Lethal Dose of Love (9 page)

Payton wiggled her hand in the air to indicate a medium range. “If she’s a plant person, it will be easy for her.”

“What’s this?” Sylvie pointed to an overhead shelf where bright flowers wiggled in the breeze. There was another monkshood, bigger than the one Claire was buying, with larger, more fully developed flowers.

“Does your sister have children or pets?” Payton asked.

“Yes.”

“Then she wouldn’t want this, it’s poisonous,” was all Payton could say before Sylvie’s fingers released it. The plant thunked to the walkway, leaves, soil and beautiful purple flowers shooting in all directions.

Sylvie pushed past Claire, holding her hands out as though she’d been sprayed with acid. “How dare you―” She ran to the hose and began washing herself.

Payton followed, trying to explain, but Sylvie cast a venomous glare at both Payton and Claire and sped dripping from the store. They watched open-mouthed as Sylvie raced down the hill to her real estate office.

“I didn’t mean to shock her like that.” Payton swept up the plant and deposited it in the trash.

Sylvie had sure been acting weird lately.

The front door opened and in walked the largest bunch of roses Claire had ever seen. The roses lowered onto the counter. Behind them stood Aden Green. Payton was smiling from one side of her face to the other.

Not ready to date? Humbug. Claire would bet her next paycheck that Payton and Aden would be an item before the month was out.

Claire paid for her plants, said bye to Aden and left. If any onlooker had concerns about her injured ankle, they would have been quickly erased. Her pace was as light as a five year old. She not only had her plant, but many other people had purchased it too. Could life get any better than this?

Claire was actually giggling out loud as she made the trip from car to house with the box of plants. She set the monkshood in the middle of the kitchen table atop the handmade doily in place of the basket of wax fruit. She folded her arms and closed her eyes and drank in the aroma of the silky blue-purple flowers.

After putting the other plants in their respective places, she took a paper cup from the package in the cabinet over the stove and filled it with water. Was the water supposed to be hot or cold? Or room temperature? Claire knelt on the immaculate floor and retrieved the book from under the sink. Settling back on her heels, she turned to the page describing the
aconitum napellus.
It didn’t specify water temperature. Claire put the book back in its hiding place, and stood up, ignoring the twinge in her ankle. Maybe too-hot water destroyed the poisonous properties. And maybe too-cold water would do the same thing. To be on the safe side, she’d use it just out of the tap.

Claire filled the cup to a half-inch of the top. Then, with shears from the utensil drawer, snipped off two leaves like the book instructed. But, this was a baby plant, the leaves smaller than the ones in the picture. The directions hadn’t specified mature leaves. Were two of this size enough? Why couldn’t this be like the cookbooks and be specific? A tablespoon of this, a half cup of that; amounts that left a person knowing where she stood.

Claire lopped off two more leaves, taking them from different spots on the stalk so the stubs would be less noticeable. The snipped areas bubbled with white sap that stood out like acne on a teenager. She dropped the leaves into the cup of water. She placed the cup on the windowsill to “brew” beside the Mexican planter. As an afterthought, Claire put the book on poisonous plants into her satchel. Perhaps she’d have time to look at it again, to learn something more about the plant.

Claire washed the scissors with the hottest water, using an old toothbrush to scrub the joints, dried the shears with a sheet of paper towel and put them away. She crossed her arms and eyed the paper cup, sitting like a toddler that was soon to erupt into the vilest of tantrums.

She decided to walk the quarter mile to the library. It was a beautiful day, the air was fresh and clean and she felt great. Claire buttoned her jacket and inhaled deeply. Someone had just mown their lawn.

Claire heaved her satchel on the counter and made a beeline for the phone. Edward answered on the second ring, “Good afternoon, Sackets Harbor Marina, Edward March speaking.”

“Hi, Edward, it’s Claire.”

“Well, hello there, what’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

“Nothing much. I hope the weather holds for the race.”

“How’s your ankle?”

“It’s okay, thanks.”

“But you didn’t call to talk to me, did you? Amanda’s not here. She’s down below with a customer. Want to leave a message?”

“Will you remember to give it to her?”

“Probably not.”

Claire laughed. “I heard she’s making her chocolate cake for the potluck.” Claire twisted the phone cord around her finger. The library door opened, a pair of elderly women entered and waved hello.

“I think she mentioned cake,” Edward said.

Claire lowered her voice. “Well…I just love her macaroons and she’s the only one who can make them right. I wondered if—”

“Say no more.” Edward laughed. “I’ll tell her everyone’s calling to vote for cookies.”

Claire hung up feeling sick to her stomach. She hated lying. She rubbed her palm in a circle on her abdomen feeling the gurgle of acid beneath her hand. After opening the library mail, she settled on her tall stool and took out
Poisonous Plants and You
. The title glowed like neon. Each and every customer was sure to spot it. She reached under the counter, removed the jacket of a Grisham novel and fitted it around her book. She tapped the cover with a forefinger. Much better, now it could sit right on top of the desk. The day passed without incident. Customers came and went, chatted and gossiped. Claire responded but by late afternoon could recall nothing of what anyone said. The only thing in her head was the cup of leaves in her kitchen window.

The door opened and Felicia entered. Claire slapped the book shut and pushed it aside with an elbow. Felicia ducked down the fiction aisle saying, “I know you’re getting ready to close, don’t forget and lock me in.”

“Does that mean you want me to lock you in? Or not.”

Felicia’s response was muffled by the wall of boos between them.

The big wall clock said ten minutes past five, ten minutes past closing time. She shifted in the chair working out the kinks, then glanced at the cart full of books to the left. So engrossed in the poison book, she hadn’t even put them back on the shelves. The top one was Stephen King’s
Carrie.
Claire started pushing the cart toward the K fiction aisle when Felicia returned.

Claire followed her to the counter where she dropped a Lisa Scottoline novel on the cluttered surface. “Beautiful day.”

“Mamie told me you and she were invited to Payton’s for dinner. I took a painting in to be cleaned and she was bubbling all over about it.”

“Wasn’t it nice of Payton to offer her place for the gallery?”

“A big sacrifice.”

Felicia would never put herself in such a position. Even though she’d love to show off her belongings, she wouldn’t chance one of her precious things getting damaged or stolen.

Claire rotated the chair forward, putting her elbow on the faux Grisham book. Felicia too noticed the book and reached for it. “What are you reading?”

Claire pressed her elbow tight against the cover. In spite of that, Felicia kept pulling. The only option besides jerking it back and crying “Mine!” was to let her have it. Every muscle in Claire’s body knotted as it slid into Felicia’s hands.

Felicia studied the cover blurb. “I’ve never read Grisham before. This looks good. I’ll take this too.”

“Um…ah...” Claire couldn’t think of a single lucid word to say.

“Oh, you probably haven’t had time to check it back in yet. I’ll wait.”

“Um, it’s just that, er, this has a long waiting list.”

Felicia opened the front cover and read the inside flap. Claire tightened her butt muscles against the threatening diarrhea. She took a breath and focused on the computer screen. “It looks like you owe a fine. Two dollars.”

Felicia slammed the book shut, dumped it on the counter and leaned across to gape at the monitor. “What!”

Claire set the book atop the farthest pile.

“I
always
return my books on time.”

Claire squinted at the screen, scrunching her rear end tighter. “Oh dear, I’m sorry, that’s not you at all. So sorry for the confusion. Would you like to be added to the Grisham list?”

“Yes, please.” Felicia sounded distant, confused.

Claire scanned the bar code on the Scottoline cover. The computer made a pinging sound and printed out a receipt that Claire tucked inside the book cover. “You’re all set, it’s due back the fifteenth. Sorry for the confusion.”

“Well, I’ll be on my way.” Felicia’s eyes flickered toward the Grisham book. Claire resisted the urge to push it out of sight. She didn’t breathe until Felicia’s convertible whooshed past the window. Claire hurried to lock the door.

Chapter 9

Claire hefted the satchel and purse on her shoulder and began the walk home. The book was a comfortable thump against her spine with each step. Excitement about dinner at Payton’s built. What should she wear? She wasn’t one to buy new things; styles came and went too fast for her to keep up. Claire did a mental examination of her closet: blue A-line, too baggy; green wraparound, too informal; brown print, hideous. Nothing came close to rivaling Payton’s wardrobe. Perhaps something that had been relegated to the back of the closet. Hadn’t she read that sooner or later everything comes back in style?

Before going to Payton’s, Claire also wanted to check the ingredients for what she’d begun to think of as Sean’s Deathday Cake. He’d said often enough that
Tin Pan Galley’s
chocolate layer cake was one of life’s best things. Maybe it was one of death’s best things too.

Claire stepped over a root that had grown through the sidewalk. Not a twinge from her ankle. The gods were certainly shining down with goodness today. That meant her decision was the right one. Surely if what she planned was evil, if Sean wasn’t meant to leave this green earth, things wouldn’t go so smoothly. Tonight promised to be very busy, but rather than disturb her sense of order, Claire felt an almost giddy excitement.

As she crossed the intersection of Main and Broad streets, someone headed the other direction jostled her arm. “Oh my.” Claire’s satchel thumped to the ground.

“I’m so sorry,” said Payton. “My mind was spinning in a hundred directions.”

“Mine too. Must be the weather.”

“It is a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Payton handed Claire her bag.

“Thank you. I’ll see you in a while.” Claire flung the strap over her shoulder and went across the street. Her foot had barely touched the opposite curb when Sean’s Grand Am pulled up. He leaned forward, looking at Payton, but Payton already headed home.

He got out of the car. “Wait. Payton.”

From where Claire stood, she could see the pique in Payton’s manner as she turned around.

“I need to talk to you.”

“How many times do I have to ask you to leave me alone?”

He stepped onto the sidewalk, a shark looking for his next meal. “I wanted to apologize, that’s all.”

“Okay, apology accepted. Now, I’d appreciate it if you leave me alone.”

“I want us to be friends.”

“Sean, we’re never going to be friends. I am willing to accept your apology because we are fellow business owners and take part in some of the same group activities, but that’s as far as it will ever go.” She turned away.

He grasped her left arm just above the elbow and yanked her toward him. Her hip banged his. She shook off his hand. She took another step away and he took one toward her in a jerky two-step dance.

Claire had seen enough. She re-crossed the street.

“Fine, bitch. I told you the other day you were going to be sorry. You—”

“You don’t intimidate me, Sean Adams. Now get away from me or I’m calling the police.” Payton produced a cell phone. She flipped open the lid and dramatically punched a number. “Are you leaving?” He didn’t move. She hit another number.

Claire stepped onto the sidewalk just four feet behind Sean.

“I know why you left teaching.”

Payton poked another number. Claire hefted her purse, prepared to knock him silly.

“It wasn’t voluntary.”

Claire’s fingers tightened around the handbag. Neither of them had noticed her standing there. When Sean said, “Conduct unbecoming a teacher,” Claire lowered the purse.

Payton closed the phone. But instead of pleading for him to keep her secret, her fist flashed out, her knuckles making contact with his nose. The blow staggered him backwards. He tripped over the curb and landed with his rear end on Broad Street, his heels propped on the sidewalk.

He was up fast, like one of those punching bag clowns Claire’s brother used to have. Sean braced his feet, one fist clenched in front of him. Blood and anger swelled as he glared at Payton. Then he spotted Claire.

“Did you see what she did?”

“I certainly did.”

“Go call the cops, will you?”

Claire shook the handbag at him. “What’s wrong with you? Do you sit up nights thinking of ways to piss people off? Ways to hurt them?”