Vaughn was serious about his job. He was down to earth, friendly to everyone and accessible, showing up inside shops instead of passing them by during his rounds.
As Payton picked up and greeted the meowing Maggie, a thought struck. Vaughn had access to the shops. Meaning he had access to the monkshood plant. Vaughn knew what sort of person Sean was; they’d grown up together. Maybe Vaughn was one of the kids Sean tormented. He was on duty the night the poison had been applied to the ropes.
She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it lodged like a car in a Minneapolis traffic jam. She poured a generous glass of Chablis and took it out on the patio, settling Maggie in her lap. But this was Maggie’s first time outdoors and soon she wasn’t content just sitting. After receiving a warning not to get lost she hopped down to explore.
Could Vaughn be a murderer? Payton shook her head. It couldn’t be.
Possibly the box held an incriminating envelope with Vaughn’s “date” on it. She retrieved the kitten, who obviously didn’t want her explorations curtailed, and went inside. “You can go out again tomorrow.” She shut the door and set Maggie on the floor. The kitten went back to the door and meowed. Payton ignored her and went to the pantry.
The next envelope was dated August 22, 1996. This held no invoices or newspaper clippings. It contained three handwritten pages documenting the real estate deal gone bad between Sean and Sylvie. Payton settled on the kitchen stool, sipping wine and stumbling over Sean’s scribbled penmanship, trying to figure what it meant. The other envelopes contained sales Sean made, or news articles about events in which he’d been involved. But this seemed to be a record, more like a note to himself. Then Payton realized—this was information for future reference, possible evidence for blackmail.
Had Sean presented the evidence to Sylvie? It would be a perfect motive for murder.
The next envelope was dated April 4, 1997. This Payton recognized immediately. It was the day he and MaryAnn married. Inside were copies of her driver’s license, birth certificate and social security card and a scribbled note saying he’d paid $5,000 for them. From whom, the note didn’t say. She sipped wine and thought about MaryAnn living with the fear of being deported. Having to accept his philandering with stoic silence. Taking his abuse with grace. Had she finally grown sick of it all? It just didn’t fit. MaryAnn had been so happy to finally be moving out on her own.
Maybe, seeing her bags packed turned the divorce into a reality for Sean. Up till then it had been just talk. She was saving money and
someday
would leave him. Now it was real. Would he accept this with just a shrug of his shoulders? Payton didn’t think so. The little boy in him needed her. MaryAnn accepted him for what he was.
Payton poured more wine and went for another envelope, not at all liking what she was thinking. This was dated December 24, 1999. Christmas Eve. The only thing inside was a sales invoice to a woman named Ann in the amount of $17,500. There was no address or notation as to what she’d bought. More potential blackmail evidence? Payton slipped the paper back in the envelope and returned the envelopes to the box.
Payton called Maggie, still sitting at the sliding door. Payton scooped her up. “You can go out again tomorrow. It’s after midnight and we’re going to bed now.”
Chapter 43
Payton greeted Miles with a warm handshake and close scrutiny—mid- to late-forties with high cheekbones and a narrow nose that gave his face a pinched look, like something didn’t smell quite right. Not bad looking in the grand sense of it though. Expensive haircut, longish sideburns; otherwise clean-shaven. No wedding band, just an onyx and gold ring on his right pinky finger. No other jewelry in evidence except a Rolex watch. The whole package presented a picture of financial wellbeing.
Was Miles Arenheim the sort who’d provide false documentation papers on forged paintings? Or had Sean duped him as he duped so many others? A search on the internet provided some information. David Miles Arenheim owned two homes, one in New York City and one in Aspen. He had no criminal record except an arrest for going 47 miles over the speed limit at the age of 17. He had a .45 caliber pistol registered to him in the State of New York. He had not been in the military. Last year he paid taxes on $2.7 million. Miles Arenheim was a noted authority on paintings, one of few in the United States licensed to provide authenticity documentation. His handshake was supposed to be his bond.
Payton needed a few uninterrupted moments to talk with Miles. Like a lost puppy, she followed him and Mamie around the downstairs, listening to Mamie’s commentaries about pieces he’d sent up from the City, and how she would display them.
“I sold this just yesterday.” Mamie touched a carved teakwood statue of an elk. “I’ll hate to see it go. Oh, where are my manners? Would you like some coffee or tea?”
“What I’d really like is a glass of brandy, or sherry if you have it.” This he said looking at Payton.
“I’ll get it,” Mamie offered.
This gave Payton the opening she’d been hoping for. “Do you remember the documentation papers you provided on a painting of Commodore Melancthon Brooks Woolsey for Sean Adams?”
A clink of glass against glass made them both turn. Mamie gave an embarrassed smile. “I didn’t know you were going to bring that up. I thought Amanda and Sean got it all settled.”
Miles’ brow knit in thought. “Ugly cuss? Uniform?”
“That’s him.”
“Long time ago, but yes, I remember. Why do you ask?”
“There’s a forgery of it floating around town. A forgery with your papers attached.”
“Shit.” Miles accepted the glass from Mamie with a nod.
“Did Sean hire you to document other paintings?”
“Several.”
“Was there ever a Frederic Edwin Church?”
“There was.” Miles set the glass on the dining room table. He took off his glasses and laid them beside it. “What are you trying to say?”
“I think Sean was selling forged paintings. I found some papers in his things.”
“His things?” Mamie asked.
“I was helping MaryAnn sort through them and found some old invoices and things. Anyway, he sold Church’s
Lake George
at least twice.”
Miles ran a hand through his hair, leaving a bunch on the left side standing straight out. Mamie put a hand up as though she wanted to brush it down but decided against it and jammed the hand in the pocket of her dress.
“Sean sold the painting twice for fifteen thousand.” Payton turned to Mamie. “Do you know anyone named Ann? There was another invoice for seventeen-five made out to a woman named Ann, but there was no note as to what it was for.”
“I can’t think of anyone by that name.”
“I know a lot of Anns,” Miles said, “but none who strike me as being related in any way to Sean.”
“How well did you know him?” Payton asked.
“We met those few times I did the authentications. We never socialized. The day he burst in on Mamie and I at the gallery, I didn’t recognize him. It wasn’t till I was on my way home I realized who he was.”
Miles helped Mamie wrap the elk carving for shipment to London, and Payton went into her office and shut the door. For the first time in ages she felt like working on her memoir. While the writing program opened, she listened to Miles and Mamie bantering in the living room. Apparently he’d picked up the kitten and was cooing over her. How bad could Miles be if he cooed to a kitten? Mamie tapped on the door and announced she was taking Miles back to the airport. Payton went to say good-bye.
“I’ll check my records when I get back and call you,” Miles said. “It was nice seeing you.”
“You also. See you in the morning, Mamie,” Payton shut the door on them and went back to her book. She worked for a couple of hours, but her brain kept sidetracking to Sean and his birth mother. Payton wondered how Claire would react if she knew Payton found out her secret.
She shut down the computer, gave the kitten a good-bye hug and walked to Claire’s once again, without calling first. Definitely not apropos. Claire was in the side garden on her knees weeding. She grunted as she stood, dropping a handful of weeds atop a pile at the edge of the driveway. “Keep trying to get in better shape, but there always seems to be muscles I don’t reach.”
“It’s looking beautiful,” Payton agreed. “I’m surprised your monkshood is doing so well in this spot. Traditionally they like it shady and wet.”
“Well, it’s definitely not shady, but I have an underground watering system that keeps it pretty moist. Would you care for a glass of lemonade?”
“No thank you.”
“How’s your kitten?”
“A hellion,” Payton answered. “She’s decided she wants to be outdoors. She’s too little to let out on her own, so I have to drop what I’m doing to go out with her.”
“I’ll have to come see her sometime. I haven’t seen Sylvie’s cats in years.”
Payton lowered her voice. “I’m in no hurry to see them again either. How do they handle it when she hosts the
Wanderlust
meetings?”
“Felicia ordered Sylvie to clean the cat boxes or we wouldn’t come.”
“I’d have a hard time telling someone something like that. It’s sort of like telling someone they have bad breath.”
“You trying to say something?” Claire asked, mischievously wrinkling her nose.
Payton laughed and pointed at one of the other plants Claire had purchased at her shop. “You really have a green thumb.”
“What have you been up to? I haven’t seen you in a few days.”
“I worked on my memoir for a while this morning. Miles Arenheim came to see how the gallery was shaping up. Then I thought I’d come see how you were.”
“That explains why Mamie didn’t show up this morning. Sundays we most always spend the day together.”
“She picked him up at the airport early. About an hour ago she took him back.”
“What did you think of him?”
“Suave, sophisticated. Way out of my league,” Payton said.
“Boloney! He’s exactly your type.”
“Is that how I come off?”
Claire plucked out a single weed, shook soil off the root and dropped it on the pile. “There’s nothing wrong with sophistication and class.”
“I guess not, but in my mind that usually means snob too.” Seeing Claire’s averted eyes, Payton exclaimed, “No, not that!”
Claire gave a nervous laugh.
“People think I’m a snob?”
“In the beginning they did.” Claire went to the back steps and sat on the top one. “When you didn’t try to make friends…I think it was natural for them to think that.”
“I hope they don’t any more.”
“They have other things to gossip about lately.”
Payton brought up the reason for her visit. “Tell me about Edna and Rodney.”
“He was short and squat, stoop-shouldered and bowlegged. Very sweet. He doted on Edna, and then Sean when he came along. They did all those father-son things together, fishing, boating, baseball.” Claire gave a reminiscent laugh. “He bought Sean a little tiny baseball glove as a coming-home-from-the-hospital gift.” Then she added, “Rod and Mamie’s husband, Donald, were in the same graduating class.”
“Were they friends?”
“Yes. Well, during high school anyway. After Donald married Mamie and Rod married Edna, they sort of drifted apart. You know how it is, people get involved in their lives. Besides, Don changed. He got hired by that laboratory and turned really weird, talking about experiments and discoveries all the time. I don’t know how Mamie stood it.”
“So Rod and Sean got along well,” Payton said.
“Yes. Best friends, I guess you’d say.”
“What was Edna’s relationship with him?”
Claire laughed, a deep rolling one that began in the pit of her stomach. “She was so jealous of the relationship between her boys!”
“Must have been hard on them both when he started getting in trouble.”
“God, yes, Edna was a wreck, Rod blamed himself. It wasn’t their fault. They were so good to him.” Her hands fluttered in her lap. “Maybe they were too good.”
Payton took a breath. “It must have been hard on you.”
Without hesitation, Claire asked, “How long have you known?”
An uneasy laugh squeezed between Payton’s lips. “A few days.”
“How did you find out?”
“It’s a long story. It all began with Sean’s social security card but ended with a visit to his aunt Elaine.”
“So, she’s still alive.”
“And well, and living in Amarillo.”
“Did he know, do you think?”
“I suspect he only knew he was adopted. They didn’t tell him, though.”
“They planned to. That was part of our agreement. When they—we—thought he was old enough. You’ve heard about his behavior. He wasn’t ready.”
“Was there anyone else who might have known?”
“No.” She thought a moment, then repeated, “No.”
“What about Mamie?”
“No. I’ve been so careful. It’s awful to say this, but Sean’s death has been a relief in some ways. To not have to watch everything I say. Not to have to worry what he’s going to do next.” Tears flowed down Claire’s cheeks.