by Leslie Caine
We both doubled over with laughter. Our main choices were virtually identical to, and mirror opposites of each other. The only difference was that, with his typical more austere eye, Sullivan had opted for the minimalist extras—a thin narrow crystal vase centered on the coffee table and holding a single lily, a single bowl atop the bookcase, a diagonally placed hardcover on one end table, just a lamp on the other.
We joked with Audrey that “great minds think alike,” and she remarked that it was no wonder we’d teamed up. She added in jest, “You two must never argue a bit!”
“‘No, never,’” Sullivan sang. He winked at me, said: “‘Well…’” and I joined him in dramatically singing the famous G&S lyric: “‘Hardly ever!’”
When the laughter died down, Audrey had us discuss our differing approaches to the finishing touches for the room, then she took an applause vote, with mine first. The “applause meter” had me as a clear winner, until Sullivan announced, “Wait. There’s one important last finishing touch to my room that I haven’t shown the audience yet.” He then unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt and strolled into his space, striking a GQ pose on the sofa. “Now you can vote.” The catcalls alone from the women topped out the meter.
Audrey, however, said, “I’m declaring this competition a tie. Thank you both for coming on my show. Will you two agree to come back and do this again?”
“Absolutely,” we said in unison.
“Once again, in perfect harmony,” Audrey mused. “So, give Sullivan and Gilbert Designs a call. Or, if you prefer, Gilbert and Sullivan Designs.”
She signed off. As she escorted us from the stage, she said, “See, Erin? I knew all you needed to get past your stage fright was to get your competitive juices flowing.” She hugged me, and I silently conceded that she was right.
chapter 24
I knew it! The show is a ratings hit!” Audrey exclaimed as she waltzed into the kitchen that evening. “We’re going to rebroadcast it, due to popular demand!”
“That’s great, Audrey.”
Grinning, she wagged a finger at me. “I intend to hold you to your word that you and Steve will return. This could be a monthly feature.”
“Let’s take it one show at a time. For now, I just want the chance to feel good about its being over. And to forgive you for springing it on me like that.”
“I’ll accept your answer for the time being. And I do apologize. But I’m going to have to find some guests to fill in until I can get a replacement chef.” In conspiratorial tones, she added, “As it turns out, Michael’s old restaurant went under because he was sued for a hepatitis outbreak.”
“When was this?”
“Five years ago.”
“I take it you didn’t know about this when you first started using him on the show.”
“No, I sure didn’t. The TV station’s lawyers are the ones who told me just the other day. Michael had managed to hush it up by throwing money at the poor patrons whose meals had made them sick. But he was recently denied a license for a new restaurant. He’s appealing that decision, of course, and he’ll soon manage to buy his way through the process.”
“No wonder he jacked up the price on Shannon’s paintings. He needed the capital.”
She nodded. “Despite all the exposure he gleaned from me as a chef on my show. Something which you’re about to experience for yourself, by the way. You’ll get a lot of calls from new clients now. You’ll have to turn them away in droves.”
“That’ll be something to look forward to, then.” I paused. “How many people does it take to form a drove, do you suppose?”
The phone rang in the two short rings that meant it was a call for Sullivan and Gilbert.
“More than a passel and less than a throng,” she replied. “And I’ll wager which one of us has to cook dinner tonight that the caller is going to be part of your drove.”
“You’re on,” I said, confidently snatching up the handset. “Hello?”
“Is this Erin Gilbert?” a slightly breathless woman asked.
“Yes, it—”
“Ohmigosh! I feel like I’m talking to a celebrity! I saw you on TV today, and I knew at once that I absolutely must hire you. My husband and I are sick and tired of our wrecked rec room.” While I listened to her chatter on about the woeful state of the game room, Audrey handed me an apron.
The next morning, Rebecca was waiting for me as I left my home. She was leaning against her Ferrari, which she’d parked just behind my car on Maplewood. I maintained a steady pace and tried not to betray how surprised I was to see her. She was wearing a plum-colored skirt suit—Armani, if I wasn’t mistaken.
“Congratulations, Erin,” she said snidely. She stood up as I approached, her spiked-heel sling-backs giving her the extra couple of inches she needed to match my height. “You’ve managed to turn Steve against me.”
I brushed past her and unlocked my car. “Have I?”
“He jilted me.”
“Good for him.” I tossed my purse and briefcase in the backseat. “I hope you didn’t think I’d feel guilty.”
She crossed her arms and sneered at me. “I’m not so naïve as all that, no. But business being business, I’m prepared to make you an offer. I saw your show yesterday. My immediate observation was that you and I could be even better ‘dueling designers’ than you and Sullivan were. We have more antipathy toward each other, and it’s going to crackle on the screen.”
“In other words, Sullivan already turned you down flat.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I already told you that much. That’s what I meant when I said he’d jilted me.” She touched her lips, then chuckled. “Oh, dear. You must’ve thought I meant romantically. I should’ve been more clear. So sorry, but I’m not about to surrender him to you that easily.”
She’d set me up with her wording. I gritted my teeth and rounded my car. “I’m in a hurry, Rebecca.”
“I’ll make this quick, then. Whatever Audrey’s paying you for guest appearances, I’ll triple.”
“Hmm. She’s paying me nothing. So, although three times zero is a truly tempting offer, I think I’ll pass.” I got behind the wheel.
“Five hundred dollars per show. That’s my top offer.”
“Bye, Rebecca.” She was standing in the way of my car door, blocking me from shutting it. I started the engine anyway.
“You should reconsider, Erin. A little piece of advice? Never let your pride get in the way of your profit.”
“As a matter of fact, I have some advice for you, too: Try to get an original idea instead of stealing everything from Audrey.” I pulled forward and shut the door, leaving her standing on the street, glaring at me.
At the office, Sullivan and I completed our scaled-down plans for Michael’s house. Michael had axed the geometric-patterned cedar deck in favor of the standard-fare gray composite board deck. All construction on the gazebo had been halted, along with the partially covered terrace that would have completed the feng-shui-square shape of the house. He’d also opted for vinyl flooring instead of the wide-plank maple in the original front room—a big mistake, but he was adamant.
We drove to Michael’s house to meet with David Lewis and go over everything. He and I had managed to avoid each other since our encounter in his office. We found him in the backyard, supervising the deconstruction of the terrace. He was in high spirits, which wouldn’t last long if I had any say-so. A couple of days ago, Sullivan and I had discussed what to do about him and agreed that, unfortunately, because David’s shady contract with Taylor had nothing to do with David’s work for us, we could not fire him solely for that one abuse.
Sullivan had us gather in the nearly completed front room, where David looked over the blueprints. “Yeah. This won’t be a problem at all,” he assured us. “In fact, since it’s mostly just taking away the things we’ve yet to do, we’ll be done with the whole project inside of three weeks. Long before the holidays.”
“Yeah?” Sullivan asked s
keptically.
“Definitely,” he replied with a big grin. “Now that we’ve repaired the damage done from the fire and the bulldozer, it’s all good. The place is finally coming together. The new foreman is a major improvement. He works at least twice as fast as…” He let his voice fade as he studied my furious expression. “Sorry, Erin. I forgot. I didn’t mean—”
“That’s okay,” I replied through a tight jaw. This was the last straw! Why hadn’t the police arrested the creep? At the very least, he was guilty of business fraud! “I’m just glad to see that the basic construction is finally complete and up to code.”
“Yeah, well, no problem,” he countered, choosing to ignore my tone. “I’ll be making the last walk-through with you tomorrow. So any last details you need me to take care of, I’ll handle right away.”
“Speaking of details,” I began, “you left some important ones out of our previous discussions on my brother’s workstation design.”
He froze. “What do you mean?”
“The fact that you bought the rights to it the day before he died. Why are you trying to cover that up?”
He looked at Sullivan as if expecting him to intervene. Sullivan growled, “Answer her question.”
“I explained all that.”
“No, you didn’t. You neglected to mention that you had a signed contract with him. Did you even pay him the two grand?”
“I gave him a check. It was never deposited, according to my bank records.”
“And yet you seem to have a clear conscience about the whole thing.”
He glared at me. “I didn’t murder Taylor Duncan to stop him from cashing my check. And, yeah, I do have a clear conscience. Because I did the right thing! I gave the guy a job, and I gave him a couple thousand dollars of my own money when I didn’t have to.”
“That’s a load of crap. Pate told me precisely how much he paid you for the rights to produce and sell your product. You gave Taylor just one fifth of your profit from stealing his idea!”
“Hey! I didn’t ‘steal’ anything! Like I said, I did all the real work.” He started to hurriedly collect his things. In his haste, his cell phone fell unnoticed from his jacket pocket. I surreptitiously kicked it behind me and blocked it from his view. Sullivan was watching me, but said nothing. “I’ve got to go. Let me know if you want to take me to court, and I can hire a lawyer.”
“A good start to avoiding that would be to donate that two thousand dollars in Taylor’s name to Habitat for Humanity,” I stated firmly.
“Will do. See ya.”
“Right. We’ll see you tomorrow,” Sullivan said with a dismissive nod. “Have the receipt from Habitat ready to give to Erin.”
David slammed the door as he left. “I don’t trust that guy,” I muttered to Sullivan.
“Me, neither. I made a mistake hiring him. From here on out, we’re working with your crew.”
“Better late than never,” I couldn’t stop myself from grumbling as I scarped up David’s phone.
“So. Why did you snatch up the man’s cell phone?”
“I want to check his phone logs.” I pressed the scan buttons. “Aha! He talked to Rebecca Berringer twice yesterday!”
“It’s still possible that it was Taylor’s screwups after all that kept causing—”
I jumped a little as the theme song from The Simpsons played from David’s phone. The caller—whose name was shown on the screen—was Rebecca. I tossed the phone to Sullivan. “It’s Rebecca. Pretend to be Dave. Just say ‘Yeah’ or ‘nah’ to everything, then hang up.”
“But—”
“Just do it! We might uncover something!”
He answered with a “Yeah?” holding the phone away from his face so we could both hear.
“David. Did you get my EFT deposit?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. So we’re all square now, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Wonderful. Like you said, we’ve been dodging bullets, but we’ve got to stop pushing our luck. That Gilbert bitch has been sniffing around like she’s some sort of Sherlock Holmes.”
“Yeah,” Sullivan muttered with a derisive snort that made me want to swat him.
She chuckled. “You obviously can’t really talk right now. Is the nosy bitch right there?”
“Yeah.”
“Figures. We really beat her at her own game, though. I got bonuses equal to yours for all your information. Not to mention all the slowdowns. Thanks for your good work.”
“Yeah,” he said and hung up.
At once, I felt triumphant at verifying what I’d suspected all along and yet livid at what we’d learned. “Jeez! I was right all along! David has been taking bribes for sabotaging the job, and Rebecca’s getting them, too!”
“Which means Pate’s the one making the payoffs. So I was right about Pate all along,” Sullivan declared. “I’ll bet he was behind all of it—your brother’s so-called accident, the fire, Shannon’s murder, and the runaway bulldozer.”
“I guess it’s possible.”
“It’s more than possible. It’s likely. Or have you let yourself get conned, too?”
“Maybe I have. I don’t know. It’s just that…” I sighed. “I just can’t quite picture Pate as a murderer.”
“You don’t have to picture it. The police can get this all squared away. We’ll both testify as to what Rebecca said, and she’ll be trapped into giving Pate up.”
“I’ll call Linda right now.” I weighed David’s cell phone in my hand, trying to tell myself to do just what I’d said. Yet there was a second course of action that had a certain appeal. Out the window, I caught sight of Rebecca leaving Pate’s house. That sealed it for me. “After I make one little return call on this phone, that is.”
“Wait, Erin,” Sullivan protested.
I went ahead and dialed. After the second ring, Rebecca said brightly, “Hi! I take it you must have finally shaken loose from Erin.”
“Not exactly, Rebecca.” I stepped out the front door and waved at her. Steve came out and stood beside me, his hands in his pockets.
She stood still for a moment, then snarled into the phone, “What are you doing with David’s cell phone?”
“He dropped it. That was Steve you were speaking to just now. And I heard every word.”
She hung up and marched toward us. She focused on Steve and flashed a brilliant smile. “Let me explain, darling,” she cooed.
“Don’t call me that.”
She visibly steeled herself. “You’re not canceling out on our dinner plans tonight, are you?”
“Yes.”
She pursed her lips. “This isn’t how it looks, you know. I was merely doing my job.”
“By paying off our contractor to sabotage our remodel? By taking a cut of the action yourself?” I cried.
“That is not what was happening!” Rebecca hesitated, that ratty little mind of hers obviously working at full tilt. “Pate and I weren’t paying David to sabotage the work. We merely paid him to give us copies of your designs. In advance of when you constructed them. That way I could counteract with our own design at Pate’s house.”
“Bull!” Steve said. “Pate’s not into feng shui. He would never pay major bucks to ‘counteract’ Shannon’s home design.”
Rebecca gave him a sad gaze, then averted her eyes. To me, she said, “It’s true that he wasn’t a big supporter at first, but he came around over the last few months.”
“Pate was bribing David!” I said. “He was sabotaging the work here! Your phone conversation proved as much!”
“You call that proof? I just told you what the money was for. David will back me up.”
“Oh, I’m sure he will,” I retorted. “Because you no doubt agreed on a story if you got caught.”
She gave a snooty toss of her hair. “If you think you’ve got a case against us, go ahead and call the police, Erin. In the meantime, you can both just quit reading me the riot act. All I was doing was some much-needed pre
emptive feng shui.”
“Preemptive? You and Pate started the whole thing!” I insisted, determined to kill two birds with one stone and give Sullivan a taste of how bitchy she could be toward me whenever he wasn’t standing right there.
“All I ever did that was marginally hostile was to suggest the pointed slant to Pate’s porch roof. Whereas Shannon would practically hurl dead chickens on Pate’s lawn in order to send negative forces Pate’s way.” She was talking utter nonsense now. “Steve, I simply wanted to do the best by my client by preventing your client from redirecting poison arrows at him. If I were you, I’d give some thought to how this is going to play in the press.” She gave me a triumphant smile. “Quite obviously, I was the successful designer. I passed the key litmus test, while you two failed miserably.”
“What litmus test?” I snapped.
“My client is still alive. Whereas yours was murdered. Talk about the ultimate feng shui failure!” She whirled on a pointy heel and strode to her car.
chapter 25
I might as well go ahead and call Linda,” I said to Sullivan as we watched Rebecca drive away. “Even though the two of them have obviously already concocted a cover story.”
“Yeah.”
Steve looked frustrated. I hesitated, eyeing Pate’s door. “Maybe Pate would tell us the truth about what they’d paid David to do if we asked him straight out.”
“And maybe pigs’ll fly, if you give ’em a hard enough push.”
The sight of a pickup speeding down the hill toward us distracted us. “Looks like David realized he’d dropped his cell phone and is coming back for it,” I said.
He left the engine running as he got out of his truck and approached. Donning an “aw, shucks” demeanor he said, “Hi, guys. Did either of you happen to spot my…”
Sullivan snatched the phone from my grasp and held it aloft. “Bad luck for you, David. We fielded a call from your partner. Rebecca Berringer just verified everything we suspected about you all along.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, now acting surprised and hurt. “You must have misunderstood something.”
