by Cindy Davis
Payton spotted Sergeant Espinoza clomping toward the shop just before noon. She greeted him with as much spirit as she could muster. What could he want—again? He got to it soon enough, asking first if Aden Green had purchased one of the monkshood plants.
“I heard you arrested him.”
The slight lift to his fuzzy brows denoted his surprise.
“I assume since you’re asking about the plants again that you’ve arrested him for murder. You’re making a big mistake.”
“Would you mind just answering the question?”
Payton counted on her fingers “He didn’t buy a plant. He doesn’t keep plants because they would die while he’s away. He’s been in the store once, and I didn’t have any plants here yet, so he couldn’t even have stolen the necessary leaves.” She dropped her hands to the countertop. “Why are you here? We both know you aren’t stupid. You didn’t forget I gave you all this information before.”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
“You want to know if I found out anything in Texas.”
“You went to Texas?”
She stood up and walked around the counter. “The man you had tailing me wasn’t very discrete.”
He was undaunted. “So, what did Mrs. Johnson say?”
“You really shouldn’t let private citizens do your job for you.”
Espinoza recovered quickly. “I talked to her. I’m sure you know that.”
“She wasn’t impressed you delivered news of her nephew’s death via phone.”
“I would like to know what she told you. You were in that nursing home far too long for her to have said ‘sorry, I can’t help you.’”
“Would you believe we became fast friends? We realized we had a lot in common. What’s wrong with that?”
“Name one thing you had in common.”
“MaryAnn. Sean. Sackets Harbor.” She added, “Sailing,” just for something else to say.
“We can do this the hard way…at headquarters.”
“Don’t threaten me, Sergeant.”
How much, if anything should she divulge? She didn’t want to withhold anything that might help, but she also didn’t want their fingers digging into things with the potential to destroy reputations of innocent people. She decided to wade through the rest of the envelopes before saying anything at all—if they didn’t already know about the box. Surely, if someone were watching her…
“I’m sorry. She didn’t tell me anything that would help the case.”
He moved so quickly, she didn’t have time to brace herself. He stepped close. She tried to back away, tripped and went down hard on her rear. The sergeant knelt beside her, true concern on his face. “Are you hurt? I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Yes you did. You thought you could scare me into telling you something I don’t know.” She allowed him to help her up.
After Espinoza left, Payton tried to do some bookwork. The trail of numbers was interrupted by a single thought. She hadn’t been tailed from Texas or they would know about the box.
At home, Payton greeted Maggie and Mamie in that order. She went to the pantry, removed two more envelopes from the box and took them to her office. There were several people browsing downstairs, so Payton waited for Maggie to scamper inside and shut the door. With the kitten settled in her lap, Payton examined the envelopes, dated 1/1/95 and 3/17/95. The one dated in January contained a handwritten invoice in the same penmanship as the date on the envelope. It described a sale Sean had made to a man named Rich Saunders, no contact information given. The price was $15,000. The invoice said ”for painting titled Lake George by Church” and stated official documents had been provided. There was no copy of such papers in the envelope, nor was there information as to who’d made out the validation papers. Why did the name Church ring a bell? He must be pretty good if his stuff sold for that much. If the painting was so valuable, why would Sean sell it? He loved having beautiful things around him. Maybe he needed money—possibly to open his café. She made a note to see if the dates coincided.
The second envelope provided the answer to her previous question. It, too, was a sales invoice in the amount of $15,000. This one to a woman, Glenda O’Connor, for the sale of Lake George by Church.
So, Sean was in the business of selling forged paintings. Was it possible the same person had painted the one of Amanda’s Commodore? Who’d provided documentation on the Church paintings? Could it also be Miles Arenheim? A sinking feeling told her it was. Payton put Maggie on the floor. She went to the door and called Mamie, who waddled in.
“Two things: Are you familiar with an artist named Church?”
Mamie assumed a puzzled expression. “You must mean Frederic Edwin Church. Why do you ask?”
Payton shrugged. “I saw a painting of his that I liked. Is it possible he painted two of the exact same painting?”
Mamie’s confusion increased. “I suppose it happens on occasion, but there are always differences.”
“Is Miles returning soon?”
“I have no idea, why?”
“My husband owned a number of buildings in Minneapolis. Well, I own them now. I was wondering if Miles would be interested in setting up another gallery there.” Payton finished the long-winded commentary and took a breath.
“He hasn’t been around to see the gallery since we opened. Maybe I can get him here and you could tell him your idea. Can I use your phone?”
Mamie went to the kitchen to make her call. Payton used her cell phone and dialed the number on Espinoza’s business card and left a voice mail for him to call her. Mamie returned wearing a wide smile, Miles would be able to come as soon as tomorrow, around noon.
FORTY-TWO
This time Vaughn bore no flowers. And this time he didn’t hesitate to talk about the case. The only thing was, now Payton didn’t want to talk about it. She had way more information than she wanted. She sat quietly looking out the window, the same as the last time, but now the atmosphere was different. Payton felt it, and she saw Vaughn did too.
He pulled into the parking lot at Briton’s Mini Golf and smiled over at her, the smile intended as a question. She nodded. “I haven’t played in years.”
“They have a snack bar too. I thought we could grab a little something.”
“Sounds good.”
“Maybe it’ll get this case off your mind.”
“It’s not off yours,” she said.
“No, but police work is my life.”
“And the suspects are my friends.”
“I know.”
“I thought you told me all the suspects were women.”
“I did,” he admitted.
“Then why did they arrest Aden?”
“Because he left town without letting anyone know and he didn’t contact anyone while he was gone.”
“So, he’s really not a suspect?”
“That I’m not sure about.” His tone said he wasn’t happy about this. He undid his seat belt and watched it slide back into the slot. “Sergeant Espinoza says you’ve been investigating.”
Payton shrugged.
“You could have asked me what you wanted to know.”
“You said you didn’t want to talk about it. Besides, you told me you weren’t privy to the case.”
“I’ve had some of my own questions,” he said. “Like what was Amanda doing out walking after midnight the night before the murder?”
What? “Did you ask her?”
“She said she couldn’t sleep.”
“With all her problems trying to keep Edward from finding out about the painting, I’m not surprised,” Payton said.
“But Edward already knew by then.”
“I heard he and Sean fought. Where did it happen?”
Vaughn ran a hand across his sweaty forehead then opened the pickup door. “You mean like, did Edward meet up with him on the street?”
“Right, or seek him out at the café? Find him on his boat? Where they met could be very important
.”
“The night they fought, Sean was at the marina preparing his boat for the race.”
“So it probably happened down on the dock,” Payton said.
Vaughn nodded.
“The poisoning had to be planned in advance. Which means Edward would’ve had the container of monkshood paste with him.”
“Right. Not sure you know it or not, he passed a polygraph.”
“Did they find any DNA evidence on MaryAnn?”
“The waves pretty much washed the deck clean.”
Payton opened her door. Cool air pushed in, raising goosebumps on her arms. “The waves didn’t wash the poison residue off the ropes though, right?”
“No. They retrieved good samples.”
“Would someone have to be well versed in plant knowledge to have done this?”
“You kidding?” Vaughn laughed. “These days anyone with a computer can get information to do anything. Or anyone who watches CSI.”
She laughed and got out of the car. Several couples were golfing. They laughed and joked as though without a care in the world.
Vaughn beat her two games to one. They stopped for a break and had steamed hotdogs with chili on top. The chili was a five-alarm batch Payton wasn’t prepared for. The first bite sent her into spasms of coughing. Vaughn handed her a cold drink. It took several minutes, but she finally recovered.
Later, he beat her another two games. Then he took her to the A&W for root beer floats. Vaughn walked her to the door and once again didn’t go in when she invited him. He planted a kiss on her cheek, a little closer to her lips than the previous time. Payton wondered how many dates before he actually kissed her full on the lips.
Aden’s car was still in his driveway; his lights were still off. As far as she knew, the 48-hour period during which authorities could hold a suspect was just about up. Maybe they were planning to charge him with Sean’s murder. Would Vaughn have told her?
Vaughn was serious about his job. He was down to earth, friendly to everyone and accessible, showing up inside shops instead of passing them by during his rounds.
As Payton picked up and greeted the meowing Maggie, a thought struck. Vaughn had access to the shops. Meaning he had access to the monkshood plant. Vaughn knew what sort of person Sean was; they’d grown up together. Maybe Vaughn was one of the kids Sean tormented. He was on duty the night the poison had been applied to the ropes.
She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it lodged like a car in a Minneapolis traffic jam. She poured a generous glass of Chablis and took it out on the patio, settling Maggie in her lap. But this was Maggie’s first time outdoors and soon she wasn’t content just sitting. After receiving a warning not to get lost, she was set on the ground to explore.
Could Vaughn be a murderer? Payton shook her head. It couldn’t be.
Possibly the box held an incriminating envelope with Vaughn’s “date” on it. She retrieved the kitten, who obviously didn’t want her explorations curtailed, and went inside. “You can go out again tomorrow,” she told the cat, shut the door and set Maggie on the floor. The kitten went back to the door and meowed. Payton ignored her and went to the pantry.
The next envelope was dated August 22, 1996. This held no invoices or newspaper clippings. It contained three handwritten pages documenting the real estate deal gone bad between Sean and Sylvie. Payton settled on the kitchen stool, sipping wine and stumbling over Sean’s scribbled penmanship, trying to figure what it meant. The other envelopes contained sales Sean made, or news articles about events in which he’d been involved. But this seemed to be a record, more like a note to himself. Then Payton realized—this was information for future reference, possible evidence for blackmail.
Had Sean presented the evidence to Sylvie? It would be a perfect motive for murder.
The next envelope was dated April 4, 1997. This Payton recognized immediately. It was the day he and MaryAnn married. Inside were copies of her driver’s license, birth certificate and social security card and a scribbled note saying he’d paid $5,000 for them. From whom, the note didn’t say. She sipped wine and thought about MaryAnn, having to live with the fear of being deported. Having to accept his philandering with stoic silence. Taking his abuse with grace. Had she finally grown sick of it all? It just didn’t fit. MaryAnn had been so happy to finally be moving out on her own.
Maybe, seeing her bags packed turned the divorce into a reality for Sean. Up till then it had been just talk. She was saving money and someday would leave him. Now it was real. Would he accept this with just a shrug of his shoulders? Payton didn’t think so. The little boy in him needed her. MaryAnn accepted him for what he was.
Payton poured more wine and went for another envelope, not at all liking what she was thinking. This was dated December 24, 1999. Christmas Eve. The only thing inside was a sales invoice to a woman named Ann in the amount of $17,500. There was no address or notation as to what she’d bought. More blackmail evidence? Payton slipped the paper back in the envelope and returned the envelopes to the box.
Payton called Maggie, still sitting at the sliding door. Payton scooped her up. “You can go out again tomorrow. It’s after midnight and we’re going to bed now.”
FORTY-THREE
Payton greeted Miles with a warm handshake and close scrutiny—mid to late forties with high cheekbones and a narrow nose that gave his face a pinched look, like something didn’t smell quite right. Not bad looking in the grand sense of it though. Expensive haircut, longish sideburns, otherwise clean-shaven. No wedding band, just an onyx and gold ring on his right pinky finger. No other jewelry in evidence except a Rolex watch. The whole package presented a picture of financial well-being.
Was Miles Arenheim the sort who’d provide false documentation papers on forged paintings? Or had Sean duped him as he duped so many others?
A search on the Internet provided some information. David Miles Arenheim owned two homes, one in New York City and one in Aspen. He had no criminal record except an arrest for going 47 miles over the speed limit at the age of 17. He had a .45 caliber pistol registered to him in the State of New York. He had not been in the military. Last year he paid taxes on $2.7 million. Miles Arenheim was a noted authority on paintings, one of few in the United States licensed to provide documentation. His handshake was supposed to be his bond.
Payton needed a few uninterrupted moments to talk with Miles. Like a lost puppy, she followed him and Mamie around the downstairs, listening to Mamie’s commentaries about pieces he’d sent up from the City, and how she would display them.
“I sold this just yesterday,” Mamie said, touching a carved teakwood statue of an elk. “I’ll hate to see it go. Oh, where are my manners? Would you like some coffee or tea?”
“What I’d really like is a glass of brandy, or sherry if you have it.” This he said looking at Payton.
“I’ll get it,” Mamie offered.
This gave Payton the opening she’d been hoping for. “Do you remember the documentation papers you provided on a painting of Commodore Melancthon Brooks Woolsey for Sean Adams?”
A clink of glass against glass made them both turn. Mamie gave an embarrassed smile and said, “I didn’t know you were going to bring that up. I thought Amanda and Sean got it all settled.”
Miles’ brow knit in thought. “Ugly cuss? Uniform?”
“That’s him.”
“Long time ago, but yes, I remember. Why do you ask?”
“There’s a forgery of it floating around town. A forgery with your papers attached.”
“Shit.” Miles accepted the glass from Mamie with a nod.
“Did Sean hire you to document other paintings?”
“Several.”
“Was there ever a Frederic Edwin Church?”
“There was.” Miles set the glass on the dining room table. He took off his glasses and laid them beside it. “What are you trying to say?”
“I think Sean was selling forged paintings. I found some papers in his thi
ngs.”
“His things?” Mamie asked.
“I was helping MaryAnn sort through them and found some old invoices and things. Anyway, he sold Church’s Lake George at least twice.”
Miles ran a hand through his hair, leaving a bunch on the left side standing straight out. Mamie put a hand up as though she wanted to brush it down but decided against it and jammed the hand in the pocket of her dress.
“Sean sold the painting twice for fifteen thousand.” Payton turned to Mamie. “Do you know anyone named Ann? There was another invoice for seventeen five made out to a woman named Ann, but there was no note as to what it was for.”
“I can’t think of anyone by that name.”
“I know a lot of Anns,” Miles said, “but none who strike me as being related in any way to Sean.”
“How well did you know him?” Payton asked.
“We met those few times I did the authentications. We never socialized. The day he burst in on Mamie and I at the gallery, I didn’t recognize him. It wasn’t till I was on my way home I realized who he was.”
Miles helped Mamie wrap the elk carving for shipment to London, and Payton went into her office and shut the door. For the first time in ages she felt like working on her memoir. While the writing program opened, she listened to Miles and Mamie bantering in the living room. Apparently he’d picked up the kitten and was cooing over her. How bad could Miles be if he cooed to a kitten? Mamie tapped on the door and announced she was taking Miles back to the airport. Payton went to say good-bye.
“I’ll check my records when I get back and call you,” Miles said. “It was nice seeing you.”
“You also. See you in the morning, Mamie,” Payton shut the door on them and went back to her book. She worked for a couple of hours, but her brain kept sidetracking to Sean and his birth mother. Payton wondered how Claire would react if she knew Payton found out her secret.
She shut down the computer, gave the kitten a good-bye hug and walked to Claire’s once again, without calling first. Definitely not apropos. Claire was in the side garden on her knees weeding. She grunted as she stood, dropping a handful of weeds atop a pile at the edge of the driveway. “Keep trying to get in better shape, but there always seems to be muscles I don’t reach.”