by Cindy Davis
“Probably Helen cleaning up.” Claire put up a finger for Mamie to wait. She stepped outdoors, cupped her hands and peered in the window of the empty shop. Sean was hefting a cardboard box atop two others. Midway along the left wall, the connecting door to his restaurant stood open. Claire felt a momentary dizziness that sagged her against the cold glass.
“Is it Helen?”
Claire jumped at Mamie’s voice. Her shoulder jolted Claire as she too looked through the glass. “Oh gosh.”
“You’d better phone Helen.”
Mamie dashed into the gallery.
Talking with Sean wasn’t something Claire wanted to do again so soon, but Mamie’s future was at stake. He spun around as she hammered on the window. The glare on the glass prevented reading his expression, but the way he strode to the door didn’t say, I’m happy to see you again. Claire jammed her hands in her pockets and dried sweaty palms on the lining.
Sean opened the door three inches. “What?”
“What are you doing in there?”
Sean’s nose wrinkled and his eyebrows dipped into a vee. “It’s really none of your business but I’m expanding my restaurant.”
“You can’t. Mamie’s renting this space for her gallery. The guy’s coming from the city in the morning.”
“I don’t think so.” Sean shut the door, giving a definitive twist to the latch.
Claire put a palm on the doorframe to steady herself. Helen wouldn’t have rented to him without checking with Mamie.
The news would hit Mamie like a truck. Ever since Donald’s death, her emotions had been on a rollercoaster. God knew she deserved something good to happen. Life with Donald hadn’t been great; he was some kind of inventor at the Technical Institute in Watertown and worked long hours. Like many people he hadn’t planned for his death and left Mamie penniless. With Claire’s encouragement and every cent she could scrape together, Mamie had opened her dream gallery. When Miles Arenheim called from the City a month ago, Claire thought this would be it—a world class gallery—Mamie’s big chance.
Claire pulled open the Artpost door and went in. Mamie said, “Helen’s line was busy.”
“If I were you I’d go right over there.”
“You really think so? I hate when people just drop in on me.”
Another thump sounded next door.
“You should go. Now.”
Mamie’s head tipped and her nose wrinkled as she listened. “Will you watch the place while I’m gone?”
“In case you didn’t notice, it’s after five o’clock.”
“Heavens, I didn’t realize.”
“Call me later and let me know what happens.”
By seven thirty Mamie still hadn’t called. Claire had phoned both her house and the gallery at least a dozen times. She was about to go out searching when Mamie’s car crunched into the driveway. Claire listened for the familiar slam of the door, the hollow footsteps across the porch, the opening and shutting screen door, but none came.
She went to the bedroom window and looked down on the roof of the green Ford Escort. No movement at all. Claire shut off the computer and went downstairs to look out the kitchen window. Mamie sat like a statue in the front seat. Claire knocked on the glass. Mamie didn’t react.
Claire hurried outside and rapped on the car window. Still Mamie didn’t move. Claire jerked open the door, a tear rolled down Mamie’s cheek. Claire eased her friend out of the vehicle, into the house and down the long hallway to the living room sofa. Then she went to the dining room and poured them each a shot of bourbon. As an afterthought, she splashed more in both glasses.
Claire sat on the coffee table facing Mamie who didn’t reach up for the glass so she pried the fingers open and folded them around the glass. After a hearty sip, Claire spoke. “The deal fell through with Helen.”
There was the slightest nod of Mamie’s head. Claire wanted to scream that there’d been a verbal agreement, that Helen all but promised the place to Mamie.
“Tell me what happened.”
She erupted into spasms of heart wrenching sobs. Claire got a box of tissues and set it in Mamie’s lap. It was a full fifteen minutes before she could speak. “God, Claire, I wish I was dead.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“When I got to H-helen’s nobody was th-there. I went home and c-called. There was still no answer. ”
“Did you leave a message?”
“No. I just figured I’d keep ph-phoning till she came home. I called every ten minutes for two hours. Then I wanted a cup of tea and realized I was out of milk. I went to the corner market.” Mamie sucked in a breath and new trails of tears squeezed from her eyes. She blew her nose. “Helen was at the market. Sh-she’d been downtown m-meeting Sean.”
The dread that started on seeing Mamie sitting statue-like in the driveway, detonated like Fourth of July fireworks. Acid churned into Claire’s esophagus. She didn’t have to hear the rest.
“Sean told Helen that my deal with Mr. Arenheim fell through. And then he told her how he’d been thinking what a good idea it would be to enlarge his café. Helen believed him and, since she had the contracts all ready, th-they just substituted his name for mine on the lease. God, Claire, I wish I was dead.”
Claire slid off the coffee table and onto the couch beside Mamie. She put an awkward arm around her friend’s shoulders and pulled her close. For a fleeting moment Claire considered divulging the plan that had been taking shape over the past year or so. Little by little the way she’d murder Sean Adams had achieved reality. She would poison him—that she knew for certain—what she hadn’t determined was which poison she’d use.
After hearing the plan, Mamie would realize her coveted store would be available. Two stores even, because without Sean, the café would close down. What a gallery that would make, to expand the length of all three shops!
But, no, Claire couldn’t speak up. Even though she was positive Mamie would be all for the idea now, Mamie was too weak. At some point years down the road, the guilt would eat away at her and she’d either tell or go mad keeping the secret inside. No, Mamie most definitely could not be trusted with a secret like this.
Claire urged her friend to lie down. She put two ruffled throw pillows under her head and tucked in the handmade afghan. Mamie sobbed for a while and eventually fell into a fitful sleep.
Claire went upstairs and turned on the computer. When the Google home page loaded, she typed in the little white rectangle: poisonous plants. The computer was old and slow, but the search eventually yielded more than two million hits.
“Claire? Where are you?”
Claire glanced at the bedside table and was startled to see more than two hours had passed. “I’ll be right down.”
Footsteps on the stairs. Panic. Mamie couldn’t see this. Enormous blood red letters screamed across the screen: YOUR GUIDE TO POISONOUS PLANTS. Claire clicked on the sleep mode and the monitor went black just as Mamie waddled into the room. Her eyes were rimmed in red, her flowered housedress crumpled.
“I said I’d be right down.”
“I know, but I have to go to the bathroom. What are you doing?”
“Checking on new books to buy for the library.” Claire hopped to her feet, grimacing when the chair scraped on the varnished floor. She moved away from the computer, forcing Mamie to step back. Mamie frowned but went into the hall. After she disappeared into the bathroom, Claire raced in and shut down the computer.
How to get Mamie to go home? No, that wasn’t nice, Mamie was suffering. She’d been dealt a cruel blow by Sean Adams and shouldn’t be alone right now. But Claire wanted nothing more than to be alone with her research. Just before Mamie came upstairs Claire thought she’d found exactly the right poison—monkshood. It was fast working and was lethal via absorption, injection and ingestion. The only drawback was Sean would suffer terribly. Claire didn’t want that, but it was unavoidable.
“Want to watch a movie?” Mamie suggested once they’d gone downs
tairs.
Claire settled at her usual end of the sofa. Mamie fluffed the pillows, tucked the afghan around herself and started clicking the remote.
“Did you know Payton was opening a plant shop?” Claire asked.
Mamie nodded.
“You knew and didn’t tell me?”
“What?” Mamie turned a scrunched up nose at her.
“Why didn’t you tell me Payton was opening a shop?”
“Payton’s opening a shop?”
Claire stifled a groan of exasperation. “Across from Sean’s place, she’s opening…” She recited the words from the sign, “Payton’s Place, exotic and domestic plants.”
“That’s nice. You love plants.”
“I thought you did too.”
“I like them—outdoors.” She set the remote on the table. “Let’s watch this.”
Claire gave a mere glance at the old black and white movie. One of the actors looked familiar, but she didn’t care for television. She preferred more cerebral activities that tonight included research on monkshood plants.
THREE
Claire sat on her stool behind the check-in desk, the perfect vantage point to watch over her library. She’d come to think of it as hers. She’d been head librarian for nearly nineteen years, ever since Edna Adams died and left Claire the job through osmosis. Every book, every shelf, every event was Claire’s doing. The pride was felt as a tingling all the way to her toes every time she stepped in the building. It was like her child.
Children. She just hadn’t been blessed that way. Well, not in the traditional sense. The memory burst into her brain. Twenty-seven years, four months and seventeen days, so long ago. She swallowed a scalding mouthful of tea that burned her throat. But, she didn’t flinch. It was part of her due, her punishment.
To bury her misdeeds, Claire had thrown herself into her career. Not much of a career, but she had a measure of respectability around town. Dedication to her career couldn’t negate her shortcomings or erase the past, but for the most part it kept the memories hovering only in the back of her mind, at least during the day. Daytime she kept busy with her job, but also with gardening and a few clubs around town. She rarely left Sackets Harbor. As a matter of fact, since moving here, she’d never been far from this little town at the northern tip of Lake Ontario where winter winds wailed like lost children and summers teemed with tourists and sunshine. Where was there to go that she couldn’t go in books? There were thousands here at her disposal.
Nighttime was another story.
The heavy door whooshed open. Payton Winters entered wearing a teal colored spring jacket and matching beret.
“Good morning,” they said at the same time.
“I’m looking for some books on small business management.”
Claire slid off the stool. “They’re down this way.”
Payton didn’t follow. She spoke quietly. “I heard about Mamie losing out on the shop. Did Helen really just substitute Sean’s name?”
Claire nodded. “It’s not Helen’s fault. Sean told her Mamie’s deal fell through. Helen didn’t have any reason to disbelieve Sean.”
“Mamie must be a basket case.”
“Helen is too.” Claire stepped into the appropriate aisle. “The books are down here. Are you going to Wanderlust this afternoon?”
“Just what is Wanderlust anyway?”
Claire gave an elaborate eye roll. “A bunch of travel wannabes who share ideas and experiences. We talk about art and things like that. Whenever one of us takes a vacation, if we don’t return with a slew of photographs…” Now she gave a dramatic sigh. “Helen’s probably thinking the influx of new blood—yours, that is—might stimulate the group. We’re quite sick of each other’s stories.”
“I’ve never been much of a joiner.”
“They’re a nice group of people.”
“Does Sean go?”
Claire laughed. “No. Very few men.” She slipped a book off the shelf—Small Business for Dummies—and handed it to Payton. “I saw you talking to Aden Green at the yacht club meeting.”
Payton groaned. “Don’t you start too! Everyone’s trying to set us up. What country is he ambassador to? I can never remember.”
“Uzbekistan. Don’t you like him?”
“He seems very nice. Good looking.”
“Understatement! So why are you avoiding him?”
A shadow crossed Payton’s face. She busied herself thumbing the book’s pages.
“I wouldn’t have thought you were shy.”
Payton closed the book with a snap. “My husband only died two years ago.”
“It takes time.” Claire patted her arm in a motherly fashion. The front door opened and closed. “Well, I’ve got to get out there, someone just came in.”
Claire hurried to her desk. No reason to hurry really. People mostly wanted to browse, but she felt funny not greeting each person. It was like welcoming them into her home. Brighton James stood in the foyer. He was tall and distinguished, a businessman who spent much of his time in the City as a stockbroker. He had a book in one hand and dropped it through the slot under the front edge of the desk.
“Looking forward to the first meet?”
“It’s been a long winter. We took the boat out of storage yesterday.” He lowered his voice and glanced about. “Er, is there somewhere we can talk?”
Claire led him behind the desk and into her miniscule office, overcrowded with boxes of books. “Sorry for the mess. They’re for the upcoming book fair.” Claire waved him to a chair then leaned against the desk.
There was a long moment of silence where Brighton stared out the tiny window behind her, twisting the narrow silver band on his ring finger. “This is very awkward.”
FOUR
It was just before two when Mamie picked up Claire for the Wanderlust meeting. She rolled her window all the way down to inhale the delicate aroma of lilacs, her favorites. Their season was far too short to waste a moment’s appreciation. They passed Payton’s house where a crew slapped on a coat of stucco. Another crew was busy removing trees from both the front and side yards.
“Arrogant to flaunt money like that,” Mamie said.
“How can you say that? She doesn’t drive a fancy car. She doesn’t—”
“She wears cashmere and a huge diamond ring.”
“Her husband gave them to her. Is she supposed to throw them away just because he’s dead?”
“She’s a widow?”
“Yes. Two years.” Claire reverted to the original discussion gesturing at the narrow band embedded in Mamie’s left hand. “You still wear Donald’s ring.” Mamie didn’t reply. Claire continued, “Payton doesn’t brag about what she spends. It’s Helen who… Besides, the house wasn’t livable the way it was.”
Mamie turned left into the community of Madison Barracks, the military post named after President Madison. Much of it had been renovated into homes and apartments, but some remained as an historic site for visitors. Daffodils and tulips marched up walkways the way the soldiers had marched there in the 1800’s. Claire liked that analogy.
How could she get Mamie out of her funk? Help find a suitable place for a new gallery; that was about the only thing. But where could she find that Mamie hadn’t already thought of?
The plan to get rid of Sean needed to be sped up. With him out of the way, a number of situations would be served. First, the original gallery plan could be adhered to. Second, the tension between he and Mamie would be removed. Ha! Lots of people’s tension would be eliminated. Thirdly, Claire’s own guilt would be gone. Twenty-seven years, four months and seventeen days of it—ever since she’d given birth to him. Yes, Sean’s passing would erase a lot of problems.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh nothing.”
Mamie turned the car into the short driveway that led to Felicia’s impeccable brick town-home. Not a ripple in the white trim paint. Not a weed in the flowerbed. Weeds probably didn’t dare grow in Felicia’s y
ard. The driveway was cobbled. Talk about flaunting.
“I didn’t expect Helen to be here,” Claire said.
“Why shouldn’t she? None of this is her fault. It’s entirely mine. My stupid do-nothing personality.” Mamie was near tears again.
Claire changed the subject. “Brighton came to the library this morning. He wanted to talk about Felicia.”
“What about her?”
“Last night he woke up and she wasn’t there. He found her standing at the living room window, just staring out. He asked what was wrong and she said nothing, that she just couldn’t sleep. He’s sure there’s more to it. That wasn’t the first night’s sleep she’s lost. He wanted to know if she’d said anything to me.”
“He should be talking to Amanda. They’re tight as thieves.”
“He said he did and she pretended not to know anything.”
“Did you tell him we saw them at the diner the other day? That they had their heads together and clammed up when we said hello?”
“I only said I’d talk to her.”
They ambled along the curved walkway. Mamie was curiously silent. Did she know something more about this? Mamie was sort of scatterbrained and it often turned out she knew more than she realized. Now wasn’t the time for interrogations. The big front door with the shiny brass knocker opened.
Helen Mortenson smiled down at them. The round woman wearing a denim skirt and white sweater stepped out. She pulled Mamie into a hug. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” she said in her gravelly voice. Mamie’s shoulders tensed, she was holding in tears. In her condition she wouldn’t be able to hold them very long. Helen urged Mamie inside and down the short, brightly lit hallway. Claire followed, breathing in cinnamon-scented air. Nice.
As soon as the three women entered the dining room, Amanda leaped toward them, dark eyes bright with excitement. She engulfed Mamie in another hug. “I heard about your gallery! Congratulations.”
“Yes, wonderful for you. Wonderful for the town too,” said Felicia from the far end of the long table where she poured coffee into tiny china cups. “What a coup for your gallery, to have such a famous man as Miles Arenheim want to—”
