by Cindy Davis
Payton spun the chair so she could look out the window again. One of the official vehicles had gone. Probably gone to get the warrant to search her house.
TWENTY-SIX
Payton escorted Mamie to the door. The street, especially out front of Aden’s house, was empty of cars. Payton called him again, and again came the automated voice announcing the number was out of service.
“Aden, where are you?”
Payton slipped on her shoes and went out through the sliders, ducking between the trees into the Mortensons’ back yard. A low-watt bulb burned on the wicker table in their new breakfast room. Two figures in deep shadow sat at the table. The larger shadow, Carter, held a glass in his left hand. Helen was talking, waving her hands as she always did. The low murmur of voices, but no words, penetrated the tempered glass.
Helen spotted Payton and welcomed her in with a hug. She said she’d get her something to drink and disappeared into the house before Payton could tell her not to bother. Carter waved her to a chair. She leaned back in the comfortable thickness of the padding and put her feet on the crossbar under the table.
“To what do we owe the honor of this visit?” Carter asked in his usual right to the point manner.
Payton laughed. “Do I visit so infrequently?”
“No, just never at night,” Helen said, returning with a tall glass with ice tinkling against the sides. She also held a plate of something that she set on the table closest to Payton. “Have a walnut bar, dear.”
Carter reached across and received a slap on the hand. He didn’t pull back, just continued reaching. “You didn’t specify which ‘dear’ you meant.”
Helen made a hissing sound and leaned back in her chair. Payton took a sip of the fresh lemonade, just the right amount of sugar. She leaned back thinking how very much Carter resembled Rhett Butler. “I’ve been thinking,” she said.
“Uh-oh,” Carter said.
“I imagine you saw the police at Aden’s.”
Carter roared with laughter. “You just made her night. She’s called everyone in town, but nobody knew a thing—”
“Carter!”
“You didn’t call me,” Payton said.
“Yes she did, but Mamie said you were working in your office and she wouldn’t disturb you.”
“Go watch TV, Carter,” Helen said.
“I think that would be prudent.” He got up and went up the steps into the main house muttering something about “gossiping women.”
“He’s a hoot,” Payton laughed.
“I guess other people would see him that way. I assume the cops think Aden killed Sean.”
“I had the idea they were gathering evidence about me.”
“You!” Helen’s glance flickered toward the door. She lowered her voice. “Why would they be gathering evidence against you?”
“The way that sergeant talked, I thought they were focusing the investigation on me.”
“For heaven’s sakes, why—because of that silly thing between you and Sean?”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
Helen shook her head, the tight cap of curls not moving a bit. “No way. They removed way too much stuff for it to be you they’re looking at. No doubt, they suspect Aden.”
“And you think he ran?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Payton leaned her elbows on the table and dropped her head in her cupped hands. Helen remained quiet. After a while Payton looked up. “It can’t be. Aden would no more kill Sean than I would.” Then something dawned on her. “Helen, you know more than you’ve said. There’s a relationship between Sean and Aden, isn’t there?”
Carter appeared in the doorway. “What other relationship?”
“We think the police think he killed Sean,” Helen said.
Carter returned to his chair. “I figured as much, what with the cops there all day.”
“That sergeant thinks Aden wanted Sean out of the way so he could have me. I told him it couldn’t possibly be true because Aden and I don’t have a relationship.”
“You lied to the police?” Carter put a palm to his chest and rolled his eyes.
“No!” She accented the next words, “We don’t have a relationship.”
“She doth protest too much.” Carter threw his head back and roared. When he noticed them gaping, he put on a serious expression and folded his hands on the table. “Sorry. What was the other reason?”
“Espinoza didn’t say. And I didn’t want to appear too worried, so I didn’t ask.”
“Sean grew up here in town,” Helen said. “He and MaryAnn married about five years ago. She paid his way through cooking school. I can’t remember where. They both worked extra jobs while saving money to open his restaurant, which he did about a year and a half ago. As for Aden…” Helen ran her hands up both cheeks and rubbed her knuckles in her eyes. “He came to town I’d say, fifteen years ago. Built that beautiful little Cape.”
“Was he always an ambassador?”
“Far as I know.”
“Why did he move here?”
“He said he wanted to live somewhere quiet. He’d lived in the City his whole life and wanted a change.”
“But why Sackets Harbor? It’s not like it’s convenient to New York City.”
“His aunt Charlotte lived here. Charlotte Green. Aden came here summers from the time he was a small child.”
“Were he and Sean friends?”
“He was too old to have been a playmate of Sean’s,” Carter added. “There’s maybe fifteen years between them.”
“Did Sean work for him? Did Aden sell him a boat? Did Sean steal something from him? There has to be a common denominator…besides me.”
“Sean wasn’t the soul of honesty. Don’t you remember when he was arrested for taking that Boynton kid’s bike?” Carter asked.
“He said he traded for it,” Helen said.
“The Boynton kid said that wasn’t true.”
“But Sean had the Atari game to prove it,” Helen said. “And Edna vouched for him.”
“Helen, you know you’ve always had a soft spot where Sean was concerned.”
Helen sighed. “I know. I just always felt sorry for him, Edna and Rodney being murdered the way they were.”
“So you can’t think of any time Sean and Aden had dealings?” Payton asked. “Is it possible he mowed Aden’s lawn or watched his house while he was out of town?”
“Harry Brice, the one who owned your house, always watched it.”
“Didn’t mow his own lawn but took good care of Aden’s when he was out of town. They were quite good friends. It was a terrible blow to Aden when he found the man dead. Brice had been dead more than a week.” Helen made a face.
“How did he die?” Payton asked.
“It was about eight years ago. He tripped and fell down his cellar stairs.”
“Right,” added Carter. “It was November.”
“The day our niece Ann was born. We were getting the news of the birth on the phone while they were moving Harry’s body out the back door.”
Seemed like Payton was always surrounded by death. Now she’d be awash in the vision of Harry Brice lying at the bottom of her cellar stairs. Death probably occurred in lots of houses, but the owner didn’t usually hear about it. She rose, suddenly aching to be out of doors.
Outside, Payton did just as she’d promised herself. She breathed. In and out. God, it felt so good. She didn’t go home. She walked toward town, past Aden’s dark house.
Aden. Had he run away? Would the man she’d had wild and wonderful sex with just hours ago run like a frightened child? No, he wouldn’t leave her dangling like that.
At the intersection she continued on Broad Street, past Claire’s house, a large, well-kept Victorian with the small Ford in the driveway. The place had a homey look to it. As two nights ago, behind a trio of tall, narrow windows, the bluish computer light glowed. A dark figure sat with his back to the windows. The person tu
rned suddenly, as though sensing someone watching. Payton ducked into the shadow of a huge oak then continued walking. She went as far as the bend in the road near the big cornfield, turned and headed back.
A figure appeared on her left; she jumped in fright.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Claire said and fell into step beside Payton. “I saw you walking and thought you might want company.”
“How are you?”
“Good as can be expected. This whole thing has been a drain on the town. I heard the police were at Aden’s today.”
“Yes.”
“So it’s true. Did they arrest him?”
“Not that I know of. I think he’s out of town.”
“I heard they were taking evidence from the house.”
“They were, but I have no idea what it was.”
Claire’s grip on Payton’s upper arm tightened. “Well, at least they didn’t arrest him.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
At 7:30 Payton took her morning coffee to the sitting room loveseat, one leg tucked underneath her and turned sideways so she could see Aden’s house. The street was quiet. His porch light remained off. No police vehicles in sight. She’d slept well in spite of Claire’s final words orbiting inside her head like a rocket ship. “At least they didn’t arrest him.” What a strange way to say it.
Outside, an orange striped tiger cat crossed the street. A jogger ran into Payton’s line of vision and her first thought was that Sean would never jog past her house again. He’d passed there almost every morning since four days after she moved in. This runner was a woman, jogging hard and struggling. She wore a grey sweat suit—matching pants and zip-up hooded shirt. Something about her was familiar. She stopped in front of Helen’s house and leaned against a small maple to catch her breath.
Payton set down the coffee, got on her knees and pressed her face against the window. “Claire!”
Claire doubled over and seemed to have breathing difficulties. Was she all right? Payton slipped into her sneakers, then opened the front door enough to peek out. Claire had leaned away from the tree trunk and stood without aid. She looked across at Aden’s house, breath heaving.
Payton hurried to the phone and dialed. A sleepy voice answered. “Helen, look out your front window, quick.” Payton heard the phone being laid down and rapidly shuffling footsteps on a wood floor. She heard Helen say, “What the…” and steps returning. “What’s she doing?”
“I don’t know. She was jogging and stopped. It looked like she was about to have a heart attack, and I was just about to go help when she started watching Aden’s house. She looks all right now.”
Carter’s voice in the background called, “What’s wrong, Helen?”
“Nothing, dear. I’ll tell you in a minute.”
When Carter spoke again his voice was much closer. “Why are you hanging out the window?”
Helen told him what was happening, then she said to Payton, “He’s looking out the window.”
“Now ask him what he thinks about gossiping females,” Payton said.
“Not on your life!” Helen shouted the same time Carter called, “She’s gone.”
Helen spoke two words, “Jogging? Claire?”
“She’s been talking about getting in shape.”
“But jogging?”
“Sure, why not? Stranger things have happened.”
“Sorry I woke you.”
“I had to get up anyway…for Sean’s service.”
Payton hung up the phone. Things were really getting strange. Steadfast, somber men were running from the law, and down-to-earth, middle-aged women were taking up new hobbies. She wondered briefly if something was wrong with Sackets Harbor’s water.
* * * *
Sean’s memorial service was scheduled for eleven at the United Presbyterian Church on Main Street. There wouldn’t be a wake or a regular funeral until authorities released his body. Nobody seemed to know when that would be. Sergeant Espinoza had told someone—rumor lost its original owner—they were waiting for toxicology reports. Didn’t that pretty much cement Aden’s theory about poison?
Which raised another question. If Aden killed Sean, why force attention on himself by talking about it? Why not lie back and let nature, or the authorities, take its course? Or get the heck out of town right away? Surely someone with Aden’s connections could lose himself anywhere in the world.
A paralyzing thought hit. What if she was responsible for him being a suspect? If she hadn’t mentioned poison…
Payton stood on the stone steps in front of the church, submerged in the same dizzy sensation as when she dove overboard to save Sean. Thankfully, people were both behind and in front of her and the momentum of their movement kept her from sagging to the floor. She slipped into the first pew and sat. Her thoughts swam in muddled confusion. If she hadn’t told the sergeant Aden’s concerns, suspicion wouldn’t have been generated in his direction, and he wouldn’t be on the run right now. Despair clouded her vision. Desperation forced her to her feet. She pushed through the people still making their way inside. Barely touching the steps, she flew to the sidewalk and sprinted for home.
Church bells chimed behind her, but she ran on.
Payton needed to be alone. Her world was crumbling again, an avalanche of wood, mortar and brick that flowed like lava. She felt only the air pressure on her back at first, and then the tickle of the dust shoved her ahead of the deluge. And now the force of the shards themselves propelled her indoors. Payton fell to her knees in her hallway, gasping, trembling, sobbing.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The noise broke through her stupor. Insistent hammering.
With immense effort, Payton lifted her head and peered through a tangle of hair. Helen and Claire stood at the sliders, Helen’s fist making the most god-awful noise on the glass. When she saw Payton moving, she stopped pounding and signaled for her to unlock the door.
Payton moved slowly, every muscle, nerve and even her brain screaming. She let the women in. Helen put her arm around Payton while Claire pulled out a chair and helped her sit. Payton buried her head in her hands.
“Are you all right, dear?”
Payton thought how often people had been asking that question lately. Finally she nodded.
“What happened?”
“Aden,” was all she said.
“Has something happened to him?” Claire asked.
“He’s gone. It’s my fault.”
“Your fault?” Claire’s voice carried a hoarseness that made Payton look up.
Helen handed Payton a tissue. Claire cleared her throat and repeated the question.
“I told the sergeant that Aden thought Sean had been poisoned. Now he’s gone.”
Helen frowned and left Payton’s line of sight. The front door opened and shut. Helen returned carrying a thick copy of the “Watertown Daily Times.” She slapped it on the table and swiveled it so Payton could read the headline.
Sackets Harbor Man Poisoned
Payton held her breath and read the short article. Last Wednesday, two prominent businessmen died during the Sackets Harbor Yacht Club race. On Thursday, this paper reported that both Sean Adams and Frank Simpson had been murdered. A subsequent report determined they had been poisoned. “Although Mr. Adams ultimately drowned after rolling over the gunwale into Lake Ontario, the amount of poison in his system would most definitely have already killed him,” stated Daniel Grayson, New York State Coroner, yesterday. “Manner and variety of poison have not yet been determined. Though it’s often difficult to pinpoint a type of poison, we are following several leads. We should have toxicology reports in a few days.”
Payton looked at Helen. “So Aden was right.”
“What does it say?” asked Claire.
Payton slid the paper across the table. As Claire’s eyes neared the bottom of the article, a strangled sound came from her throat. Helen put a hand on her arm. “I’ll get you a drink of water.” But before she could move, Claire sprang from
the chair and dashed outside.
“What on earth is going on this morning?” Helen asked.
“I think there’s something in the water,” Payton said, completely serious.
Head throbbing, she dashed outside. Rounding the front of the house, she felt herself being wrenched backwards. Her captor was a tall man wearing the tan uniform of the New York State Police. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Her reply was cut short when Helen pounded the officer on the arm. “Let her go, you bully.”
Sergeant Espinoza stepped up, took hold of Helen’s arms and yanked her away from the officer. “We want to talk to you.”
“Not now,” Payton said, jerking from the officer’s grasp.
“Now!”
Payton didn’t stop, didn’t even turn.
“Follow her,” the sergeant shouted.
Somehow Helen already had the car running and the door open. Payton leaped inside. The Buick’s tires squealed on the pavement. She raced directly to Claire’s house. Her car wasn’t there. It wasn’t at Mamie’s. And it wasn’t at the library.
Payton was suddenly sweating and trembling all over. She clenched her hands in her lap and ordered herself to concentrate on finding poor Claire. Sorrow could make a perfectly stable person do the most abnormal things. She leaned forward, pressing the seat belt strap tight, looking down driveways on the right side of the road while Helen did likewise on the left.
“Where could she have gone?” Helen asked.
Helen inched past the shops, even though they could both see Claire’s car wasn’t there. Helen turned into the marina driveway and stopped. Behind them, the police car jerked to a halt as if surprised by their actions.
Claire wasn’t at the marina either. “Where did she go?” Helen repeated. She backed as far as she could, avoiding the officer’s car, turned and went back up the hill. The shadow-car did likewise.
As they passed Payton’s shop, Payton hollered, “Stop!”
Helen slammed her foot to the floor, pitching Payton forward against the restraints. “Sorry.”