“What happened then?”
“Sean laughed. And Amanda ran out.”
Payton stroked the kitten’s back.
“What did you say?” Mamie asked.
“I didn’t realize I said anything.” She smiled. “I think that after Miles authenticated the painting, Sean swapped the original for a forgery. I’m pretty sure the original is in the master bedroom of his house.” Mamie’s eyes narrowed. It was then Payton understood. “All this time you’ve been thinking Miles faked the papers.”
“How did you manage to work with Miles the past couple of months if you thought he was unethical?”
Suddenly tears were streaming down Mamie’s face. “I wanted the gallery so badly. I’m ashamed to say I was willing to do anything to get it.”
“What did you do after Amanda yelled at you?”
“I went to Sean, of course. He swore up and down the painting was the same one Miles documented.” Mamie’s hands were a blur of motion. “I didn’t know what to do. Amanda begged me not to say anything.”
“Because of Edward?”
“Yes, he’s got quite a violent temper. But also, she was afraid for the business. Things like this can affect how people view you as a business person.”
“So, what happened with Sean?”
“He seemed so upset I believed him. I-I convinced myself Miles had made a mistake. That’s happened before, right? Somebody got fooled by a forgery.”
Payton understood Mamie’s emotional turmoil. Sean had a way about him that inspired confidence. Whatever “it” was hadn’t worked on Payton, and he’d known it right from the moment they met.
She held the kitten in the air and gazed into its big blue eyes. “What do you think about the name Maggie? Do you think that’ll suit you?” The kitten continued purring. “I’m not sure if that’s an ‘I hate it’ or a ‘that’s all right with me’ purr, are you?” Payton asked Mamie, trying to ease the tension. “By the way, would you mind watching Maggie a couple of days? I’ve got to go out of town.”
“Be happy to keep an eye on her.”
In her office, Payton looked up the number for Southwest Airlines and made reservations for a flight to Amarillo Regional Airport the next morning. Then she called Amanda and made an appointment to see her at three-thirty, which left Payton a half hour to kill before walking back downtown. She went upstairs and chose the clothes for her date: a white tank dress with a handkerchief hem. She set out antique jewelry trying not to think about Cameron’s grandmother, who’d given the turquoise necklace and earrings to her on her first “anniversary” in the family. High-heeled sandals and a lacy teal shawl completed the ensemble. Satisfied, Payton went downstairs, draping the shawl across the newel post at the bottom. She wondered where he’d take her.
Of course, since she’d called him, he might expect her to have selected the site. In that case, Payton chose a small restaurant in Watertown, one she and Helen had eaten at a couple of times.
****
Payton and Amanda walked out of the marina parking lot and along the narrow beach fronting the tall stone wall. Both had removed their shoes and left them on the wall. Waves lapped on Payton’s bare feet. The water was cool but not uncomfortable.
“I wanted to talk about your painting of the commodore,” Payton said.
Amanda’s manner turned wary. “What about it?”
“About it being a fake.”
Her expression registered
who told you?
but her words said, “That’s old news.”
“Was Edward really angry?”
Amanda sniffed. “That’s not even the word to describe his reaction. He stormed out of the apartment. I saw him go down the dock. I figured he was getting things ready for the race and went back to my housework. I found out the next morning that he’d given Sean two black eyes.”
Payton remembered those eyes, bursting up out of the surf. “What happened after that?”
“Payton!” Amanda’s words came like a blast of dynamite. “You aren’t thinking my husband killed Sean!”
“Someone killed him, Amanda. And I think the reason you’re so volatile lately is because you think so too.”
Payton crossed her arms and tried to look at the water as something other than an enemy. Lake Ontario had tried to swallow her. “Where was Edward the night before the race?”
“Just where I told the police he was, down at the marina working on our boat. He came upstairs about nine o’clock.”
Where he could very well have been painting monkshood on the ropes of Sean’s yacht.
“Do they know about his fight with Sean?”
“He told them the whole story.”
Then why hadn’t authorities confiscated either of the paintings?
Who painted the forgery? She almost laughed thinking of the fiasco of a painting class the other night. Surely it couldn’t be any of them!
Payton thanked Amanda and put her shoes on.
“I think I’ll stay here a while,” Amanda said.
Chapter 39
Officer Vaughn Spencer’s pickup stopped in front of Payton’s house at exactly three minutes to seven. He got out and sprinted up the front walk. She’d never seen him in street clothes before—khaki slacks with a pastel striped shirt. He was younger than she, maybe ten years, and two inches shorter. His head was freshly shaved and gleamed like the proverbial bowling ball. Payton didn’t like bald men, particularly self-imposed baldness. Those were probably the same men who, when nature caught up with them for real, would rush off to the store for a case of Rogaine.
Vaughn stabbed a bouquet of carnations at her. “I didn’t know what kind you liked. I mean…I didn’t know your favorite.”
“These are beautiful. Make yourself at home while I get a vase.”
She opened the plate cabinet, moved aside the knickknacks waiting for Mamie’s exhibit to be over so they could regain their proper place on the shelves, and took out a hand painted Columbian vase. It was made of clay and fired to a hard glossy surface. Someone had painted a desert scene in bold simple strokes. Payton filled it with water, arranged the flowers and brought it to the dining area. “Do you want a drink before we go?”
“No thanks, I don’t drink.”
“Not even wine or brandy?”
“Not really. Well,” he said, a blush creeping across his pale skin, “I’ve never had wine.”
“In that case, I have something you might like.” Payton retrieved a bottle of merlot from the cabinet and poured an inch in the bottom of two long stemmed glasses. She watched while he took a tentative sip.
His eyes widened in surprise. “This is good.”
Satisfied, Payton took a drink of her own.
“I gotta tell you, I was surp—er, glad to hear from you. I thought maybe we could go to this place called Debonairs in Watertown.” He downed the rest of the wine, waited for her to do the same and took both their glasses to the kitchen. “You ever been to Debonairs?”
“I don’t get out of town very often,” she said.
“I-I thought you and Aden…”
“We went out a couple of times. But not there.”
Vaughn reached out to help with the shawl but obviously didn’t know anything about them and stood helplessly as she draped it around her own shoulders. He laced his arm through hers and they walked to his truck. He must have spent the whole day polishing it. There wasn’t a speck of dust or a fingerprint anywhere. He opened the passenger door and waited till she’d buckled herself in before shutting it.
Vaughn drove slowly, too slowly, along the stretch of Route 3. He might have been trying to impress her with his cautiousness, or maybe trying to prolong their date. He certainly didn’t impress the drivers behind them. Payton mostly looked out the window, commenting on this or that about the scenery. About halfway to Watertown, she pointed out a pair of whitetail deer in a field and he pulled off the road to watch them nibble the tall grass. The animals didn’t even look up as vehicles whizzed past. After a while the deer wandered into the tall brush at the edge of the field.
The restaurant was quiet and plush, lighting subdued. Flickering wall sconces, resembling candles, cast just enough light so a person wouldn’t trip on the maroon paisley carpet. They were ushered to a quiet corner table and Vaughn helped her off with the shawl. He folded it carefully and set it on the back of a vacant chair.
“What kind of wine was it you served me? Maybe we could order it,” he suggested.
“When the waiter comes, ask him for Yellow Tail Merlot. It’s Australian.”
They each ordered rare prime rib with steamed broccoli and baked potato. Vaughn asked for extra sour cream. The meal was excellent, the meat tender and juicy, but Payton wasn’t there for romance. She wanted answers.
He chattered like a magpie about sports, weather, tourists and movies, both ones he’d seen and ones he wanted to see. He spoke as though this would be the first of many dates, talking about things they could do together “next time.” Till tonight, Payton had thought Vaughn would be one of those who couldn’t leave his job at work, that he’d be aching to talk about the murder and the excessive amount of time it was taking State Police to solve the case. But he didn’t say one word.
Afterward they went dancing. Payton tried not to think about the last time she’d been dancing—more than three years ago. Payton had to hold her questions; the music was so loud it made discussion impossible without yelling. And she could hardly holler, “Who do you think murdered Sean?”
Around midnight, they left the club and stopped at a quiet diner for coffee and dessert. Not only didn’t Vaughn talk about the case, he didn’t even leave an opening in their conversation to interject a question about it. Of all the television shows this man watched, apparently none of them had anything to do with murder, poisons or police.
He was a fun date, otherwise, his topics of conversation were varied and interesting, and he never said a bad word about anyone. If she’d been searching for someone to fill her lonely moments, Vaughn might have been the perfect partner. She felt relaxed in his presence, drawn to his calm manner and almost told him about her planned trip to Texas in the morning.
In front of her house, he shut off the engine and leaned back in the seat.
“I had a good time,” Payton said.
“So did I. What are you doing tomorrow night? There’s a musical I thought you might like to see.” This he said shyly, not showing the confidence he’d exhibited all evening. Payton almost smiled.
“Not tomorrow,” she said, “There’s something I have to do.”
“Oh,” was all Vaughn said, leaving the impression of a little boy whose mommy told him he couldn’t have a candy bar. “What about Saturday?”
“Okay. I’ll see what’s going on and call you.”
“Sounds good.”
She pulled on the handle, and by the time she was out of the truck, Vaughn was around the other side, waiting. They walked up to the house together; she put the key in the lock. “Would you like to come in for a nightcap?”
“No thanks, it’s late.” He gave a slow shake of his head. “I just never thought something like this would happen in my town.” He clapped a palm to the side of his head. “I’m sorry. I told myself I wouldn’t talk about this tonight. I know how hard the whole thing has been for you.”
“Murder happens everywhere.”
Talk!
“I know, but nobody expects it to happen around them.”
“Thank you for being concerned.” She sat on the stoop and patted the spot beside her. After Vaughn sat, she asked, “Am I a suspect?”
Silence a moment. “I guess they haven’t eliminated you. But I want you to know, I don’t think you—”
She touched his hand. “I know.” She lowered her voice, “Who’s at the top of the list? Never mind, that wasn’t fair to ask.”
“I
can
say it’s a woman.”
She counted on her fingers. “Helen, Sylvie, Claire, Mamie, Felicia and Amanda? And me.”
“Pretty much.”
“I’m sorry. You’re not supposed to talk about these things.”
“It’s not that. It’s just that the local force really hasn’t been involved in the case. The Attorney General thought we were too close to things, you know what I mean?”
“Sure. But I think they’re wrong. Local cops can give important insight into events—and people.”
“We do. We’ve given profiles on everyone in town, just about.” He shrugged. “Sorry if I made you think I was more important than I was. I get carried away sometimes.”
“I’ve always loved mysteries. Even as a little girl. I read all the Nancy Drew stories, then graduated to Erle Stanley Gardner.”
“That’s the Perry Mason stuff, right?”
“Yes. Then I moved to Agatha Christie. I bet I read
all
eighty-something of her books. My favorite character was Hercule Poirot.”
“I’ve seen him on TV.”
“The man who plays Hercule, David Suchet, is absolutely perfect. Exactly like the Hercule in the book.” She giggled. “Except he doesn’t walk the way the ‘real’ one did. Sort of like a penguin, I always imagined. I also like Lawrence Block. He’s got a great series where the main character is a burglar. You find yourself rooting for this lovable guy the whole time.”
“I never was a reader, but you’re making me think I missed something.”
Payton asked the question she’d been holding inside all evening, but the reply to that too was a disappointed, “I really don’t know.”