by Leslie Caine
down the stairs.
Meanwhile, Matthew Hayes came partway down the
stairs and stopped at the end of my long row of seats.
He stood, arms akimbo, giving Richard the evil eye.
Oblivious, Richard finished packing his half dozen quartsized cans and a pair of spiral notebooks into a filthy canvas bag, which he slung over one shoulder. He looked up
and smiled at Sullivan.
"Hey, S.S. Thanks for coming tonight. I'd meant to
have you say a few words to the class. But then we were so
rudely interrupted."
"Oh, puh-lease," Matthew growled.
"Enough, Hayes," Richard snarled at him. "Show's
over!"
Matthew gave him a withering look and stood his
ground.
Richard's face was discolored and damp with perspiration. Steve was studying Richard's features intently, and
seemed to be seeing the same thing I was.
" 'Fraid I'm going to have to take a rain check on that
32 L e s l i e C a i n e
beer," Richard told Sullivan. "Turns out, I've got to dash
over to a client's house tonight." He patted Steve on the
back. "Next time, okay?"
I hoped that Steve would stick with him, suggest that
he might need to have his stomach pumped, and insist
on driving him to an urgent care clinic. Steve looked up
at me as if to seek my opinion, and I pointed with my
chin at Richard. He seemed to get the message as he
turned to leave with him.
Matthew Hayes was now heading out the back door,
and I quickened my step to catch up to him. I wanted to
find out if he'd been hired by Burke to harass Richard.
"Matthew?" I called just as he was leaving.
He turned around. "Yeah?" His brow was furrowed.
He clearly expected me to bicker with him.
"Hi." I gave him a shamefully flirtatious smile. "My
name is Erin. That instructor is a piece of work, isn't he?"
Realizing only then that I'd spoken too quickly and too
loudly, I looked behind me. To my horror, Steve was
standing in the other doorway, glaring at me. Damn it!
Why couldn't I have held my stupid tongue for two seconds!?
"Yeah," Matthew was saying. "You can say that again."
Not bloody likely.
Sullivan stormed out the opposite door, calling,
"Richard. Wait up."
I forced a smile and turned back to Matthew. "Don't
get me wrong. I'm into saving the environment. I love
our planet just as much as anyone. It's just that you need
to save yourself, too. You can go so overboard that you
turn everyone else off."
"Exactly." He studied my features and gave me another appreciative smile. "You're Erin Gilbert, aren't
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 33
you? I think I saw an article about you in the Sentinel a
while back."
"You did?" I was smiling, but was cursing on the inside. I was going to be forced to drop my camaraderie
routine immediately. No way would I smear my reputation as an earth-friendly designer, just to ply an annoying
heckler for information about his relationship with my
client.
"Yeah. You're a designer, right?"
"Of interiors. Yes."
Matthew stood aside to allow me to pass through the
doorway first. As I brushed past him, he grumbled, "I
hate that guy. But I thought he'd be smarter than to drink
paint. Yeesh!"
"So you haven't heard that he drinks from a can every
year? That's what one of the other students told me a
minute ago."
"Actually, yeah, I heard something to that effect, but I
figured it was just a rumor. That's what gave me the idea."
He grinned at me. "You know, Erin, we're in different areas of the same field. You've even ordered some furniture
from me. At least once."
I finally made the mental connection. "Oh, that's
right. Of course. Matthew Hayes. You're the 'M.H.' in
M.H. Custom Furniture."
He nodded, eyeing me. "And you're the designer for
one of the finalists for the green home contest."
"That's right. Do you know my client, Burke
Stratton?"
"Not personally. I see that he's in for a big-deal prize,
though. Yet more greenbacks for the green home owner.
Huzzah."
34 L e s l i e C a i n e
"I haven't heard anything about any boycott of your
store in almost a year. Is that really still going on?"
"Nah. Tonight was just a preventative measure. See,
every year, Crestview holds this community course, and
for Thayers's final class, he hands out fliers, along with
his list of supposed abusers. M.H. Furniture is always one
of 'em. He gets his students so psyched up, they think it's
their idea to picket."
"Even though he's the one handing out the fliers?"
"Exactly. So this year, I'm cutting them off at the pass."
He wiggled his eyebrows. "Clever, right?"
"But you don't consider your furniture production
ecologically irresponsible?"
He spread his arms. "I admit that I use toxic varnishes.
And paints. And I use salvaged materials that are illegal to
import in the raw form. What are we supposed to do?
Never rework ivory? Hell, by the time I get ahold of it, the
elephant's already been dead for fifty years. That makes
me the bad guy, according to Thayers?"
I didn't reply, but the truth was, I could see both sides
of the issue. It was such a small step to go from salvaging
ivory to importing tusks. Yet Audrey had recently procured an antique piano with ivory keys, so, with an only
moderately ruffled conscience, I now had ivory in my
own house.
We entered the lobby, where I saw no sign of Sullivan
or Richard. I slowed my pace and glanced back. The two
men were coming out of the men's room. Richard's color
was considerably better, and his shoulders looked less
hunched. I breathed a sigh of relief. Steve, however, developed a hitch in his step when he spotted Matthew still
standing beside me.
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 35
"How did you get on his list of ecological violators in
the first place?" I asked Matthew quietly.
He honed in on Richard with laserlike eyes. "I had the
guts to argue with the pompous jackass at a conference a
couple years back. He's been riding me ever since."
"I see."
"The funny thing is that the guy's a hypocrite!"
Matthew raised his voice to make sure Richard could
overhear as he neared. "He's really not that much into
the environment. He's just fooled a lot of people into
thinking he is. He only pretends to be green, because
that's been his bread and butter for years. Richard
Thayers is about as green as my rear end."
"Strange," Richard asked him as he and Sullivan
walked past us. "Did you hear a noise just now? It
sounded like a lot of hot air being let out of a balloon."
Matthew retorted, "You should know."
We left the building. It was freezing outside, but
Richard wiped dots of perspiration from his brow.
Matthew horse-laughed. "What's the matter, Thayers?
Feeling a little ill from your nontoxic product?"
I gritted my teeth at the way Matthew was taunting
him. "Can I give you a ride someplace?" I asked Richard,
thinking he might accept help from a woman more easily
than from his former student.
"No. I'm fine," he barked, and headed quickly into the
parking lot. He walked with his weight forward, as if he
was once again in physical pain.
"I'm Matthew Hayes, of M.H. Custom Furniture,"
Matthew said to Steve, and held out his hand. "Are you
Steve Sullivan?"
Sullivan clenched his fists as he faced Matthew, who
appeared to be oblivious to Steve's hostile demeanor, per-36 L e s l i e C a i n e
haps due to the dim light of the street lamp. "Yeah." He
hesitated, then shook Matthew's hand.
"I was telling Miss Gilbert that I read the article about
you two in the paper."
Sullivan shrugged. "They must have been short on
news items that day."
We all turned as Richard drove off in an old Volvo station wagon. Steve and I waved, but he didn't acknowledge us.
"So, Erin," Matthew said, "could I take you to dinner?"
"I ate before class. But thanks anyway."
"You did?" Sullivan asked in a snarky voice. "You
weren't planning to join Richard and me after class?"
"It sounded like you were planning on catching up on
old times, and I didn't want to be a third wheel."
"I said I wanted you and Richard to like each other."
"Ouch. Sorry," Matthew interrupted, holding up his
palms. "I didn't realize you two were a couple."
"It's all right," Steve said. "Erin does her own thing."
He turned away and strode toward his van.
I felt both hurt and affronted. "It was nice meeting
you, Matthew," I said automatically, although it was far
from true.
"You, too. Stop by my store sometime." He slipped a
business card into my hand. "My workshop's in the back,
so I'm pretty much there twenty-four seven."
"I'll do that," I called over my shoulder as I trotted
across the lot, only to see Sullivan pulling away. I let myself into my own Sullivan and Gilbert Designs van,
grabbed my cell phone, and pressed Sullivan's number
on my speed dial.
"Yeah?" he answered a moment later.
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 37
"Hi, Steve. It's me. Doing my own thing. And calling
you."
"What did you expect, Erin? You had to flirt with the
guy who was harassing Richard? You had to hang out
with him in the lobby? To rub things in Richard's face?
And mine?"
"Jeez, Sullivan! Give me a little credit! I was trying to
find out if Burke Stratton had set up tonight's confrontation! We've run into terrible luck where our clients are
concerned, so I was worried about Richard's health." I
paused. When Sullivan said nothing, I added, "Despite
what Margot Troy said, it really looked to me like something went wrong when Richard drank the paint this
time. That's why I deliberately struck up a conversation
with his heckler. So I could ask if he knew Burke
Stratton. He claims he doesn't."
Steve remained silent. He pulled his van over ahead of
me, just a short distance from the parking lot.
I waited.
"I . . . didn't put that together," he finally said quietly.
"So I gathered. And by the way? Even though I did, in
fact, have dinner before class, I would have claimed to
have eaten, just to get away from Matthew Hayes."
Another long pause. "You don't have to worry about
Richard's health. He told me he'd gotten the mix wrong,
is all."
"The mix?"
"He . . . cheats a little every year." Steve's voice was deflated. "He dilutes the product he's planning on drinking.
He says it was too thick this time . . . that he didn't add
enough water. So he was feeling a little nauseated. But
he took an antacid, and he assured me he's fine now."
"Good. I'm glad."
38 L e s l i e C a i n e
"Erin? I was a real jerk just now. I should've known
you wouldn't . . ."
"Flirt with your mentor's arch rival, just because I'm
such a habitual slut?"
"I was going to put things more tactfully than that.
And I know you're not a slut. I'm sorry."
I crossed my fingers and said suggestively, "You want
to try and make it up to me?"
"I'm dying to. Believe me. But . . ."
He let his voice trail off. Oh, for crying out loud! He'd
loused up, he admitted as much, and yet he was sticking
a "but" into our making-up-again conversation?! How
fair was that?!
"Erin, I just think I need to call it a day. Before I . . . put
my foot in my mouth again. Let's start fresh tomorrow."
I said nothing.
With a smile in his voice, he teased, "I'll bring you
flowers and peel you some grapes."
"Grapes?"
"Yeah. I think there's some line in Cleopatra about
grape peeling. By her love slave. If I'm not mistaken."
I chuckled. "Well, I like the sound of that love slave
thing."
"I was hoping you would. So I'll see you tomorrow?"
"I guess so. At work. Yippee."
"Doesn't really feel like work, when you're around."
My heart made a little flutter that felt like a joyful leap,
but he said, "Night, Erin," and hung up before I could reply.
The next morning, as I strolled from my parking space
toward our office, the view of crystalline blue sky against
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 39
snowcapped mountains made me fall in love with
Colorado all over again, even though I'd lived here for almost three years. On such a morning, it was easy to find
inspiration for my work--the lavender colors of the white
crested mountains, the azure sky, the deep forest greens
of the pine trees.
I felt almost giddy as I let myself inside through the
carved oak door, smiling at the brushed-nickel faceplate
that read Sullivan and Gilbert Designs. I was so lucky! I
lived in one of the most beautiful areas in existence, I was
working in the career that I loved with the man I--
Perish that thought! I was getting way ahead of myself.
Sullivan and I had only recently figured out how to work
together without letting our differences boil over--and
cost us clients. None of the famed couples in happilyever-after fairy tales had to navigate running a two-person
business together. If I was going to let myself start believing that Sullivan and I could manage that feat, I had to
ignore an enormous amount of evidence to the contrary.
After a few minutes of stalling, I gradually got to work.
By the time my drawings of Burke's sunroom had captured my full attention, I had resolved that my businesshours focus needed to stay squarely on the job. I simply
could not be daydreaming about my love life, or lack
thereof, when the object of those dreams would, in mere
minutes, be occupying the only other desk in the room.
As if on cue, Sullivan stepped through the doorway,
his cheeks adorably flushed from the cold. My heart instantly bega
n its familiar thrumming. He hung his black
wool coat next to mine on the antique brass coat rack. He
carried nary a flower nor a grape, peeled or otherwise.
Disappointment was already clutching at my throat.
Maybe if I sat in a closet for long enough, my emotions
40 L e s l i e C a i n e
and my intellect would eventually introduce themselves
to each other.
"Hey, Gilbert," he said as he strode toward his desk.
"There was a traffic snarl-up on Main Street this morning. Really slowed me down."
"Was it caused by construction?"
"Maybe. The police had it detoured. Around Aspen
Street." He gave me a sly smile, then turned back toward
the door. "Almost forgot." He reached into his coat
pocket and removed what looked like a tiny white paper
cup for a catsup dispenser from a fast-food chain. "This is
for you, m' lady."
Inside the cup was a single red grape, which he had
somehow managed to carve into the shape of a rose.
"Oh!" I cried, gently removing the grape from the cup.
"This is amazing!"
He grinned at me and said, "Glad you like it. You'd be
surprised how many grapes I had to search through till
I . . . found one that was shaped like a flower." He'd grown
distracted as he spoke and was now peering at the drawing behind me.
Holding his miniature fruit sculpture up to the light, I
cried, "I love it, Steve! I shall cherish this until it turns
into a raisin rose!"
I had just decided to risk having a customer walk in on
us while I kissed him, but I hesitated. For some reason,
he was glowering at my artwork. "You're redoing Burke's
solarium?" he snarled.
"A little. I was thinking we could check out the salvage
yard again for some metal to remake into benches.
Maybe from some old iron security bars. Why? You don't
like it?"
"Jeez, Gilbert! I thought you'd be willing to take
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 41
Richard's advice for at least twenty-four hours! He says we
should back off from working for Stratton!"
"I'm not going to do that!" I dropped my carved grape
back into its catsup cup. "If this was anybody but Richard
Thayers talking, you would never have given a suggestion
like that a second thought!"
"But it was Thayers! Somebody whose opinion I know
I can trust. So your point is utterly--"
He broke off at the sound of someone opening our
door. I had to stop myself from cursing out loud at the
