Lethal Dose of Love (10 page)

Confusion trickled between his fingers along with blood from his nose.

Claire narrowed her eyes, took a few steps forward, and aimed a finger inches from his face. “Your poor dead mother would be ashamed. Now young man, tuck your sorry tail between your legs and get the hell out of here.”

Another dribble of red oozed between Sean’s fingers and onto his leather bomber jacket. He glanced down at it, then back to the pair of women. “You haven’t heard the end of this.”

“Git!”

Sean slithered into his car, performed a u-turn and sped away. Payton rubbed her upper arm. There was a small, appreciative smile on her face. Vaughn’s cruiser slid to a stop in the same spot Sean’s car had just stood. He raced from the vehicle and to Claire’s side. “Are you all right? Did you injure your ankle again?”

“Yes, so stupid of me. I was crossing the street and twisted it as I stepped off the curb. So dumb.”

“You shouldn’t be out walking with a sprained ankle.”

“Goodness, Vaughn. That happened ages ago. Besides, I wasn’t out for a joy walk, my car broke down.”

“Why didn’t you call for a ride?”

Claire gave him a motherly smile. “Because my ankle didn’t hurt. And you aren’t the Auto Club.”

“Get in. I’ll drive you home.”

“Thank you. That would be very nice.”

Payton waved as Vaughn helped Claire into the passenger side of the SUV.

At home, she booted up the computer while the muffled roar of water coursed through her old pipes and into the tub. She clicked on the homepage and typed Payton’s name in the white search rectangle. She waited while Yahoo searched its databases. Nothing. Claire gave an audible sigh, selected a dress from the closet and went to the bathroom. Just what was Payton’s secret?

Just as she’d lowered herself into the tub, the word “widow” flashed before her eyes. Of course, Payton was a widow. What was her husband’s name?

Her brain churned, but try as she might, she could not recall Payton’s dead husband’s name.

****

Mamie and Claire arrived at Payton’s at one minute past six. It was the first time either of them had been inside. What a far cry from what the neighbors used to call it: Brice’s Eyesore. Harry Brice had been a crusty old codger, as Mamie referred to him. Grouchy, arrogant and slovenly. An insurance salesman, intense in his career, able to talk people into twice the coverage they originally wanted. His wife had died twenty years before him. In those ensuing years, the house fell into disrepair. The grass hadn’t been mowed, except for once when the son came to visit. Inside, boxes and junk were piled shoulder high, with only narrow pathways for a person to crabwalk from one place to the other. That was the rumor anyway. Sylvie French’s agency had handled the sale. She complained that she’d spent weeks hauling stuff to the dump. The place sat for seven or eight years before Payton came along. Apparently no one wanted a fixer-upper that needed everything fixed.

Mamie and Claire stood on the sidewalk. Mamie held a foil-wrapped plate that she said contained a banana cream pie, her specialty. Seemed like most every cook in town had a special recipe. For Claire, it was chocolate cake. Amanda made coconut macaroons. Sean’s was chocolate caramel cheesecake. Count Felicia out. She didn’t bake, as apparently, neither did Payton.

The grass was freshly cut. Payton’s Intrepid sat in the driveway. It was shiny and freshly waxed. Before Claire could ring the bell, Payton opened the door wearing a shimmering blue-green caftan. Claire instantly felt underdressed even though she wore her best cotton shift. Payton also wore a genuine, welcoming smile. She stepped back so they could enter. Plucky Mexican guitar music greeted them.

“This is for you.” Mamie handed Payton the plate. “It’s a banana cream pie.”

“Thank you so much. It’ll go perfectly with the cordial I got. Come in.” She shut the door and moved around them. “Let me put this in the kitchen, then I’ll show you around.”

Payton disappeared in a flowing cloud of aqua. Mamie gazed open-mouthed around her. Claire had to admit, the place deserved open-mouthed inspection. It was an absolute delight to the senses. From the energetic guitar chords that seemed to ooze from everywhere, to the aroma of something herbal and pungent, to the open living area that assaulted the eyes with color and texture. Wood furniture in straight solid lines, upholstery in large flowery prints, floors of highly polished hardwood. All from the pages of
House & Garden
.

“Beautiful,” Mamie murmured.

Payton returned and gestured to Claire’s right. “This is my den slash library slash office. I don’t know what to call it yet.” She laughed. “Frankly, I haven’t been in it long enough to give it a name. Seems like I spend all my time at the shop.”

“I feel that way about the library. Like it’s monopolized all my time.”

“Claire, you love that job,” Mamie scolded.

“I know, but recently I realized I haven’t changed anything about myself in a very long time.”

“Are you contemplating anything in particular?” Payton sounded genuinely interested.

“Yes. I’m just not sure what it’s going to be yet,” Claire lied.

“What kind of rug is this?” Mamie asked.

“Spanish Revival, whatever that means.”

Mamie toed the red zigzag border, then almost immediately her attention went to the wall of bookshelves. “I guess you meant it when you said you liked to read.”

“You have quite eclectic tastes.” Claire ran her hand over the spines at eye-height. “Christie, Francis, Cummings, Thoreau.”

“I read any chance I get. Lately though, it seems like all I have time for are sales brochures and invoices.”

They passed through the foyer and into a small area, separated from the main living and dining space by the discreet placement of furniture. Payton pointed at the far wall, at the painting she’d bought in Mamie’s gallery.
Ocaso
’s bold sunset colors blended perfectly with the furnishings. The yellow wall paint seemed to have been selected just for it.

Mamie nodded in appreciation. “Wonderful, just wonderful. You have an impeccable sense of color.”

Payton led them to the main living area. Up till now, Claire wondered if Payton’s motive in inviting her to supper along with Mamie was to show off this masterpiece of a home. But during Mamie’s unabashed compliments, a red flush crept up the back of Payton’s neck. Claire realized she’d totally misread things. This woman wasn’t stuck-up and ostentatious. She was shy and reserved, cautious. Claire’s regard for her soared.

“As you can see there’s plenty of wall space,” Payton said. “I thought we could just remove all my art to make room for whatever you’re going to exhibit.”

“Except for
Ocaso
,” Mamie said.

“Except for
Ocaso
. Thank you for selling it to me. I love it. Tell me if I’m wrong, but I think there’s enough lighting and space here to make a really nice showing for you.”

Mamie didn’t speak. She wandered around, running her hands across the backs of sofas, the surfaces of shelves, the rims of vases. Suddenly she spun on a heel and said, “This will be absolutely perfect.”

“Do you think Mr. Arenheim will agree?” Claire asked.

Mamie looked Claire directly in the eye and took a hefty breath. “I’m not going to wait for his opinion. I’m going to call him the moment I get home and tell him this is what we’re doing.”

“I think he’ll value your decision,” Payton said. “After all, he trusted you to sponsor the whole shindig.”

“That’s right.”

The dining table was set with thick ceramic plates on woven straw mats. A centerpiece of canna lilies completed the setting. Payton turned right past a set of glass doors leading to a patio buried in deep shadows by the approaching sunset. The kitchen was just as brightly colored as the rest of the house. The floor was some sort of tiles the color of red clay, the walls a shade or two lighter. Copper pots dangled from a wrought iron rack on the ceiling. Seeing Claire looking at them, Payton laughed. “Funny isn’t it?”

Claire knew she was referring to her professed inability to cook, but if the scents emanating from the stainless steel-fronted oven were any indication, Payton was a liar of considerable caliber.

“So, that’s the downstairs, except for the pantry.” Payton jabbed a corkscrew into a bottle of wine. She gave it several no-nonsense twists and popped the cork from the neck. “I’ll show you the upstairs later. There’s a wide hallway where I think we can expand the gallery also. We’ll probably need to install more lighting, though.”

“I will pay whatever it costs,” Mamie said.

Payton moved the bottle to the center of the counter that was the same color as the floor. “While that breathes, I’ll show you the patio.” She pushed aside wispy gauze drapes and shoved open the glass door. The breeze off the harbor smelled like spring—earthy and damp. The backyard was lined with mature trees that lent privacy and insulated it from neighborhood noises.

“That chestnut tree is coming down tomorrow,” Payton explained.

“My goodness, why? It’s beautiful,” Mamie said.

“It is pretty, but it’s responsible for mildew on both my house and Helen’s. It’s so big that no sunlight gets through. I had a couple of others removed a few weeks ago. This was an afterthought. I held off because it’s so pretty, but it’s just got to go. I’ll replace it with something, maybe a Japanese maple or a Russian olive; something that doesn’t get so big. Later, I’ll do up this spot with brugmansia and summersweet and some foamflowers and lilyturf. Over here, I’ll put in an arbor and grow moonflowers on it. I love their scent. Don’t you?”

Mamie gave a nervous chuckle. “After you said Russian olive, I didn’t understand a single word you said.”

Payton laughed too, but hers was heartfelt, not poking fun in any way. Mamie seemed to realize this and joined anew, apologizing for being such a horticultural dunce.

“That’s ridiculous. Not everyone is interested in or knows about plants. Just like I know next to nothing about art.”

“You knew about
Ocaso
,” Mamie said.

“All I knew was that it had a southern feel and the colors matched the room. So I’m an artistic dunce. Anyway, I should have the plantings done in time for the gallery opening. Did I hear you say it’s slated for the Fourth of July weekend?”

“Yes.”

“Things are falling right into place. Shall we eat now?”

Claire followed the other two inside. “Claire, would you pour the wine? I’ll put the food on the table.”

“What are we having?” Claire asked.

“I thought we could start with Tuscan onion soup. Then lamb noisettes with braised asparagus.”

“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for me,” Mamie said.

Claire heard the trepidation in Mamie’s voice. Not one to be very adventurous in her culinary attempts, Mamie had probably spent the afternoon stewing over what they’d eat. It didn’t matter to Claire. She wasn’t a picky eater. And though she’d never heard of lamb noisettes, the aroma was simply wonderful. Claire was a good cook when she wanted to be, but her fare tended more toward the traditional.

Claire sipped the soup. “Payton, why do you say you can’t cook? This is like silk.”

Payton lowered her voice, as though she was about to tell the secret of the century. “I didn’t cook any of it. I ordered it from the Barracks Inn. They do a wonderful job, don’t you think?”

Mamie eyed Payton sadly. Just as Payton’s embarrassment over Mamie’s compliments had raised her in Claire’s esteem, the confession seemed to lower her in Mamie’s. Mamie believed everyone should work at something until they succeeded. She would rather have eaten a poorly cooked meal stirred by Payton’s own hand than this gourmand’s delight. Not Claire, she liked quality and perfection wherever possible. If this was Payton’s way of achieving it, so be it. Payton was smart enough to know her limitations.

The upstairs of the house looked as beautiful as the ground level. The hallway was wide with long walls between the doorways, perfect for hanging art. There were a couple of pieces already there, and from Mamie’s reaction, they were originals. Payton and Mamie talked about one in particular, making Claire feel left out.

“We’ll have to install some track lighting, I think,” Payton said.

“I agree. I will pay for it,” Mamie offered for the second time. And for the second time, Payton said nothing.

The long narrow guest bedroom was bright and fresh and looked out over the street. The twin beds and windows were covered in colorful Mexican and Spanish fabrics. The furniture was all square edges of some light colored wood.

“I might have put my office in this room,” Claire said.

“I thought about it, but the downstairs room just seemed so perfect for a library. Problem is, I have more rooms than I need.”

“Maybe someday you’ll get married again and raise a family,” Mamie said. “Then you’ll need more space.”

“I don’t have the patience for children.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” Claire noticed Payton hadn’t ruled out another marriage, only children. Did this have something to do with “retiring early” from teaching?

Mamie’s face had turned serious. Another strike against Payton. Mamie had wanted nothing more than to have a houseful of children. She’d blamed her and Donald’s childless state on herself, but Claire always believed it had been Donald’s choice. He was just too cold, too self-centered.