Lethal Dose of Love Page 14

  The bell over the door jangled. She rose and went inside, heaving a sigh seeing Sergeant Espinoza’s bulk in the door. After Aden’s comment about poison, she didn’t feel at all comfortable seeing the officer standing there. “Good afternoon, Ms. Winters.”

  He sounded pleasant, like he’d come in looking for a birthday gift for his wife, but his motives weren’t sociable. He’d question, cajole and badger everyone until the case was solved. She couldn’t blame him, just like she hadn’t blamed the Minneapolis authorities. They were doing their jobs. One good thing about this case, she wouldn’t be on the suspect list.

  “I thought we got the questions out of the way last night.”

  “Don’t you watch Columbo?” He grinned. “There’s always something we forget the first time.”

  The bell over the door tinkled behind him. He stepped out of the way. It was Felicia. Her eyes widened seeing him there. She spun on her heel and left before he could get all the way turned around to see who it was.

  “Who was that?”

  “Felicia Featherstone.”

  His brow puckered and he leaned to watch her hurrying up the sidewalk. When she’d disappeared, he turned back to Payton. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Not here.”

  “What time do you close?”

  “Five thirty.”

  “I’ll come to your house.”

  “I, er…have an appointment later. Can’t we do this tomorrow?”

  Espinoza put his notebook back in his pocket and opened the door. “I will be at your home at five thirty-five.”

  At 5:37, Payton stepped out of Payton’s Place. It was drizzling, the air heavy, a downpour imminent. She tilted the umbrella forward to keep the mist out of her face. Her thoughts were a jumble. The most recent was regret for offering her house for Mamie’s exhibit. Now wasn’t a good time to have strangers milling about. She wanted to be alone, to hide in her office working on her book. The psychoanalyst’s words rang in Payton’s ears. “Get out of your rut. Do something therapeutic.” “What the hell might that be?” Payton had asked and she’d replied, “Write a book. Cameron’s death made national headlines, but no one ever heard the personal, inside story. It’ll be therapy for you and will let people know the man they read about for so many years. Like Aristotle Onassis, how much had you heard about him before he married Jackie Kennedy?”

  So Payton bought a computer and started on her novel—Winter Chronicles. In Minneapolis, ghosts pervaded her every waking minute—and most of the sleeping ones. The analyst recommended moving away and she’d picked Sackets Harbor. The choice had been easy. She and Cameron had spent their honeymoon here away from paparazzi, cameras, news. It was a small town where no one recognized him.

  Unfortunately, when Payton moved here, so had the ghosts. They gummed up her keyboard, cluttered her thoughts. She had to get out of the house, busy her mind with something other than Cameron. The result was the shop. So far it had been a wonderful distraction.

  The wind changed, blowing the mist from behind. Payton tipped the umbrella back but it did little good. She turned left onto Broad Street, now the mist blew in from the left. Just a few blocks to go. Maybe having the gallery at the house wouldn’t be so bad, it would only be open two nights a week, Friday and Saturday, and only until 6. She was at the shop until 5:30 every day anyway.

  The rain blew down the neck of her raincoat. She shivered. Even so, she turned and walked the other way. The library would be open about twenty more minutes, and she suddenly needed to talk to Claire.

  * * * *

  Payton stood in the library vestibule shaking off the water. She leaned the umbrella against the doorframe. Rhythmic squeaking came from the nonfiction area and Payton went that way.

  Claire pushed the book cart out of the way. “I thought I heard someone come in.”

  “I didn’t feel like going home. That sergeant is waiting for me.”

  “What more could they ask anybody? I think I even gave them my underwear size.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Payton gave a shudder, which Claire must’ve mistook for a reaction to the weather. “Want a cup of tea or something?”

  “No, thanks. You got a minute to talk?”

  A flicker of surprise crossed Claire’s face but quickly vanished. Payton followed her into a cluttered office behind the main desk. Claire apologized for the mess. “We’re getting ready for the annual book sale. We get a lot of donations. It’s a good fundraiser. I don’t suppose you’d volunteer to help out?”

  “Sure.” Payton sat in a hard wooden chair. The one behind the desk squeaked when Claire dropped into it. Payton leaned forward and spoke low. “Sean and Frank didn’t drown, they were murdered.”

  Claire’s hand went to her breast. Her eyes showed white all around. She got up and looked out into the library. Payton was pretty sure this was a delay tactic. Claire needed the time to gather herself. She returned, cheeks flushed. She didn’t sit. “That’s why I came to your shop this morning. I thought we could talk.”

  “That was nice of you to take MaryAnn home. How is she?”

  “I put a sleeping pill in her tea.” Claire sat again. “What else did Aden say?”

  “He thinks they were poisoned.”

  “P-poison?” Claire blinked several times then gave a thoughtful nod. “It makes sense. What else could kill two otherwise healthy men at the same time? I never believed Vaughn’s theory about a freak wave.”

  “There was no wave. I was there.”

  Claire frowned. “But, the timing—” The clock out front chimed 6:00. She went to lock the door.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Payton asked. “What about the timing?”

  “What?”

  “You mentioned something about timing.”

  Claire shook her head. “Sorry, I lost my train of thought.” She removed her jacket from a hanger on the back of the door and took a string of keys from the pocket. Payton trailed her through the big doors and watched Claire lock the building.

  “You walked? In this weather?”

  “The weather report said sunny and seasonably warm. Thank goodness I keep a raincoat and umbrella at the shop.” Payton popped open the umbrella and set it over their heads. Claire unlocked her car. “Do you want a ride home?”

  “All right, thanks.” Payton had hoped Claire would offer. Maybe she could jog the woman’s memory on the subject of timing. But the determined way Claire turned the hatchback onto Broad Street and the firm set to her jaw said she’d “remembered” all she could. She was silent all the way to Payton’s house.

  “Want to come in? There’s a bottle of brandy that’s been calling to me all afternoon.”

  Claire’s manner softened. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  They headed up the newly laid brick walk. “Your house is a showplace.”

  “Thanks, I like it.”

  The house had turned out even better than she expected. It was now a full-fledged Spanish hacienda, complete with pastel stucco and a jade tree out front. Granted, the tree would come indoors in winter, but it fit the setting perfectly. It was especially nice right now because it wasn’t decorated with a police car.

  Aroma from the pair of luculia gratissimas on the small table in the sitting room wafted out when she opened the door. Payton inhaled and smiled, closed the umbrella and leaned it against the wall. The place had undergone a noticeable transformation since morning. The walls were collaged with paintings and murals. Sculptures and figurines decorated tabletops in place of her Mexican vases and statuary.

  “Mamie and Miles have worked hard.” Payton hung her raincoat in the hall closet and kicked off her shoes. A light went on upstairs.

  Tap tap, came a sound from upstairs. Tap tap.

  “Mamie?”

  Mamie’s head and shoulders popped into view over the railing. “Hi. Come see what I’ve done up here. Oh, hi, Claire.”

  When Payton and Claire reached the upstairs landing, Mamie pulled
Payton into a bear hug. “I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

  “You’ve thanked me enough. I’m glad I could help. We need to celebrate. Come have some brandy with us. Is Miles still here?”

  “I’ll just finish hanging this last painting. No, he left an hour ago.”

  Payton took the bottle from the hutch against the stairway wall. Instead of her heavy ceramic plates, the shelves now held tiny ivory statuettes. In the kitchen, she turned on a low-watt lamp that threw a delicate glow around the room. She took three snifters from the cabinet above the stove and set them on the counter.

  “Claire, would you pour for me? I have to make a quick phone call.”

  Payton didn’t bother turning on a light in her office. She pushed speed dial number one. There was a ring at the other end. Aden’s voice said, “Hello.”

  “Hi.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “All right, I guess.”

  “Busy day?”

  “The worst. All those people coming in just to ask questions.”

  Aden laughed. “All that matters is they spent big bucks.”

  Payton felt his enthusiasm and chuckled too. “My biggest day so far.”

  “Are we still on for tonight?”

  “Can’t wait. Can you pick me up a little earlier though? That police sergeant said he was coming. I want to be gone before he arrives.”

  The sound of a throat being cleared came from the doorway. There stood the big sergeant with a not so fatherly look on his face.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Sergeant Espinoza rotated on a shiny booted heel and left the room. After a moment, both Claire and Mamie passed the doorway wearing deer-caught-in-headlights faces. They slid into their jackets in stunned silence. The sergeant stood behind them, arms crossed, legs splayed.

  Claire poked her head around the office door. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Payton!” came Aden’s voice through the phone. “Are you all right? What’s going on over there?”

  “N-nothing’s wrong, I have to go.” She hung up the phone.

  The front door closed. Espinoza stalked into the office and sat. With the slow precision of a Rolex, he opened his notebook, withdrew a pen and poised it over the page. Payton swallowed hard.

  “Care to explain what I just heard?”

  She wanted to say, “not really,” but opened her mouth and told the truth. “Simple, I just don’t feel like answering any more questions.”

  “In fifteen years with the department I’ve learned two things: there are no coincidences and…nothing’s ever simple.”

  “Well, you’ll have to change your theory because that’s all it was. I have a date tonight and—” As if on cue, the front door opened and Aden stormed inside. If surprised, Espinoza didn’t show it. He did get up from the chair and expand to his full height and breadth, which didn’t intimidate Aden one iota.

  “What’s going on here?” Aden growled.

  “Just some questions.”

  “I don’t like your tactics. I heard her voice on the phone. You’ve got her scared to death. After what she went through yesterday…”

  “Look at her, sir. She’s no more frightened than you or I.”

  Payton tried to don what she thought was a troubled look, but Aden’s expression said she’d failed. “He overheard me tell you to hurry and he took it to mean I have something to hide.”

  “Aaaah.” Aden drew out the sound while he processed the information.

  “I guess he thinks I poisoned Sean then dove overboard to try and rescue him.”

  The sergeant perked forward like a Doberman on guard. “Who said anything about poison?”

  “Aden and I were talking, and we decided that’s probably how Sean died.”

  “I’d like you to leave now,” the sergeant said to Aden.

  Aden backed out of the room, giving the officer an “I’ll be keeping my eye on you” look.

  Sergeant Espinoza sat, crossing right leg over left. There was a smudge on his boot. She figured a man so well pressed and polished would want to know about it, so she didn’t say anything.

  “Where were you Wednesday night, the night before the race? Start around supper time.”

  Why did he want to know her whereabouts? He couldn’t possibly think she had anything to do with this. “I closed the shop and walked home. I cooked dinner and worked in here a while. Then I went to bed.”

  “Alone?”

  “What sort of question is that?” The words were no sooner out of her mouth when she realized their significance. “You’re checking my alibi. But, why me?”

  “Did you leave the house at all? Go for a walk? To the supermarket? Gas station?”

  Payton pretended to think, even though she was sure of where she’d been—right here. There was no way she could prove it except for when Aden had called around 10 p.m.

  Where did Espinoza want her to have been? Probably somewhere around the marina. Whatever happened to Sean and Frank must have something to do with the MaryAnn. Thankfully, she’d never taken Sean up on any of his proposals. Her fingerprints, or whatever evidence they collected, was nowhere among any of his things, except maybe in the café dining room where she’d eaten once, weeks ago.

  “I didn’t leave the house.”

  “Did you use the phone?”

  “I made a couple of calls.”

  “Mind telling me to whom?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Tell me and I’ll go away,” he said in that infuriatingly calm, even tone of voice.

  “I think you’re going anyway.” Payton pushed her chair back, hard.

  Espinoza didn’t get up, though he did uncross his right leg and cross the left one over it. Payton leaned wearily against the desk.

  “What sort of relationship did you and Sean have?”

  “Sean Adams and I didn’t have any relationship, and I resent you insinuating that we did.”

  “I didn’t mean that sort of relationship. Necessarily.”

  Of course he hadn’t meant that right off the bat. He’d beat around the subject first. “I’m sure you’ve heard Sean and I didn’t get along.”

  Espinoza waited.

  Should she tell him? He already knew they disliked one another. It was possible he already knew why. “There are paintings for sale in his restaurant. I asked about one by Frederic Edwin Church. We couldn’t agree on a price.”

  The sergeant’s eyes took in the imported furnishings and antique books on the shelf behind him.

  “Just because I can afford expensive things doesn’t mean I buy them.”

  “Continue.”

  “That’s all.”

  “What about the argument you had in the middle of the street?”

  “It was about the painting. He asked for his money. I told him I’d never agreed on a price, and it went from there.”

  “Were there any threats made?”

  She thought back. The exact content of the discussion escaped her, but she couldn’t recall any specific threats. She shook her head.

  “How did you feel about him besides that situation?”

  “I didn’t like him. He was too full of himself. He wears women as badges of honor.”

  “He ever ask you out?”

  “Yes. And no, I didn’t go.”

  “How did he react to that?”

  “He said I’d change my mind.” She picked up a pen and began twirling it in her fingers. “Besides, Sean is married. I don’t date married men.”

  “I understand he’s getting divorced.”

  “It’s what I heard.”

  “Many women don’t care whether a man’s married or not.”

  She slapped the pen down. “I’m not one of them.”

  He was trying to make her angry and almost succeeded. She folded her arms and let her irritation pour out through fingertips clutching the fabric of her blouse. “Look, Sergeant, I’m new in town. I haven’t known Sean long enough to want him dead.�
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  “It doesn’t take long to develop a hatred for someone. Take the man who rapes a woman. In one brief flash of time, she’s been violated beyond anything she’s ever experienced. She feels hatred, revulsion and horror. She could conceivably do something completely contrary to her calm nature and kill the perpetrator.”

  “If that’s what you’re trying to suggest happened here you can forget it.”

  “No, Ms. Winters. I was just making a point. Now tell me why you believe Mr. Adams was poisoned.”

  “Aden said that in his line of work—”

  “What experience has Mr. Green got with poisons?”

  “Well, none that I know of. He said he’s seen it happen in his line of work, a prime minister or emir just keels over dead. He said it always turns out they were poisoned.”

  “What sort of poison do you think might have been used on Sean?”

  “I don’t know anything about poisons. It was just talk. I bet half the people in town are talking about it right now. We’re all curious to know how Sean died. Simple as that.” She stressed the word simple.

  “So you expect me to believe you didn’t kill Sean.”

  “Of course that’s what I want you to believe. Sean was just a pain in the neck, like a mosquito.”

  “What do people do to mosquitoes?” The sergeant smacked the notebook shut, stood and shook out the creases of his slacks. Payton didn’t follow him to the front door.

  She wiped her palms on her slacks and marched to the kitchen. The three glasses of brandy Claire had poured were on the counter. She downed the contents of one, and then the second. The silky liquid spread a blanket of warmth down her throat, insides and then into her somewhat steadier legs. She took the third glass and went out to the patio.

  The rain had stopped, but the feel of it was still heavy in the air. The newly planted garden scents: oregano, thyme and lavender were calming. She sipped the brandy, feeling more like the Payton of several years ago. The Payton she wanted to be.