FORTY-SIX

Payton woke on the sofa. She counted eight chimes of the grandmother clock against the hallway wall. The house was otherwise silent. Aden must’ve gone home. Payton set Maggie on the floor and went upstairs feeling stiff but not too bad.

She didn’t want to go in her bedroom. Memories would gush like floodwaters, but that’s where the clothes were. She pushed open the door. The blood had been completely cleaned up. The bed was now covered in the colorful spread from the top shelf in the closet. The carpet had been scrubbed and everything shone with cleanliness. A pervading odor of copper permeated the air. Payton went to shower where she leaned against the tiles letting the hot jets beat her skin to a bright red.

An hour later, dressed and ready—mostly—to face the world, Payton pulled open her front door. And nearly lost her coffee when both Aden and Vaughn stepped inside. “Where are you going?” they asked, conjoined twins today, instead of rivals.

“I have a shop to open.”

Aden took her elbow. “Come on.”

They piled into Vaughn’s pickup, Payton in the middle. Vaughn jammed his foot to the floor. She almost smiled as the old-lady-driver turned into Mr. Cop. They took the turn at Main and Broad on what felt like two wheels. Where were they going?

Her unspoken question got answered when they screeched to a stop near Tin Pan Galley. Across the street, flames flickered inside Sean’s café. Two fire trucks and a gaggle of onlookers were already there. Vaughn sprang from the vehicle. Aden laid his arm across the back of the seat. Payton settled back in the comfort of his embrace and as though they were at a drive-in movie, watched the firemen work. Once she started to ask something, but Aden shushed her.

An hour later, the fire was out and cleanup began. Smoke billowed out and hung overhead, scenting the air and making eyes burn.

“I wonder how it started,” she whispered.

“I don’t know.”

“I wonder if anyone’s inside.”

“They won’t be able to check till things cool down. Now, stop talking or I’ll take you home.” A moment later he said, “I’d say it won’t be worth opening the shop today.”

She nodded.

“Want to take a walk?”

She nodded again, feeling like the little bobbing dog in the back window of her grandfather’s T-bird. Aden helped her to the sidewalk.

They walked up the hill, arm in arm, like two people out for a Sunday stroll. Two people without the worries of an arrest warrant, burning buildings and maniacal murderesses. They walked a long time, along the farthest end of Broad Street, past the school and wide-open field where the air smelled less like lake and more like green, and clean. After a while, they turned and went to Payton’s. She’d been worried they’d find it too in flames. But it stood strong with its fresh coat of pastel yellow atop brand new stucco. Every previous time she approached her house, she felt pride in what she’d accomplished. A woman alone can get things done, just like Grandma declared.

Aden touched her arm. “Come on,” he said, tugging her off the sidewalk and across to his house.

Payton held back. “Maggie.”

The kitten waited at the door. Payton couldn’t help sniffing the air for fire. Nothing, not even the ubiquitous scent of blood. But something was not quite right.

Aden picked up the kitten and headed out the door.

“Wait.”

She could see him mentally tapping an impatient foot as Payton tiptoed upstairs and pushed open the door of the guest room. There, on one of the twin beds, was the object of last night’s All Points Bulletin. Mamie was beyond being a danger. Blood, drying to the color of raw nutmeg, caked the side of her face where Payton stove it in with the bedroom lamp. Her stomach roiled at the sight of what she’d done. She stepped fearlessly into the room and dropped to her knees beside the bed. She put her hand on Mamie’s arm, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Mamie’s eyes fluttered open. Payton saw recognition. Mamie opened her mouth. A trickle of blood oozed from the corner, ran down her jaw and onto one of the red squares on the blanket. She whispered something Payton couldn’t understand.

“What?”

Mamie opened her mouth again. Payton put her ear near Mamie’s lips. “Sorry,” came the soft words. “So sorry.”

“Why?” Payton asked, but it was too late to list motives, to deliver explanations. Mamie gasped, shuddered and went limp. Whatever trials, troubles or worries had driven the woman to murder, were over.

Payton laid her head on Mamie’s blood-encrusted sleeve and wept tears of sorrow and forgiveness.