Lethal Dose of Love (18 page)

“Well, I am. My whole routine is off. Carter and I didn’t get home until after two a.m. He’s still sleeping, poor thing.”

“The police kept you that long?” Payton asked.

“Asking questions. What did we see? Where was everyone?” Helen rubbed her eyes. “Who can remember all that when they’re so busy? I just talked to Felicia. She said first thing this morning the police were hauling the Marches down to headquarters.”

“Heavens, what for?”

“To go over the videotapes of the race.”

“They’re probably trying to figure out what knocked the men overboard,” Payton said. “They kept asking me about a rogue wave. I didn’t feel anything, did you?” MaryAnn shook her head.

“I find it odd they’d both be washed over at the same time,” Helen said. “Very odd indeed.”

The door opened. Claire became silhouetted in the morning light. “Morning, ladies.”

“Well, hello MaryAnn.” Helen rose and went to her. “I was on my way to visit you in the hospital, but I bumped into Vaughn and he said they’d sent you home. After I checked on these two, I was heading over to see you.”

“Are you all right?” Payton asked. “Perhaps you should be home resting.”

“Look who’s talking,” Helen said to Payton, then turned to Claire. “What happened to you, dear? Was it heat stroke?”

“That’s what they told me. I feel better this morning. Have any of you seen MaryAnn? I drove to Chaumont but she wasn’t at home.” She spotted MaryAnn on the couch. “Oh there you are. How are you?”

“I think she’s in shock,” Helen said

Claire settled on MaryAnn’s other side. She patted MaryAnn’s hands folded in her lap. “Why don’t you come with me? We’ll get some food into you. I bet you haven’t slept either. You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday.”

The timer on the front counter pinged. The women started. Payton went to turn off the water. When she returned, Claire was leading MaryAnn to the door.

“I loved him,” MaryAnn said. “In spite of everything.”

“I know,” was all of Claire’s reply Payton heard as the door closed.

Helen handed a copy of the
Watertown Daily Times
to Payton, thumping a forefinger on the large bold headline. “Take a look at this. I’ll make coffee.”

Sackets Harbor Drowning Deaths Suspicious

Payton sat on the nearest available chair to read.
Two deaths on Lake Ontario stunned the close-knit Sackets Harbor community yesterday. Sean Adams, owner of The Taste of Gay Paree Café, and Watertown businessman Frank Simpson, president of Watertown Computer Graphics, drowned when they were thrown into the water during the first Sackets Harbor Yacht Club race. The six boat Sackets Harbor team faced off against the three boat Chaumont team just hours before. What caused both men to be tossed into the relatively calm waters at the same time is still under investigation.

Payton laid down the paper.

“What a brave thing you did, dear,” Helen said.

“It was insane! I don’t know what got into me.”

“A fellow human being was in danger.”

Payton went to the back room to make coffee. When she returned carrying a tray and a bag of chocolate chip cookies, Mamie was there standing beside Helen. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face white. She had a wad of pink tissues in one hand. “I didn’t sleep all night.” She looked at the floor.

“By the time I got home,” Helen chuckled. “There was hardly any night left.”

“God knows I don’t feel like doing anything, but Miles is on his way with a crew. We have to start moving things today.”

“I forgot it was today. I assume you came for the key.” Payton drew a key from her purse. It was attached to a red and white fishing bobber. “You may keep this one.”

Mamie took the key and dabbed a tissue on her nose. “Have you seen Claire? I tried calling the house but there was no answer.”

“She was just here. She took MaryAnn home with her.”

“I’m worried about her.”

“So am I.” Payton told how wan Claire had looked yesterday morning. “Something’s been bothering her. I didn’t get a chance to ask what it was. There were people around, and then it was time for the race. Now I’m angry with myself for not making more of an effort.”

“It probably wouldn’t have mattered. Claire’s very close-mouthed,” Mamie said.

“I’ll check on her later.” Helen took a sip of coffee and said to Mamie, “I know I’m sounding like I’m a cold fish, but since Sean won’t be using the shop, you’re welcome to it. I’m saying it now before you go to all the trouble of moving into Payton’s house. Heaven knows I feel bad enough about how this all happened in the first place.”

“Thank you, Helen. I should accept and let Payton off the hook, but I just don’t think I could go in that place after what’s happened.”

“I don’t blame you a bit, dear. My offer still holds though.”

“Thank you.” As Mamie left, Payton thought she heard Mamie say something.

Helen nodded. “She’s absolutely right.”

“What did she say?”

“Something about how things would be easier for everyone now.”

“I hate to say this, but she’s right,” Payton whispered.

As the morning wore on, tourists flocked into the shop by the dozens. Payton knew they only came to see the lady who’d almost drowned trying to save an already-dead man. They inundated her with questions regarding her ordeal, pretending concern that was just morbid curiosity. There was an upside to it all. Sales tripled.

At lunchtime Payton went out to the sidewalk to water the pair of ficus plants. She stood for a long time looking across at the café. She saw movement inside. With the sun’s glare on the windows, she couldn’t see who it was. Maybe Helen making sure things were turned off.

Payton flopped on the ugly couch, kicked her feet up on the coffee table, leaned back and closed her eyes. Was she strong enough to get through another police investigation? Sackets Harbor was a small town, but she didn’t fool herself thinking they’d be any less thorough than the Minneapolis authorities. For some time, she’d been under intense scrutiny for Cameron’s death. It was the authority’s job to suspect her. But after a while they’d left her alone in that fabulous penthouse apartment with the spectacular views of the city, the empty rooms and the permanent stain on the kitchen floor. She’d moved into a hotel and put the place up for sale as soon as she’d been allowed. The police went away. Cameron’s death went unsolved. Doctors and family recommended the change of scenery, but it hadn’t been what she needed. The nightmares continued.

Payton’s stomach growled. She called the
Galley
to place a lunch order, ran up the street and back in less than five minutes. Someone had arrived during her absence. The ugly chair held a familiar face.

Aden stood up and walked toward her, bending to kiss her cheek. “I thought you were in the bathroom. Come sit down.” He took the Styrofoam container and led her to the sofa. “Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve brought you something to eat.”

“I thought you were on a plane to Prague. Why aren’t you?”

“I called in sick.”

“Who…to whom does an ambassador call in sick?”

“Better paid ambassadors. How are you?”

“Sore throat, but otherwise fine.” She sat on the couch. He inspected the contents of the container and handed her half the tuna fish sandwich.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get back over last night. In order to postpone today’s trip, I had to prepare my colleagues for a meeting today. I spent the night on the phone.”

“I saw the police at your place.”

“Eat.”

“Helen said they asked a lot of questions. She and Carter were at the station till two a.m.” She took a bite of the sandwich.

“What I don’t get is how two men could be washed overboard at the same exact time in fairly calm water.”

“They were good swimmers?”

“People who spend a lot of time on the water are most always good swimmers.” Aden grasped her wrist and eased it up to her mouth. She took another bite of sandwich. After swallowing, she said, “They didn’t tell you—that Sean and Frank were dead before they went over the rail?”

His lips tightened. “No. They sidestepped my questions.”

“The cop didn’t come right out and say so but what else can it be but murder?” Payton coughed, trying to hide the last word from the pair of women who’d just come in the shop. “Sean wasn’t very nice so it is no stretch to imagine someone wanting him gone. But who’d want to murder Frank? And how was it done? They were alone on the boat.”

“There are dozens of ways to murder someone without being there. Did you see any blood?”

“I never got on the boat. All I saw was them lying on the deck.”

“Were they near each other?”

“Frank was near the helm. Sean had been working the mainsail.”

“You saw them in the water after that?”

“Just Sean. A wave pushed him into me.” She shivered. “There wasn’t any blood that I remember.”

“Could have washed off. Tell me how he looked.”

“Like he was in pain. Bad pain.”

“Did you see anyone else in the water?”

“There were people all over the place.”

“I mean before you did the dumbest thing of your life.”

“Don’t remind me.” She gave the question careful thought, just as she had when the sergeant asked last night. “I don’t remember seeing anyone else at all.”

Aden was thoughtful, watching customers browse nearby.

“What are you thinking?” Payton asked when they were out of earshot.

“In my line of work, we sometimes see things like this. Emirs and emissaries drop dead right in the middle of peace talks. It most always turns out to be poison.”

“Poison?” Payton exclaimed. One of the customers turned around. Payton quickly took a bite of sandwich and averted her eyes.

“Some poisons are obscure. This had to be something fast acting, something that would at least incapacitate them over the course of the race.”

“Like what?”

“There are hundreds of chemical compounds which would produce that result.”

Chapter 20

After promising to have dinner with Aden, Payton found herself alone in the store. She wandered to the patio, now cast in shadows. Clouds had rolled in off the harbor and the sky was a deep charcoal black. She sat at the wicker patio set—of which she’d already sold two—and leaned her head back on the poufy cushion.

Who’d want to kill Frank? He was married with four kids, a football coach and a 4H leader. He didn’t live in Sackets Harbor, nor did he have friends in common with Sean, that she knew of. The answer was simple. The murderer had inadvertently got him.

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 the doctor 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.