockings, floated past, alternately obscuring then displaying the tiny wedge of moon. She lay on the lounge chair, pushing both hands through her hair before settling them inside the folds of her robe.
She would not sleep. Nightmares would be in full-assault mode.
She scrunched her mind shut. Appreciate the serenity. Don’t think about Sean. But the more she told herself not to think, the more she did. How had he uncovered her secret? “Conduct unbecoming a teacher.” Payton slammed her palms on the arms of the chair. Why had he investigated her in the first place? All she’d done was refuse to buy a very expensive painting from him. What was the big deal?
Payton suspected the “big deal” had very little to do with paintings and a lot to do with saving face. Multiple times, she’d turned down his date requests, in front of his townsfolk. She hadn’t fallen all over him and he couldn’t bear it. So he investigated and found the skeleton in her closet.
Cameron had been her strength during that terrible time with school authorities. He carted her off to Greenland where she moped while he conducted long distance business. In a month, she’d begun venturing out of the hotel. In three more weeks Cameron deemed her healed enough to return home, where the fervor had died down and Payton could go out without feeling as though all eyes stared. Well, almost. She still watched people’s reactions, still waited for the signs of suspicion, fear, anger, but never said anything to Cameron.
Four months
later, he was killed in her kitchen. Like a child’s tower of blocks, Payton’s world had tumbled. But this time she didn’t have a shoulder to lean on, a sensible voice promising things would be okay.
She propped her bare feet on the railing. Sean said he had evidence. Where would he keep something like that? At home probably. Then she sighed. The police probably had it already. That’s why they’d been around. They were waiting for her to let something slip.
The doorbell sounded. Payton started violently as the plinky chimes echoed through the house. The image of two burly State Police officers, handcuffs at the ready, popped into her head. A throbbing began at the nape of her neck and thumped into her forehead. How bad would she be hurt if she leaped over the railing and made a run for it?
TWENTY-FOUR
Payton leaned her head against the cool glass, fingers squeezing the bridge of her nose. Inside, on the bedside table, the clock said 2:34. The bell rang again. The LCD display flickered to 2:35. Couldn’t they wait till daybreak? Not if they had a warrant. Not if they thought she’d run.
A third ring.
A fourth. More insistent. Payton stepped indoors, tightened the belt on her robe and tiptoed downstairs. Through the tall narrow window beside the door, hands were cupped around a face. A male face, flattened frighteningly against the pane.
She opened the door. Aden didn’t wait for an invitation. He stepped inside and eased the door shut. “I saw your bedroom light on. I thought you might have had another nightmare.”
“I haven’t been to sleep yet. Aden, I don’t think I’m up to having company.”
He steered her toward the kitchen, sat her down and set a Pyrex bowl on the table. He fished a fork from the drawer. “Close your eyes.”
She heard him unsnap the lid. The most wonderful smell wafted at her: garlic and oregano, seafood and olive oil.
“Keep your eyes closed and guess.”
“Seafood fettucini.”
“You peeked!”
“No, I didn’t.” She opened her eyes. “How did you know this is one of my favorite dishes in the whole world? And where did you get it this time of night?”