Chapter 23

Payton spent the afternoon shooing reporters away from the front of the store and dodging a hundred questions each time she poked her head outside. One photographer caught her wagging a threatening finger at them. Helen would get a kick out of seeing that on the six o’clock news. So would Aden, for that matter.

Reporters weren’t the only people clogging the sidewalks. The police contingency questioned storeowners, townspeople and tourists. No one was left out. Contrary to what she expected, the authorities hadn’t chased business away.

At the marina, authorities went over Sean’s boat again before pulling it from the water and wrapping it like holiday leftovers. They loaded it on a big trailer towed by a truck with the Coast Guard logo on the side. They examined rental dinghies, sidewalks and the entire docking system at the marina, virtually shutting the place down. All this information came from Sylvie French.

At 5:30 Payton walked home. The weather had cleared, but intermittent clouds sill cast a gloom over her spirits. No sign of the sergeant. And she hadn’t seen Vaughn since the day of the murder. Helen said his nose was out of joint at being usurped by the Coast Guard and State Police in the investigation. Vaughn was a nice guy, a good cop and determined to solve the case, but Payton saw their point; Vaughn was too close to the people of Sackets Harbor to be objective.

Aden’s BMW was in his driveway. He’d mown his lawn today. The whole neighborhood smelled fresh and sweet. When she got to her property, she realized he’d mowed hers also.

A rousing “Hello!” brought her alert. She went up Helen’s walk.

“How was your day, dear?”

“Okay, considering.”

“Are the police hovering like buzzards? I’m quite upset with that sergeant, he had Mamie in tears. That’s uncalled-for.”

“They’re just doing their jobs.”

“I have to admit, she’s miles stronger than when Donald died.”

Payton raked fingers through the tangles caused by the wind.

“She fell totally apart back then. Thank goodness she had Claire and me to hold her up.” Helen stopped for a breath and a change of subject. “I’ve got a crockpot of chili if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks, but I promised Mamie I’d help put finishing touches around the house.” Payton gestured toward her house. “Was it busy over there today?”

“My word! Cars were parked along both sides of the street all day. I don’t know how the neighbors will react if it keeps up.”

“I never thought about parking when I offered the place to Mamie. I just wanted to help her out of her jam.”

“The crowds will ease off once everyone’s had their fill of seeing your house.” Helen smiled. Payton frowned. “I told you how curious everyone has been ever since you began renovations, dear. Tell you what. I’ll encourage her to get that empty shop in shape and move everything back over there. I’ll say how much better the location is or something.”

“No need. I’ve opened this can of worms. I’ll live with it. It’s temporary anyway. Well, I’ll be getting home.”

“I’ll bring over chili for two.”

“Thanks.”

She stepped through the back sliders and into her kitchen. Safe and sound. No police. No reporters. Mamie was seated at the dining room table sipping a cup of tea. She gave a guilty start and gestured at the cup. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“I told you to make yourself at home.”

“Would you like a cup?”

“Yes, but don’t get up.” Payton dropped her jacket over the back of a chair and went into the kitchen calling over her shoulder, “Helen said it was busy today.”

“It was. Miles called. He was very impressed when I told him I made three sales.” Mamie said this not looking up from her cup.

Payton brewed tea and took the cup to the dining table. “You make out all right with the police?”

Mamie nodded. “Yes. That sergeant said it’s all routine.” She stood up and pushed in the chair. “I guess I’ll be heading home. I’m exhausted.”

“Why not stay a while, Helen’s bringing over some chili.”

“That’s nice of her.”

“She brings me food all the time. She thinks I don’t eat enough.”

“I agree.” Mamie looked Payton in the nose. “By the way, since the Main Street gallery is empty, I thought it would be a good time to start the painting classes… If you still want to, that is. I thought I’d offer the first class next Monday night.”

“Anyone else signed up yet?”

“Helen, Edward and Amanda so far. A while back, MaryAnn mentioned wanting to paint. Do you think it would be insensitive to ask her now?”

“No, it might be good therapy.”

The chili was delicious. Mamie left at 7:30, expressing total exhaustion. Payton agreed. The past few days had sucked the energy from the whole town.

She went to her office and, before turning on a light, peeked out the window. Aden’s car wasn’t in his driveway. She wondered briefly where he’d gone, came up with no answer, then turned on her computer. She opened a new file and typed Winter Chronicles at the top of the page. Working from the outline she’d hand-written over the past weeks, Payton began the first chapter and somehow managed to immerse herself enough to finish seven pages. She did a spell check and word count, shut everything down and looked out the window again. 11:30. Aden still wasn’t home.

She dropped the curtain and went to the living room where she looked out again. No movement on the street. No lurking police vehicles. No stray cats. No Aden. Why was she watching for him? She enjoyed his company, but that was it.

Right, that’s why she’d wanted him to make love to her the other night.

That was nothing to do with him in particular.

The last time she and Cameron made love was the night before he died. Emotion brought tears. Tears brought an overwhelming need to be moving. Payton slipped into a jacket and went outside. She turned right and walked briskly, keeping her eyes averted from Aden’s house. Where was he?

Helen’s living room light glowed, but she saw no movement inside. With determined footsteps, Payton crossed the intersection at Main and Broadway. She slowed her pace near Claire’s house. The bluish glow of a computer shone through sheer curtains on the second floor. Payton hadn’t thought of Claire as a computer person. She wondered how MaryAnn fared and almost stopped to check but didn’t know if she was still with Claire.

Sylvie’s house sat diagonally across the street. No lights there at all. Sylvie’s Chrysler was in her driveway. Payton turned and retraced her steps home. Instead of going in through the front, she walked around to the patio. The extensive work had been worth it. The place looked wonderful, even in the meager light oozing out from the kitchen lamp. She sucked in cool air, deeper, deeper, until her lungs would hold no more. She blew it all out till her insides deflated, empty of the feelings that had rooted there since Sean’s death.

Payton went upstairs and undressed. For better than an hour, she watched shadows march across the ceiling, fighting the desire to close her eyes. Finally the compulsion to sleep became too strong. She got up and threw on a robe. She stifled the urge to see if Aden had returned home and went out on the deck. The bay looked peaceful and calm. Few lights shone on the opposite shore. Wispy clouds, like 70’s fishnet stockings, floated past, alternately obscuring then displaying the tiny wedge of moon. She lay on the lounge chair, pushing both hands through her hair before settling them inside the folds of her robe.

She would not sleep. Nightmares would be in full-assault mode. She scrunched her mind shut.

Appreciate the serenity. Don’t think about Sean. But the more she told herself not to think, the more she did. How had he uncovered her secret? “Conduct unbecoming a teacher.” Payton slammed her palms on the arms of the chair. Why had he investigated her in the first place? All she’d done was refuse to buy a very expensive painting from him. What was the big deal?

Payton suspected the “big deal” had very little to do with paintings and a lot to do with saving face. Multiple times she’d turned down his date requests in front of his townsfolk. She hadn’t fallen all over him and he couldn’t bear it. So he investigated and found the skeleton in her closet.

Cameron had been her strength during that terrible time with school authorities. He carted her off to Greenland where she moped while he conducted long distance business. In a month, she’d begun venturing out of the hotel. In three more weeks Cameron deemed her healed enough to return home where the fervor had died down and Payton could go out without feeling as though all eyes stared. Well, almost. She still watched people’s reactions, still waited for the signs of suspicion, fear, anger, but never said anything to Cameron. Four months later, he was killed in her kitchen. Like a child’s tower of blocks, Payton’s world had tumbled. But this time she didn’t have a shoulder to lean on, or a sensible voice promising things would be okay.

She crossed her bare feet; the pink nail polish looked iridescent. Sean said he had evidence. Where would he keep something like that? At home probably. Then she sighed. The police probably had it already. That’s why they’d been around. They were waiting for her to let something slip.

The doorbell sounded. Payton started violently as the plinky chimes echoed through the house. The image of two burly State Police officers, handcuffs at the ready, popped into her head. A throbbing began at the nape of her neck and thumped into her forehead. How bad would she be hurt if she leaped over the railing and made a run for it?