Lethal Dose of Love Read online

  The liquor was locked in the bottom of the cabinet, away from prying fingers. She sorted through the mostly full bottles and selected the small one at the back. Frangelico. It had been Cameron’s favorite bedtime drink. Not something that was usually to her taste. For a long time, she cradled the bottle against her chest. She took a crystal glass and went to the kitchen, ignoring the tears blurring her vision.

  As she passed the cellar door, she opened it and peered into the darkness of the stairwell. Harry Brice had fallen to his death here. Aden must have suffered a serious guilt trip on discovering the body, wishing he’d been home days earlier to have perhaps saved him.

  She put the bottle and glass on the counter and dialed Aden’s cell phone. Several clicks and weird noises were followed by ringing, and more ringing. She listened until the automated operator began her spiel about Aden’s number being out of service. Maybe it was just as simple as him leaving his phone charger at home.

  If that were the case, why hadn’t he called on a regular phone?

  By moonlight, she poured a couple of ounces of the smooth brown liquid and took it to the patio. The breeze chilled the tears on her cheeks. Golden stars sparkled in an ebony sky. A few lights shone in the harbor below. Conversational voices wafted between the trees. Fireflies flickered inches above her lawn that needed mowing. Aden wouldn’t be doing it for her. Not any more. He’d spend his time stamping out license plates in the penitentiary. Would she go visit him? She shivered at the thought but decided she probably would. But wait! Aden hadn’t bought a poisonous plant. He hadn’t bought any plants.

  Why use a plant as a murder weapon? Why not a knife or gun? Why take a chance the poison wouldn’t work, or might kill someone else? Which it had.

  Was a similar sergeant questioning Frank’s friends and relatives as diligently as Espinoza was working the Sackets Harbor residents?

  What was the killer plant? Payton wished her plant book were here instead of at the shop. She thought about going down to get it; she’d even taken her jacket from the closet when an awful thought hit with the physicality of a club. What if the killer purposely used a plant from her shop in order to incriminate her?

  She hung up the jacket, went to the kitchen for a larger glass, filled it to the brim and went to boot up her computer. But Payton didn’t open the book file. She clicked on the Internet and, after some searching, found botanical.com, a site featuring poisonous plants. It had a frightening list that in the end didn’t help Payton determine what plant it might have been. There were so many that could kill. The site also said that most plant poisons were indefinable after death. That was probably why Espinoza wanted her to pinpoint the plants she’d sold—to narrow down the possibilities.

  * * * *

  7 a.m. The doorbell rang. Payton was already up but still wearing beat-up velour sweats. Sergeant Espinoza stood on the stoop.

  “Don’t you ever sleep?” She backed to let him in, shut the door, returned to the kitchen, slid on the stool and went back to eating breakfast. She could feel him standing in the doorway behind her. “Pour yourself some coffee. Mugs are just above the machine.”

  He obeyed and then sat across the table, pushing the cup forward and laying that irritating notebook before him.

  “I assume this isn’t a social call. Did you find Aden?”

  After a couple of long beats, Espinoza said, “I have a warrant to search your shop. I wanted to get to it early so you can still open on time.”

  “That was very considerate of you.” His expression said she hadn’t been able to keep the sarcasm from her voice. “Are you looking for poisonous plants?”

  “Mostly.”

  “What makes you think the plant came from my shop?”

  “We’re checking nurseries too, if that makes you feel any better.”

  “Not really.” She stood up. “I’ll be dressed in a minute.”

  * * * *

  Payton watched out the window of the sergeant’s car. She was pretty sure a curtain moved in Helen’s upstairs window and stifled a wave. Two carloads of officers in unmarked cars sat in the parking lot beside the building. She let the men in and went to sit behind the counter, surprised not to be the least bit nervous. She took out the sales book while the men pawed through her store.

  Espinoza approached. “You mentioned a book on poisonous plants. Could I see it?”

  “I don’t have a book on poisonous plants. I have several on ‘regular’ plants and it tells which ones are poisonous in the blurb describing each one.” She reached under the counter.

  “You could save time if you told me which ones to look for.”

  She grinned and reached into her backpack on the floor behind her stool. “I made a list last night.” Seeing his raised eyebrows she explained, “After you asked about poison plants I was curious.” She handed him the list. “I got these off a site called botanical.com.”

  He read out loud, “Larkspur, poinsettia, lily of the valley, hydrangea, monkshood, buttercup, oleander, Star of Bethlehem, and several varieties of lily. Do you sell any of these here?”

  “In stock I have lily of the valley, the monkshood and hydrangea. I had the Star of Bethlehem until the other day. I just ordered more. If I were you, I’d check the monkshood first. Apparently the entire plant is poisonous, even the root. Lily of the valley is too, but to a far lesser degree. The active chemical ingredient in monkshood is aconite and it’s highly toxic. One fiftieth of a grain will kill a sparrow in a few seconds. A tenth of a grain can kill a rabbit in five minutes.”

  A slow hiss of air escaped between the sergeant’s teeth as he scribbled.

  “One problem,” she continued. “Over the past ten years, scientists have discovered the medicinal properties of aconite. Cold pills, ointments and tinctures now contain some. Last night I wondered whether it was possible to make a poisonous mixture from one of the medicines.”

  Espinoza made notes. “You said you do have monkshood here in the store?” He shadowed her out to the patio.

  She pointed at the plant sitting innocently in the center of the wicker table. “This is aconitum napellus. Apparently this variety is the most toxic.”

  Sergeant Espinoza hesitated only a second before picking it up with his fingertips. “I’ll need to take this to headquarters.”

  “I’ll box it so it won’t bite you.”

  When Payton returned carrying the plant, most of Espinoza’s team had gone. “I’ll need a list of people who bought these, and your supplier’s name.”

  “I’ll get it, but there’s something you might be overlooking. One: someone could conceivably come in and have stolen parts of the plant. Two: this plant grows wild in the woods. It enjoys shady spots with lots of water. Like on the edge of a marsh. There must be dozens of areas like that around here.”

  “How many leaves would someone need? What would they do with them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me about MaryAnn Adams. How did she come to ask for a job?”

  “She’s been trying to save money so she can afford to move out of the house she and Sean shared. She wanted a job that paid more than the Galley,” Payton lied. Let the sergeant find out the real reason for himself: that she’d left because of someone Sean had been dating at the restaurant.

  “She hasn’t been back to the house in Chaumont since he died.”

  “Do you blame her? Sergeant, you can’t be thinking she killed Sean.”

  “Don’t you feel it’s a little suspicious that the day before her husband dies, she comes to work in a shop that contains poisonous plants?”

  “I suppose someone in your position might look at it that way.” Damn, had MaryAnn come there for that purpose? No way. The woman suffered Sean’s abuse for years. She was just about to move out of his life. Why would she suddenly decide to kill?

  Maybe, faced with the reality of her departure, Sean wouldn’t let her go. MaryAnn represented his failure in their marriage. Failure was one thing he didn’t handle
easily. Payton glanced at the sergeant and saw in his eyes he knew what she’d just been thinking.

  “I understood she moved out of their house Wednesday night,” Payton said.

  “Telling, don’t you think?”

  “You’ll have to ask her.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She told me she got a motel room but didn’t say where.”

  “We’ve checked all the surrounding motels and she’s not in any of them. When is she scheduled to work next?”

  “Today, but she’s been in shock. I’m not sure she’ll be in.”

  “Tell me about your husband’s murder.”

  Payton’s breath went out of her as though she’d been struck from behind. Her head spun and she grabbed for something solid, which ended up being the sergeant’s arm. He lowered her to the stool. When her vision cleared, she said, “No. I will not talk about that.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  “If everyone will sit down, we’ll get started.”

  Five metal folding chairs were arranged in a semi-circle in front of Mamie’s stool. Her easel, holding a tall pad of paper, faced the empty chairs. Payton, Helen, Felicia and Amanda chatted near the refreshment table while waiting for the class to start. Helen stood uncharacteristically to one side. Her face was pale. She held her keys in her left hand and rattled them in an unconscious gesture. Payton took them from her fingers and dropped them into her oversized handbag, receiving an appreciative look from Felicia who slid the bag under the middle chair.

  “We’ll get started as soon as Sylvie arrives.”

  “Claire’s not coming?”

  “I don’t think so. She hates painting. Besides, she just not—lately she’s just not right.”

  “I don’t think Sylvie is either,” Helen said.

  “Coming…or quite right?” asked Felicia. No one responded.

  “Yesterday Sylvie told me she would be here.” Mamie said.

  “We had a…a confrontation,” Helen said. She sat heavily in the end chair. Her knuckles were white against her black flowered dress. “I didn’t have time to bake anything for our get-together so I stopped at the supermarket on the way here. I was trying to decide between the pastry and the cookies when Sylvie came up beside me. I said hello. She looked at me, her face turned red and she started shouting at me. Shouting. She said I was the l-lowest form of scum on this earth and I should be ashamed of myself. She said I should c-crawl in a hole and die.”

  A chorus of “nos” and “whats!” came from the women.

  “Did she say what was wrong?” Felicia asked.

  “I haven’t spoken to her since the day of the race.” Helen’s round body trembled. Amanda poured her a paper cup of water. “Everyone in the place was listening. It was terrible. The manager came over and told us to take it outside like we were some sort of street brawlers or something.”

  Suddenly Amanda laughed, and then so did Felicia. Payton almost did too. The vision of Helen and Sylvie rolling on the supermarket floor, pulling hair and screaming obscenities among spilled oranges and yams, was very vivid.

  “I’m sure it didn’t help that I threw a tomato at her,” Helen admitted softly.

  “What!”

  “I couldn’t help it. I was so mortified she’d spoken to me that way. You all know me. I’ve always said that if any of you have a problem, just come to me so we can talk about it.”

  “Helen,” said Mamie, the only one of the five able to maintain a totally serious air. “I can’t picture you throwing things.”

  “Are you all forgetting that time at the Wanderlust meeting when Sean told everyone he was going to become a life insurance salesman?” Felicia said with a laugh. “She threw a blueberry scone at him saying what a terrible agent he’d make because he’d chase all the wives and he’d be the one to need the policies.”

  The corners of Helen’s lips twitched.

  “You really did that?” Payton asked.

  “’Fraid so,” Helen said.

  “I always felt sorry for his poor mother,” Mamie said. “Having him late in life the way she did, and then having him turn out to be such a bad boy.”

  “In what way was he bad?” Payton asked.

  “He was always into something,” Mamie said. “Conning kids out of their lunch money and toys. He was arrested at least once for breaking and entering when he was about twelve.”

  “Didn’t he also get arrested once for rape?” Felicia asked.

  “Attempted,” said Helen. “It was that young Brice girl, Zoe.”

  “Isn’t that the family who lived in my house?” Payton asked. “I thought Harry Brice only had one son.”

  “No, there was a daughter too. She left town just after the trial. She’s never been back, that I know of. The judge practically laughed the case out of court. She was a bit of a…”

  “Tramp,” finished Amanda. “Where did she go? I mean, she couldn’t have been more than fifteen.”

  “Sixteen, I think,” Helen said. “She went to live with relatives in Oregon. The family had been about to send her away anyhow. She’d been in a lot of trouble.”

  “So Sean didn’t really rape her?”

  “No. At least nobody thought so at the time.” Helen shifted in her chair and sighed. “I’m sure my escapade in the supermarket will make the front page of this week’s Gazette.” Some of Helen’s color had returned and she was seeing a little humor in the situation.

  “I can see the headlines now,” Felicia said. “Helen Mortenson’s first pitch of the season is a strike.”

  “What was she angry about?” Payton asked.

  “That’s the thing. I have no idea.”

  They finally got down to the lesson, but the air was heavy.

  It wasn’t fifteen minutes before Payton wondered how Mamie could possibly be such a bad teacher. She was impatient almost to the point of being rude. At one point Helen looked at both she and Felicia and raised her eyebrows.

  Mamie seemed nervous, glancing often at the clock. Several times Payton almost asked what was wrong. But Mamie was a naturally anxious person; this could be perfectly normal behavior.

  Payton’s mind wandered as she worked on her painting of an herb garden. What had upset Sylvie to the point of making a scene? Could it have something to do with Sean’s death?

  An hour later, Felicia and Amanda left carrying the new portfolios Mamie had provided. Payton snapped the art case shut and picked it up by the two narrow handles. “Is everything all right between you and Claire? You seem a bit out of sorts.”

  “No. Yes. Oh, I don’t know. Claire’s been…strange since Sean’s death. So serious. And so—I don’t know—weird. Did you know she’s been out jogging?”

  “What’s strange about that?”

  “She always said it was a waste of time and wrecked your joints. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. And I don’t know what to do.”

  Helen patted Mamie’s shoulder. “This whole thing’s hit her hard. I’ll go see her on my way home. I’ll tell her about my run-in with Sylvie. That should get her laughing again.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re over it,” Payton said.

  Helen shrugged. “Eventually I’ll find out what ticked her off. Till then, I’m not going to worry about it. There’re enough immediate things to keep my mind occupied.”

  Mamie locked the door. Payton refused rides home and walked, downtown instead of home. Dusk had descended. A pale gray-yellow light outlined the opposite shore of the lake, near Long Point. Payton crossed the street and let herself into her shop. An uncomfortable feeling lurked at the back of her mind. As she sat behind the counter, the feeling took shape in the form of a headache, carving a relentless path through her brain. She dug through her purse for a bottle of pain pills. As the ache marched from the nape of her neck up between her ears, her thoughts grew jumbled. There was something she should be remembering.

  Almost in a trance, she locked the door, leaving the ficus plants on the sidewalk. She gave them “you�
�d better be there in the morning” glances and started up Main Street. Statistics said that traditionally women used poison as a murder weapon, but could she picture any of her friends actually doing so? There was obviously some animosity between Felicia and Sean. Was it enough to compel her to murder?

  And Helen. She admitted being one of Sean’s advocates, chalking his exploits up to youthful exuberance. Was his last deed with the empty store enough to finally make her realize what a low-down snake he was? What about Helen’s husband, Carter? On the surface, he seemed easygoing and agreeable. He’d stayed out of Sean and Helen’s business dealings, but could he be sick of Helen sticking up for Sean all the time?

  Using the empty shop as a motive, wasn’t it possible Mamie killed him? She wanted the contract with Miles Arenheim more than anything in the world. Even though Payton offered her home, had Mamie been unable to let go of the emotion?

  Amanda said if Edward found out what she’d paid for Commodore, he’d kill her. Would he be more likely to take his anger out on Sean? If Claire had a motive it totally escaped Payton. Claire was far too levelheaded to let Sean talk her into buying paintings she didn’t want. She was too logical to let what he did to Mamie rule her emotions. She was the type to go out and find Mamie another venue. It’s said anyone can murder given the right set of circumstances but Payton just couldn’t picture Claire as a murderess.

  Who else? Sylvie? Payton didn’t know anything much about her except what she’d been told: she was in her early sixties, had been divorced for quite some time and owned Sackets Harbor Real Estate. And that lately Sylvie was acting out of character. Payton had seen signs of the opinionated behavior for herself. Suddenly she had the urge to talk to the woman. Thankfully, seven thirty wasn’t too late to make a social visit. She made tracks to Sylvie’s house.