Lethal Dose of Love (35 page)

Chapter 40

Payton was shown into the recreation room at the nursing home where about a dozen elderly people sat, played cards or chatted. Light, sixties rock music played through invisible speakers. She followed an orderly to a table in the corner where he introduced Payton to a woman in the wheelchair. She looked up. Though her hair was white and her skin wrinkled, the eyes behind gold wires rims glittered with light that belied her age. They shook hands. Elaine Johnson’s hand wasn’t fragile and gnarled the way Payton remembered her grandmother’s. This woman was strong and alert and pumped Payton’s hand with enthusiasm.

Payton introduced herself. “I won’t keep you long.”

“Nonsense,” said Sean’s aunt. “It’s rare enough I get visitors. They told me you were coming. Sit down, please.”

Payton pulled up the closest seat, a softly padded card table chair. “Mrs. Johnson, I—”

“Call me Elaine.”

“All right. Elaine. I assume they told you your nephew Sean died?”

“Yes. The New York police called. Terrible thing to do over the phone. They asked me a lot of questions. I’m afraid I wasn’t much help.” The hand-knit blanket on her lap had started to slip and she pulled it back up. “Have they caught who did it?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid. That’s why I’m here. I’m a friend of Sean’s wife.”

“MaryAnn?”

“Do you know her?”

“We haven’t met, but Sean spoke highly of her.”

“She’s a sweet girl. But I’m afraid she’s a suspect.”

Instead of being surprised, Elaine said, “Of course she is. Isn’t the wife always the first one on the list?”

“Is there anything you can tell me that might help prove her innocence?”

Elaine gave the notion serious thought. “Are you a police officer?”

“MaryAnn works for me in my flower shop. She’s my friend and sailing partner.”

“I’ve never been sailing.”

“It’s wonderful. Exhilarating.”

Elaine laughed. “I don’t think I could stand anything exhilarating any more.”

Payton laughed too. “I feel that way sometimes lately.”

Elaine patted Payton’s arm. “Keep active. That’s the key to a long life.”

“I’ll remember that.”

She took off her glasses and blinked as though the light was too strong. She leaned forward, putting a hand on Payton’s arm. “I told the police I only heard from my nephew at Christmas, but that wasn’t quite the truth.”

Payton allowed her brows to lift slightly. Elaine grinned, showing her original teeth, still white and straight. “You look like an honest girl.” She hesitated only a second before saying, “If I tell you—you need to keep what I say to yourself.”

“I’d like to promise, but if you tell me something that helps find the murderer, I would have to report it.”

Elaine nodded. “Fair enough. My nephew was adopted.”

What!

“I see you didn’t know. My sister Edna couldn’t have children. She so wanted them.” Elaine shook her head sadly. “I lived in Sackets Harbor, just a few blocks from she and Rod. A girl, hardly more than a teen showed up in town one day and Edna hired her to work at the library. Even with the age difference they became fast friends. It wasn’t long before Edna suspected the girl was pregnant.”

“Do you know the girl’s name?”

Edna raised a finger. “Give me a moment, it’ll come to me.”

Payton’s elation soared. She didn’t need to hear a name. Claire Bastian had been pregnant when she arrived in Sackets Harbor. Giving up her baby to her best friend probably seemed like the perfect solution. Thinking she’d get to watch him grow up must have eased that measure of guilt she had to feel. But, watch him grow into a naughty child, an immoral man, a philanderer, a thief—all things that offended Claire’s sense of morality had to be one of the hardest things she’d ever had to endure.

This was more than interesting. But how did it relate to Sean’s murder?

“The girls’ parents threw her out when they learned she was pregnant. I can’t understand parents. When their child needs them the most they throw them out like week old hamburger. Edna asked my opinion about adopting the baby. I thought it was a great idea. The three of them went away together. When the baby was born, the young lady returned to Sackets Harbor. A month later, Edna and Rod went home with their little boy, Sean Stephen.” Elaine pursed pink Cupie-doll lips. “Ooh, the girls’ name was right on the tip of my tongue. No fear, I’ll remember it.”

“Is she still in Sackets Harbor?”

“She was in ’95. That’s when I moved here. I thought I wanted a warmer climate. Since I’ve trusted you so far, and you haven’t said anything to disappoint me, I think I’ll show you my other secret.”

Elaine accepted Payton’s offer to push the wheelchair. “Turn right here.”

Elaine’s room was clean but absolutely clogged with memorabilia, from family photos to framed newspaper clippings, magazines and knickknacks. She laughed. “I just can’t seem to part with anything.”

“No need to apologize.”

Elaine wheeled herself to the closet and slid open the door. “Would you mind getting that cardboard box in the back?”

Payton ducked inside the closet that smelled of a combination of mothballs and herb potpourri. She lifted the breadbox size carton over a half-dozen pairs of shoes and set it on the bed. She stood back while Elaine opened the flaps.

“A long time ago—probably ten years or so—Sean sent me an envelope and asked me to hold it in case something happened to him. Every once in a while since then, he’s sent similar envelopes. I’ve stored them all in this box. I think it’s time I passed them along. Maybe something here can help find his killer.” She wheeled backward then gestured at the box.

“You’re sure you want me to have this?”

“Yes. You’re MaryAnn’s friend, and you were Sean’s, so I think you’re the best person to take charge of it.”

Payton asked one last question before heading back to the airport. “Did Sean know he was adopted?”

“Edna never told him. She was waiting until he was old enough to handle it emotionally. But something he said a couple of years ago led me to believe he did know. He said, ‘My real mother would never have done that,’ and hung up before I could ask what he meant.”

Could Sean’s parentage have anything to do with his death? Had he somehow found out the truth of his birth? From what she knew about him, he wouldn’t take the news lying down. He’d insist on knowing his mother’s real name.

****

On the plane, Payton sat with several of the envelopes in her lap. Each was sealed and bore a date—all written by the same hand—in the upper left hand corner. The first was dated April 16, 1990, when Sean was almost twelve years old. It was difficult picturing him as a child. The hard lines at the corners of his mouth must have been softer, the blue eyes more innocent.

She slid a fingernail under the flap. Inside was a newspaper clipping, the creases sharp, the ink still clear—

“Prominent Sackets Harbor Couple Killed in Burglary.”

Last night, in a daring home invasion, Edna and Rodney Adams were brutally murdered while their twelve-year-old son slept in an upstairs bedroom. Investigating Detective David Currier stated that he received a call from the hysterical boy at three minutes past seven in the morning. The child was nearly incoherent as he explained how he’d awakened to find his parents dead.

Currier arrived on the scene and determined that Rodney must have heard sounds coming from the living room as the burglars went through their belongings. It looked as though he’d gone to the room carrying Sean’s baseball bat but had been stabbed several times before he could use it. There was no hair or blood on the bat. Currier then found Mrs. Adams in her bed, stabbed also, once in the heart.

Sean was able to point out a number of items that were missing: a television, a pair of silver candlesticks, a set of dinnerware, a silver money clip, and a painting of Commodore Melancthon Brooks Woolsey.

“Holy shit,” Payton whispered, receiving an indulgent smile from her seatmate.

Though Sean had only been 12 years old, she was now absolutely certain he had killed Edna and Rodney. The fact that he was in possession of two of the stolen items—the painting and the money clip—was proof incontrovertible.

Payton ran a possible scenario through her mind. He’d learned of the circumstances surrounding his adoption and savagely stabbed them when they refused to divulge his birth mother’s name. To make it look like a random burglary gone bad he’d taken some of the Adams’s most valuable belongings. Trouble was, he hadn’t been able to part with them.

The next envelope was dated November 1994. Inside was a newspaper clipping. The headline screamed “Insurance Salesman, Longtime Resident of Sackets Harbor Found Dead.” A dreadful feeling pelted her like sleet off the bay. The sensation didn’t improve as she read how Aden discovered Harry Brice’s body at the bottom of the cellar stairs. Brice’s death was listed as accidental, his physical problems blamed for his tumble down the old stairs. Another small clipping documented the case Brice had filed against Sean on behalf of his sixteen-year-old daughter. The case had been dropped.

Payton wished she had a very strong drink, because the whole thing suddenly made sense. Aunt Elaine’s box of goodies wasn’t a collection of papers and tidbits about Sean’s life; it was a documented list of his exploits. Not only had Sean murdered his parents, Payton would bet he’d also murdered old man Brice, probably as retaliation for socking him with the lawsuit.

But the charges were dropped.

Maybe they were dropped because Sean threatened the family. A migraine formed at the nape of her neck. Payton rubbed her forehead, then tucked the article and the envelope into her bag and leaned back on the seat with her eyes closed.

What to do with the information? If she told authorities about Sean’s adoption, they’d ultimately find out about Claire. That would ruin her reputation, and she’d done nothing but desire a better life for her son. It was obvious Sean hadn’t been able to beat the information about his parentage from Rodney and Edna—if that was the real reason they’d been killed. If he had, he’d have been all over Claire, possibly murdered her too. Payton shivered, garnering another tolerant look from the man in the seat beside her.

So how had Sean found out? And what could any of this have to do with Sean’s murder?

It was well after midnight when Payton pulled into her driveway, with a migraine to rival all migraines. She pushed the garage door button and drove inside. She’d turned off the key, removed her things from the trunk and gotten all the way into the kitchen before realizing there had been a car in Aden’s driveway. Elation pulsed through her at the same rhythm as her headache. Aden was back!

She ran to the living room and pulled the curtain aside. His bright silver BMW was in its usual spot. The porch light wasn’t on. That was unusual. There were no lights inside. That was unusual too. When home, he always kept a light burning in the hallway.

Payton considered rushing across and banging on his door until he opened it, bleary-eyed and wearing that gray pinstriped dressing gown that made him look so handsome. Okay, it made him look sexy. Either way, he’d put out his strong arms and she’d rush into them, and cry until she was depleted.

Instead, she let the curtain drop, turned and started for her office but tripped on something. She smiled and picked Maggie up. The kitten’s obvious happiness to see her made Payton feel better than a pound of chocolate. Cuddling the cat, she returned to the office and checked the answering machine. While the tape clicked through the preliminary motions, she fondled Maggie’s soft fur and laid her cheek against the tiny rib cage, listening to the ragged purring.

A click and Helen’s voice said she needed to talk to her. A beep, then Claire’s voice saying pretty much the same thing. Something had happened, but right now Payton wasn’t curious. Tired. She was so tired. The third message was from Aden. “I’m on the way home. Missed you very much. Can’t wait to see you. Am wondering where you are so late though. I hope everything is all right.” The machine clicked off.

She downed a pair of painkillers and leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the sliding doors. What a horrible burden Sean had bestowed upon his aunt. All the way home, Payton’s adrenaline had pumped, anxiety propelling her to dig further into that box, but now that she was here the urge had abated. She didn’t want to know what else Sean had done.

Part of her wished she’d never gone to Texas.

Payton and Maggie lay in bed. Maggie didn’t have any trouble sleeping, but once again Payton lay with her eyes open and her mind working overtime. Sean Adams. Handsome, suave, exuding class and sophistication—until he opened his mouth. His words, his smile, and his attitudes contradicted it all.

What else was in the box Elaine had entrusted to her? Was there was an envelope dated somewhere during the past month—an envelope telling about Payton’s dismissal from the St. Angelina’s School? How Sean had gotten hold of the information she had no idea. The news never hit the outside world. Even though Principal Barrett let Payton go, he’d said he hadn’t believed a word of the boy’s allegations. For that she was grateful, because she hadn’t done anything wrong. The boy, a Richard somebody—Payton tried, but couldn’t recall his surname. God, what was wrong with her that she couldn’t recall the name of the person who’d ruined her career? This Richard kid had come to school to pick up his sister Stephanie. He came every day to get her. Carlson, that was the last name. That afternoon Stephanie had gone to the school library to get something, and was gone when Richard came to retrieve her. Payton had told him where she was yet he elected to wait around.