TWO

Claire hurried away, scrubbing tears with tense knuckles. To get to her car she had to go near the café. For now that strength just wouldn’t come. She turned right, walked twenty feet up the sidewalk, then crossed the street. Payton’s new sign stood proud and shiny for everyone to see.

Claire took a breath of the cold air and went into Mamie’s Artpost, two doors from Sean’s place, yet in the same building. Between their businesses was a vacant shop, empty since fall when the woman selling goodies for dogs closed up and went back to Connecticut. The ever-present scent of oil paint and damp cardboard pushed out of Mamie’s gallery as the door squeaked open. How could she stand that smell day in and day out?

“I’ll be right with you,” Mamie hollered from the back room.

“It’s just me.”

Round, plain Mamie Coutermarsh appeared, wiping her hands on a wad of paper towel. Her eyeglasses were perched atop a beehive of grey corkscrew curls. “How does the place look?” This was asked without Mamie making eye contact. She almost never made eye contact with anyone. She’d look up, down and around, and would, if the subject was serious enough, focus on a person’s chin or top button. It was the one thing about her friend that drove Claire nuts. Still, they were best friends, had been for more than ten years, since the death of Mamie’s husband.

Claire turned in a circle, squinting, searching for the slightest bit of dust, the smallest thing out of place. “Perfect.”

“Oh, Claire, I’m so nervous. Mr. Arenheim will be here in the morning.”

“Stop worrying. He’ll love the place. You’ll be Sackets Harbor’s first internationally-known gallery owner.”

“Do you really think so?”

“He’s going to love you. Just make sure you look him in the eye while you’re talking. Now stop worrying. Everything will be fine.”

“I wish there’d been time to get next door cleaned up a little. It’d be easier for him to envision.”

“Didn’t you sign a lease with Helen?” Helen Mortenson, besides being figurative head of the gossip committee, was a real estate agent and owner of the building.

“She said she’d have one ready. If Mr. Arenheim agrees to the deal to expand the gallery, all we have to do is add our signatures. Oh, Claire, I’m so nervous.”

Just then, a thump came from the very space under discussion. Mamie frowned. “Someone’s next door.”

“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 downstairs.

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.