TWENTY-SEVEN

At 7:30 Payton took her morning coffee to the sitting room loveseat, one leg tucked underneath her and turned sideways so she could see Aden’s house. The street was quiet. His porch light remained off. No police vehicles in sight. She’d slept well in spite of Claire’s final words orbiting inside her head like a rocket ship. “At least they didn’t arrest him.” What a strange way to say it.

Outside, an orange striped tiger cat crossed the street. A jogger ran into Payton’s line of vision and her first thought was that Sean would never jog past her house again. He’d passed there almost every morning since four days after she moved in. This runner was a woman, jogging hard and struggling. She wore a grey sweat suit—matching pants and zip-up hooded shirt. Something about her was familiar. She stopped in front of Helen’s house and leaned against a small maple to catch her breath.

Payton set down the coffee, got on her knees and pressed her face against the window. “Claire!”

Claire doubled over and seemed to have breathing difficulties. Was she all right? Payton slipped into her sneakers, then opened the front door enough to peek out. Claire had leaned away from the tree trunk and stood without aid. She looked across at Aden’s house, breath heaving.

Payton hurried to the phone and dialed. A sleepy voice answered. “Helen, look out your front window, quick.” Payton heard the phone being laid down and rapidly shuffling footsteps on a wood floor. She heard Helen say, “What the…” and steps returning. “What’s she doing?”

“I don’t know. She was jogging and stopped. It looked like she was about to have a heart attack, and I was just about to go help when she started watching Aden’s house. She looks all right now.”

Carter’s voice in the background called, “What’s wrong, Helen?”

“Nothing, dear. I’ll tell you in a minute.”

When Carter spoke again his voice was much closer. “Why are you hanging out the window?”

Helen told him what was happening, then she said to Payton, “He’s looking out the window.”

“Now ask him what he thinks about gossiping females,” Payton said.

“Not on your life!” Helen shouted the same time Carter called, “She’s gone.”

Helen spoke two words, “Jogging? Claire?”

“She’s been talking about getting in shape.”

“But jogging?”

“Sure, why not? Stranger things have happened.”

“Sorry I woke you.”

“I had to get up anyway…for Sean’s service.”

Payton hung up the phone. Things were really getting strange. Steadfast, somber men were running from the law, and down-to-earth, middle-aged women were taking up new hobbies. She wondered briefly if something was wrong with Sackets Harbor’s water.

* * * *

Sean’s memorial service was scheduled for eleven at the United Presbyterian Church on Main Street. There wouldn’t be a wake or a regular funeral until authorities released his body. Nobody seemed to know when that would be. Sergeant Espinoza had told someone—rumor lost its original owner—they were waiting for toxicology reports. Didn’t that pretty much cement Aden’s theory about poison?

Which raised another question. If Aden killed Sean, why force attention on himself by talking about it? Why not lie back and let nature, or the authorities, take its course? Or get the heck out of town right away? Surely someone with Aden’s connections could lose himself anywhere in the world.

A paralyzing thought hit. What if she was responsible for him being a suspect? If she hadn’t mentioned poison…

Payton stood on the stone steps in front of the church, submerged in the same dizzy sensation as when she dove overboard to save Sean. Thankfully, people were both behind and in front of her and the momentum of their movement kept her from sagging to the floor. She slipped into the first pew and sat. Her thoughts swam in muddled confusion. If she hadn’t told the sergeant Aden’s concerns, suspicion wouldn’t have been generated in his direction, and he wouldn’t be on the run right now. Despair clouded her vision. Desperation forced her to her feet. She pushed through the people still making their way inside. Barely touching the steps, she flew to the sidewalk and sprinted for home.

Church bells chimed behind her, but she ran on.

Payton needed to be alone. Her world was crumbling again, an avalanche of wood, mortar and brick that flowed like lava. She felt only the air pressure on her back at first, and then the tickle of the dust shoved her ahead of the deluge. And now the force of the shards themselves propelled her indoors. Payton fell to her knees in her hallway, gasping, trembling, sobbing.