Lethal Dose of Love (7 page)

Claire envisioned herself walking from the bus station—couldn’t risk a cabbie who might recall her face—to the seedy neighborhood where her
contact
hung out. Maybe he had a place in an abandoned building, replete with litter-strewn rooms and holes in the graffiti-painted plaster.

She put down the book and shivered. Without the monkshood plant, she might as well be reading a romance novel. Where on earth was she supposed to get it? Claire thumped a finger on the printed word
monkshood
and decided to try the Internet. She hobbled upstairs. Her ankle was already feeling better. Maybe she’d go back to work tomorrow. Or maybe not.

Claire booted up the ancient computer, wishing she could use the one at the library. It was much newer and connected to some fancy high-speed cable network. At the library they couldn’t be certain it was she who’d been looking up the information, but couple that with her purchase of the main ingredient and she’d be off to the penitentiary before you could say “John Kerry would have been a great president.” Then again maybe she’d be better off doing the research at the library because
if
they focused on her as a suspect, they would definitely know to look on her own computer. She’d just have to figure out a way to delete it from the innards of the thing. There had to be a way.

While the home page loaded, Claire undressed and slid into a comfortable flannel nightgown and slippers. She took a large gulp of brandy, coughed twice, then realized she hadn’t eaten a thing since the toast with Vaughn that morning. No matter. She wasn’t hungry.

This had to be a perfect murder—unsolvable. Was that a word? A librarian should know such things. She frowned. It was the second time today she’d failed herself.

All was black outdoors except Sylvie French’s porch light diagonally across the street. The only sound was the rustle of branches against the house siding. Claire typed the appropriate words in the search square and waited. She opened the book and read the bold captions:

Ingredients

Consistency

Dosage

Storage

The plan had been brewing in the back of her mind for a long time. But over the past weeks, Sean had gotten more and more out of hand. So far no one had done anything about it.

Chapter 7

“It’ll be bigger than Funny Cide,” Helen remarked, standing beside the refreshment table in Payton’s shop, sipping tea from a steaming paper cup.

“Funnyside?” A little wrinkle formed across the bridge of Payton’s nose.

“C-I-D-E,” Helen spelled. “He was a race horse owned by some businessmen from town. The news people dubbed them the Sacket Six. It put us on the map and in the news when they entered him in the Kentucky Derby.”

Claire took a cookie from the plate on the table. “Did you make these?”

Payton gave an unhesitating giggle. “God no. I can’t cook. I bought them at the
Galley
.”

“It was nice of you to offer your place for Mamie’s showing. She’s really excited.”

“I hated to see Mamie get the short end of things.”

The door creaked open, then shut. Amanda March stood in the doorway. “Ooh. I love what you’ve done here.”

“Isn’t it lovely?” Claire agreed.

“I can only stay a few minutes. Edward’s up to his ears at the store.” Amanda and Edward March owned the marina at the bottom of the hill.

“Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour,” Payton offered.

“I love how you’ve made it like a regular home,” Claire said.

“Thanks. I thought it would give the customers ideas of how to decorate with plants without having it rammed down their throats.”

“I wonder if we could do that at the marina,” Amanda said.

“Yes, Amanda, I can see it now, framed boat parts on the walls,” said Claire.

“I see an anchor as a knickknack on the piano,” Payton added.

“We don’t have a piano,” Amanda said, and they all erupted in laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Felicia stepped in from the patio.

“We were just being silly,” Payton said. “I was giving the nickel tour. Leave the money on the counter on your way out.”

“Where did you get this furniture?” Claire asked.

Payton fingered a discreetly placed price tag. “I struck a deal with a used furniture shop in Watertown. They’ll rotate the pieces on a regular basis. I found a woodworker here in town who makes these wonderful shelves and arbors.”

“What’s the vine wound through this one?” Helen asked.

“Virgin’s bower.”

“Beautiful.” Amanda twined a length of it around a finger. “What’s that wonderful aroma?” She sniffed the virgin’s bower. “It’s not this.”

Payton picked up a small plant beside it. “No. It’s the
luculia gratissima.
Isn’t it nice?”

“I bet you put it near the door on purpose.”

“A marketing technique.” Payton gave a modest grin.

“Well, it worked on me. Can I have two?” Felicia said.

“I’ll box them before you leave.” Payton straightened a plant on one end table, pinched a dead leaf from a peperomia and blew a whisper of dust from a lampshade.

“I’ll have one also,” said Helen.

“Me too,” said Claire.
And while you’re at it, give me a monkshood plant for outdoors
.

The door whooshed open. “Good morn… Oh, what is that wonderful smell?” cried Mamie.

“It’s working!” Helen announced, then explained it to Mamie who asked if it was difficult to grow.

“No, though it will eventually need quite a large pot. Just so you know, I have a repotting service. And free pickup and delivery.” Payton showed Mamie the special tag attached along with the price. “The yellow tags indicate the easiest to grow. Green tags are moderately easy and the red ones require a special touch. And, see this shelf?” She pointed to an antique hotel mail holder on the wall near the front counter. “There’s a care sheet for every plant in the shop. If I don’t put one in your bag, make sure to ask for it.”

Mamie ran a finger along a satiny leaf. “Can I have two of those
lucu
—what did you call it?”

“
Luculia gratissima
. I’ll put them in the gallery. Maybe they’ll cover the smell of paint and canvas.”

“A gallery isn’t a gallery without those smells,” Felicia said.

“You’re probably right. I’ll still take two, but I’ll take them home. I have to run, some people just went into the gallery. I wanted to come and say congratulations on your opening.”

“Thank you. I’ll box up the plants and send them over before the end of the day. So, have you been in touch with Mr. Arenheim?”

Mamie’s pale blue eyes lit up. In the artificial lighting she was almost pretty. “That’s another reason I stopped by. Can he come on Monday to look things over? I hope it’s convenient for you. He’s such a busy man, and that was the only time he—”

“Monday will be fine. I’ll probably be here, but you can go in.”

“Oh, I couldn’t—wouldn’t want to be there unless you were.”

“It’s all right, really. Workers are everywhere right now anyway. You’ll probably be tripping all over each other.”

“Oh, you’re such a life saver.”

“Question: someone mentioned you were once going to give painting lessons.”

Mamie’s smile faded. “I offered classes, but only two people signed up, so it wasn’t worth doing it.”

“I’d like to take a class or two.”

“Maybe…well, I’ll see if I can… I’ll talk to you later.” Mamie closed the door and hurried across the street, a new bounce in her step.

“That was nice of you,” Claire said.

“What?”

“Do you really want painting lessons?”

Payton smiled. “Of course. Do you want the rest of the tour?”

“Everything is so beautiful.”

“Thanks. I wanted people to see that they can use their plants as decorations rather than just something to set on a windowsill. Like this
ficus radicans
, for example.” Payton pointed to a plant on a wall shelf beside a photo of a little blonde girl. The plant’s tiny tendrils twisted through the shelf’s openwork back. “This plant looks best winding around something. Obviously this one has to be sold with the shelf, but I sell them separately also. Then I have these hand painted Mexican planters. They were made to hold herbs and sit on a windowsill.”

Two steps led down to the outdoor patio. A five-foot latticework fence had been erected on three sides, shielding the area from the road. Tall umbrella palms made subtle privacy curtains at the street side. Different shapes and colors of stones had been laid in a meandering pattern on the gravel.

“Absolutely beautiful.” Helen sat in a white wicker chair and put her feet up on the matching ottoman. Sunshine filtered through the overhead lattice casting Helen’s face in warped squares of light. Hanging plants swayed in the warm breeze; the gentle aroma of peppermint wafted through.

Amanda took a chair beside Helen. “Payton, this is lovely.”

“Thank you.”

Claire sat in the third chair. Felicia took the fourth. Payton remained standing. Helen sipped her tea and pointed to a potted plant on the next table. “Tell me about this. We’re almost finished with our breakfast room and—”

“A breakfast room?” Claire asked.

“Yes. One day Payton pointed out how nice a sunroom cum breakfast nook would be, so I talked Carter into demolishing that rickety attached shed and replacing it with a glass room. You should see what a difference it makes. Anyway, I’ll be looking for plants to put out there. How would this be?”

“You don’t want that. It needs beaucoup sunlight, and your room will have filtered sun because of the surrounding chestnut trees,” Payton said.

“It’s so refreshing to have someone to tell me what’s going to work or not. Usually, I just hope a plant will live long enough for me to get it home from the supermarket. You know what you should do, dear? Start a home service where you go to people’s homes and tell them what sorts of plants they should have.”

It was hard keeping her ears tuned to Helen’s words because Claire’s eyes had spotted something that sent a thrill of excitement literally from her head to her toes. Nirvana. It had to be. She was experiencing total and all-encompassing bliss because, in the center of the glass topped table, not three feet away, sat
the plant
! In an unassuming plastic pot, eight inches of shining green leaves and a young cluster of blue/purple flowers, was her monkshood plant. Claire leaned back and closed her eyes. The others could think she was enjoying the pleasant weather and relaxing furniture if they wanted. In reality Claire was experiencing an emotion something like childbirth: the overwhelming sensation that hits when the pressure’s released from your vagina and everyone yells congratulations.

Congratulations, Miss Bastian. Your baby has arrived.

Claire’s fingers twitched. She forced her hands to fold in her lap, presenting the vision of leisure and cheer. Two tags were affixed to the pot. She couldn’t read the price, but the cost didn’t matter, she’d mortgage her home if she had to.

“What are you smiling at?” Felicia asked.

Would any of them suspect she was the one who’d murdered Sean Adams? Would they care? She’d seen movies where people in town banded together to protect a murderer. She’d better not count on something like that. Face up to it, that’s all she could do if the time came.

Felicia’s eyebrows lifted and Claire realized the woman was waiting for a response. “I was just enjoying the day.” Her eyes roved casually to the plant. A yellow tag meant it was easy to grow. That didn’t matter. It would only have to live a couple of hours. No, she’d probably keep the plant, minus the necessary number of leaves. If authorities came asking questions, would those missing leaves be incriminating? Could they tell leaves had been snipped off rather than simply dropped on their own?

How many others had Payton sold? It was pretty. The flowers smelled nice. It rebloomed without much effort from the owner, so the tag said. People would buy it by the score. No they wouldn’t. People with children or pets would be advised to stay away. The entire plant was poisonous, including the roots. “The drug toxins are absorbed not only through the skin, but also can be ingested or injected. There is no specific antidote,” the book said. Monkshood had a toxicity rating of six stars out of a possible six, which meant it was quickly fatal.

She leaned a little deeper in the wonderful chair and crossed her arms, her mind racing with fervor.

“Look who’s here.”

Even though Helen whispered, the trepidation in her voice snaked into Claire’s thoughts. Panic bubbled up inside her seeing Sean standing on the top step to the patio. His blond hair, flecked by sunshine through the overhead lattice, was tousled as though he’d just gotten out of bed. He ran a casual hand through it, and the locks remained in place for a second before tumbling back onto his forehead.

Helen was looking at him with unveiled anger. Amanda gave a quick, unemotional glance, then turned away. Felicia’s fingers were tight around the padded wicker arms. Claire mentally checked her own fingers—loose, at rest. Nobody would guess what she’d been thinking. None of that mattered; Sean only had eyes for Payton.