Lethal Dose of Love

by Cindy Davis

  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 wrapped 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.”

  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. She hadn’t even put them back on the shelves. The top book 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 counter. “Beautiful day.”

  “Mamie told me you and Mamie have been 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. The movement caused Felicia to notice the book and reach 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 she watched it slide 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 said, her eyes flickering toward the faux 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.

  NINE

  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 on Payton’s face 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 recrossed 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 screw them?”

  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. “How dare you? 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 had fallen 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.

  “It’s called Spanish Revival.”

  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.

  “I thought we could just remove all my art to make room for whatever you’re going to exhibit,” Payton said.

  “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 opinion,” 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 civered 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.