TWENTY-NINE

At Payton’s, the sergeant waited at the patio table in the herb garden. He gestured for her to sit across from him. Sun beat down, heating the metal past bearability. He laid the ever-present notebook on the table. Payton waited for the questions to begin.

He looked at her, pen ready, brown eyes somber. Those eyes didn’t fool her. She’d been taken in by the “I’m-your-Daddy” routine once already. “Ms. Winters,” he began, and Payton felt suddenly quite lonely. “Can you tell me any reason why Mr. Green might have wanted Sean Adams dead?”

“I didn’t have an answer the first time you asked, and I don’t have one now.”

“All right. Tell me what you did last Tuesday during the day.”

“I went to the shop early to put in an order, dust and do some bookwork. On the way I picked up a cup of coffee at the Galley. I moved the ficus plants outside, turned on the patio sprinklers and watered the plants inside the shop. Just before putting the Open sign in the window, I went to the bathroom.”

Espinoza frowned at her overly detailed description but didn’t say anything. “A lot of people come in during the day?”

“Only everyone who’d read a newspaper or listened to the news.”

“Any local people?”

This was where she was supposed to throw her townspeople to the wolves. Yes, so-and-so was here. Yes, she talked about the murder. No, she didn’t mention wanting Sean dead, but she was carrying a hundred pound bag of arsenic and an Internet print-out of how to murder Sean.

“Felicia stopped in. She wanted to know what I was bringing to the potluck before the race. I told her I’d bring a salad. After lunch there was a dress rehearsal for the race and we all went there.”

“Dress rehearsal?”

“Yes. It’s when we take the boats along the course to familiarize ourselves with the route. I sailed with Helen and Carter.”

“Not in your own boat?”

“I don’t own one. I’ve been thinking of buying Zephyr.”

He gave a slow nod and took notes. “What about Sean  Adams?”

“Sean’s partner was unavailable and he sailed alone.”

“This can be done?”

“Not easily. But remember, it was only to familiarize ourselves with the route.”

“Who else was at this dress rehearsal?”

Payton counted on her fingers. “Helen and Carter. Sylvie and her partner—I don’t know her name. Amanda and Edward. Brighton and Aden. That’s it, I think. After rehearsal we all went back to work.”

“Who took care of the shop while you were gone?”

“I left a note on the door telling everyone to come watch. Most shop owners do that.”

“And next?”

She thought a moment. “Mamie came for the keys to the house. She was meeting Mr. Arenheim here. Then MaryAnn came looking for a job.”

“That right.”

Payton didn’t say the words that wanted to come from her mouth: “Yeah, that’s what I said.” She didn’t want to piss off this man. There were too many skeletons in her closet.

“Did you hire her?”

“Yes.”

“Was she qualified to work in a flower shop?”

“You don’t exactly have to be a rocket scientist to sell plants. She’s hard working and came with good references. That’s enough for me.”

“What happened next?”

“I gave her a plant book so she could familiarize herself with some of the most common plants. Then Claire and I remembered the Wanderlust meeting.”

“So you went to the meeting. Did you close the shop?”

“I left MaryAnn in charge. It was slow. I was only going to be a couple of minutes away. It seemed like a good time to break her in.”

“Where was the meeting?”

“Helen’s. She wanted to show off her new breakfast room.”

“Who else was there?”

“The usual members. Amanda and Edward. Sylvie French. Claire and Mamie.”

“Do Mr. Green and Mr. Adams attend?”

She shook her head. “Aden calls them ‘a group established for the betterment of Sackets Harbor’s gossip.’”

“Was there any talk about Mr. Adams?”

She tried but couldn’t remember. And told him so.

“Where is Mr. Green right now?”

“Uzbekistan, I think he said. I’ve tried reaching him but keep getting a message that his number is out of service. That’s all I can tell you.” She started to rise, expecting him to flip shut his precious notebook and get the hell out off her property.

But he didn’t. He turned to a fresh page and wrote Payton Winters—continued at the top in letters so big she could read them upside down across the table. “All right, will you get me the telephone numbers of the people you said you spoke to the night before the murders?”

“What possible reason would I have for—”

“If…if Aden didn’t kill Sean, who do you think might have reason to?”

“Like I said before, I’ve only been in Sackets Harbor a few months. Since I’ve been here, I’ve heard rumors about things Sean’s done to people.”

“Tell me some of them.”

She put her hands on the sides of her head, her hair drifting between her fingers and falling down to cover her face. This little movement gave her some needed privacy. Time to think. Just what had she heard? Helen had been forthcoming with a lot of stuff about the town and its goingson through the years. How much of her chitchat was anything more than idle gossip? Should Payton tell this man and let him sort through it? Was it her problem? Helen had an admitted soft spot for Sean and would probably have glossed over a lot of his behaviors. That meant he’d most likely done worse things than she reported.

What did Payton know firsthand? That he beat up MaryAnn.

Was it her business to repeat any of it?

“Ms. Winters, would you be willing to give us a sample of your DNA?”

Payton pushed her hair behind her ears and lifted her head to stare at him. This was unbelievable. She shrugged.

“Okay. Now, think back to two days before the murder, to Monday, and tell me what you did.”

She’d taken inventory. Had lunch with Helen and Amanda. Did bookwork. Brought Aden’s gargantuan pile of newspapers in and put them on his counter. Oh God! She’d been in his house. No wonder Espinoza was acting so suspicious.

“Ms. Winters?”

“Oh, sorry. I was thinking.” She told him about the newspapers.

“You have a key to his house?”

“Not really.” The sergeant stopped writing and looked up. “Helen and Carter watch his house while he’s away. Helen loaned me the key to bring in the papers. Simple.” Again she stressed the word he disliked so much.

“Will you give me the names of the people you spoke to on the phone last Tuesday night?”

She shot him a wan smile. “You’re not going to like one of them.”

“Mr. Green?”

She nodded. “The other was my friend Marcy from back in Minneapolis.” She slid his notebook from under his arm and wrote Marcy’s phone number in the top margin. “I talked to her from around eight thirty to nine thirty.”

“What time did you talk to Mr. Green?”

“Around ten.”

Espinoza’s eyebrows did an up and down thing.

“I know what you’re thinking. I told you the other day he was concerned about me—as a friend. He called to check on me.”

“What made him think you might be up?”

“He probably saw my lights on. You’ll have to ask him.”

“Would you do me a favor?” asked Mr. Friendly again. “Would you watch the tapes of the race and see if anything strikes you as odd?”

“Do you want me to do that now?”

“What if I leave the tapes and you can do it tonight instead of watching television.”

“I never watch television.”

“What do you do for entertainment?”

“I’m writing a memoir.”

He got up and slapped the cover of the notebook shut. He peered at her over the top edge.

Why did she suddenly have the feeling he still hadn’t asked the one question he’d come about?

He called for shadow-officer to retrieve the tapes from the car, whispered something and came back to sit. They were silent until he returned with two DVDs and a small black plastic bag. He laid them on the table before the sergeant.

Espinoza opened the black bag and took out a white envelope with a black logo of some sort in the left hand corner. From this envelope, he removed a second envelope. It was also white, but with no logo. From this he took out a long handled swab, like a giant Q-tip. He brandished it toward her. “Open your mouth, please.”

She obeyed while he swabbed the vile object around inside her left cheek while she stifled her gag reflex. He placed the swab in the white envelope, wrote her name and vital statistics on it, then sealed and slipped it into the larger envelope. She folded her hands in her lap so he wouldn’t see they were trembling. He placed the envelope back in the black bag and laid it on the table.

When he sucked in a breath that filled both lungs—she could tell because his shirt strained at the buttons—she pictured them popping off like little bottle rockets and shooting all over her floor.

“What do you know about Mr. Adams’ financial status?”

“Nothing. The café appeared to be prosperous. I did hear him ask Helen to have pity on him and offer a really good deal on the rental of the empty store. I have no way of knowing that meant he was hard up for cash, concerned about costs, or a cheapskate.”

“Why did you move to Sackets Harbor?”

She’d known this question was coming but hadn’t prepared an answer. She also knew it was leading up to his most important query of the afternoon. Her silence must have gone on too long. He’d let out the breath, his shirtfront returned to its pristinely pressed status.

“To write. I wanted a small town. A quiet place.” She laughed. “A quiet place.”

“That didn’t really answer my question, did it?”

Now it was Payton’s turn to sigh. “I’m sure you’re aware that two years ago my husband was murdered. I came to…recover.”

“Ms. Winters, how many poisonous plants do you carry in your shop?”