Poisoned by Gilt

by Leslie Caine

  hour or even two for my personal project without falling

  behind.

  Audrey called on my cell phone at half past eleven

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 117

  with a cheering suggestion. "You should drop by to see

  Jeremy Greene during lunch and tell him about the design ideas we were discussing last night. He came by the

  house a couple of hours ago and said he'd get right to

  work."

  "This is a small project, Audrey. You don't really need

  an architect," I told her for the third time.

  "Oh, I know. I realize you could do this for me. But I'd

  really like to get the chance to know Mr. Greene a little

  better." (This was the second time she'd given me this explanation; the first time she'd offered me the lame excuse

  that I was "too busy," which wasn't the case.) "And,

  frankly, I'm surprised you're not jumping at the chance

  to have him around here yourself."

  "Why would I want a murder suspect hanging around

  my house?" In my peripheral vision, I saw Sullivan pivot

  from his drawing and gape at me. "The reasonable question is why do you want one nearby? Plus, the man's being sued for malpractice."

  "Irregardless, I want to help you smoke out the murderer."

  "So you're spending money on an architect who's a

  possible murder suspect just because you're curious to

  see if he's stupid enough to say something incriminating?"

  "Something like that, yes. My insurance man just

  promised me a generous check, so I can afford Mr.

  Greene's services. One of the best things about being

  wealthy and single is that nobody can tell me what to do

  with my own money."

  "Point taken. But I hope you'll get a discount if he

  winds up finishing the job from the Crestview jail while

  serving a life sentence for murder."

  118 L e s l i e C a i n e

  "I'll see if he'll put that clause in our contract. Take

  care, dear, and I'll talk to you later."

  I said good-bye and hung up. Sullivan was still staring

  at me. "Audrey hired an architect?"

  "Yes. A tree branch crashed through our kitchen roof

  last night, so she decided to expand."

  "And to 'Go Greene' with an e on the end?" ("Go

  Greene" was Jeremy's advertising slogan.)

  "Exactly. I tried to talk her out of it, but she's stubborn." But then again, as the look of concern on Steve's

  face reminded me, so was I. Prideful, as well. Maybe I'd

  rushed to the wrong conclusion yesterday about his seeing someone else. In any case, I couldn't very well expect

  Sullivan to wear his heart on his sleeve for me while I was

  keeping mine locked away in a vault. "And, by the way, I

  want this murder to be solved, too. Because I care about

  you."

  Our gazes met as Sullivan seemed on the verge of saying something, but then he turned back to his computer

  screen.

  Margot Troy was sitting on Jeremy's desk with Jeremy

  standing right beside her when I arrived at his office a few

  minutes after noon. He straightened his collar as he sat

  down in his chair. It was all too obvious that I'd interrupted an embrace. "Hello, Jeremy. Hi, Margot."

  "Erin!" she exclaimed, atypically happily. "What are

  you doing here?"

  "Audrey hired Jeremy to work on some passive solar

  lighting for our kitchen. I wanted to discuss some ideas

  with him."

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 119

  "Oh, what fun!" Margot said. "What's she thinking

  about doing? A full remodel?"

  "No, just repairing some major damage from last

  night's storm, and adding a sitting area. She insists she

  doesn't want to increase my workload by having me design it myself."

  "I wonder if she's considering building a solarium,"

  Margot said. "That might be really nice. She can grow

  her own spices and even some vegetables."

  I grinned. "That's precisely what Audrey and I decided

  we wanted to do last night. We'll put a second kitchen

  table out there."

  "Wonderful! Are you going to attach a glass ceiling

  and walls to--"

  Jeremy cleared his throat, obviously not appreciating

  her discussing design ideas with his de facto client.

  Margot took the hint and said, "Well, must hop." She

  collected her purse and donned her coat. "See you later,

  hon." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and left.

  "So what's up, Erin?" Jeremy asked, gesturing for me

  to sit in the same chair as I'd taken the last time. He

  scratched at some stubble. Perhaps he was trying to grow

  a beard to compensate for his weak chin.

  "I drew some quick sketches for Audrey's new kitchen.

  She asked me to show them to you."

  "Fine. I'll take a look." He didn't mask his irritation

  very well.

  "Thanks for humoring me."

  He caught my cold gaze, and at least had the decency

  to blush a little. "You know how it goes. Too much input

  from the home owners can really screw up my plans."

  "Audrey and I are the ones who'll be living with the

  120 L e s l i e C a i n e

  final results. That's why it's important to take our opinions into consideration."

  He peered at me. "Did you show these drawings to

  Audrey?"

  "I described them to her, and she approves."

  He frowned and slowly pushed back from his light

  table. "Well, then, I guess I should look at them right

  now."

  "Only if you actually want this job."

  "Ouch."

  So much for Walter's assertion that my bones were

  never mean. "Sorry. I'm a bit stressed," I said.

  "Still worrying about Richard Thayers?" he asked.

  "Yes. I'd like to know that the killer will be brought to

  justice sooner, rather than later."

  He unfurled my drawings and looked at the first one.

  "Nope. You've got this ceiling too high. That's going to

  trap the hot air and warm the room like nobody's business."

  "That's why there's a ceiling fan in the next drawing."

  "Really?" He chuckled. "A designer who doesn't

  cringe at ceiling fans? What's next? Futons?" I had no response, and a moment later he said, "The cabinets look

  good."

  "Thanks."

  He rolled the plans back up. "I can work with this. I'll

  get back to you both next week, and we'll go over my initial ideas."

  "Thanks, Jeremy." I glanced over at a blueprint spread

  on his desk. It was of Burke's house. "Are you doing some

  more work for Burke?"

  A flash of panic registered in his eyes. "No. I was just

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 121

  going over them with an eye for what I can adopt in my

  current projects."

  "So there are no problems with his foundation or anything?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  "No reason."

  "The foundation's fine. Now if you'll excuse me, I've

  got to prepare for an appointment at one. See you later,

  Erin."

  Later that day, I stewed over Jeremy's reaction as I

  drove to Burke's house for an appointment to discuss his

  sunroom. Maybe my paranoia had kicked into high gear

  prematurely, but I was now very worried t
hat whatever

  went wrong in the design of Richard's foundation had

  also gone wrong with Burke's.

  I needed to take a look down there for myself. There

  was no sense in alarming Burke unless it was clear that

  something was amiss.

  Burke said he'd already reviewed my drawings for his

  solarium, and he approved the changes before we'd even

  had the chance to sit down, or even to leave his small but

  tasteful foyer. Sullivan and I had played up the rustic

  French country charm in this entrance. Sunny yellow

  paint warmed the plaster walls, and we'd designed a pair

  of arched sculpture nooks into the thick straw-bale construction on either side of the front door. The gold-hued

  slate floor added to the charm in the space, which served

  as a wonderful welcome to Burke's quaint, comfortable

  home. We'd emphasized a homey, kick-off-your-shoesand-stay-awhile atmosphere throughout the home. The

  entire house now had the feel of an unpretentious and

  122 L e s l i e C a i n e

  cozy old-world cottage that Sullivan and I--and Burke--

  utterly adored.

  I gestured toward the glass inner door and asked, "Do

  you mind if I take a quick look in your basement before I

  go?"

  "No, but why?"

  "Just curious. Jeremy happened to be looking at your

  blueprints when I stopped into his office to talk about

  someone else's house."

  "Why would that--" He broke off as the doorbell

  rang.

  To my surprise, it was Asia at the door. She beamed

  ominously at us. Skulking behind her was Darren

  Campesio. Asia said, "Good day, Burke. And Erin."

  "Hi, Asia," Burke said warily. His gaze shifted to

  Darren. "Darren," he muttered with a nod.

  Darren held up a palm and said, "I got no idea why

  I'm here. Asia dragged me over, claiming she didn't want

  to have to repeat herself."

  "May we come in?" she asked. She hoisted a big shopping bag to chin level. "I brought some visual aids with

  me."

  "Visual aids?" Burke asked as he gestured for her to

  come in.

  "Yes," she said matter-of-factly. I stepped back as Asia

  and Darren entered the close quarters. "I thought you'd

  be interested in seeing my plans for my new exterior decorating."

  "Exterior decorating? I . . . don't follow."

  She stationed herself in a corner of the small foyer,

  turned, and set down the bag by her feet. Eyeing Burke

  with a malicious grin, she said, "I've got some inventive

  home-improvement ideas that I'm going to install be-P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 123

  tween the trees and the fence that divides our properties.

  I've drawn a sketch of their precise locations." She thrust

  the sheet of paper at Burke, and I peered over his shoulder at what resembled a child's treasure map. "Wherever

  you see little X's behind all of my evergreens, there will

  be one of these." She removed a pink plastic flamingo

  from her sack. "People are always sticking such things in

  their front lawns, but that would be too respectful of your

  rights. I'll hang my flamingos from the tree branches. If I

  were to put them in the ground, you could simply replace the split-rail with a cedar picket fence, which

  would block your view of them completely. We can't

  have that, now, can we?"

  "You're out of your mind!" Darren said with a laugh.

  "No wonder you're named after a third-world continent!"

  Burke and I both gave Darren a long look, though Asia

  ignored his offensive and inane comment. "Asia, be reasonable," Burke pleaded. "I'd remove the windmill if I

  could, but that would be the least green thing I could

  possibly do--ordering a whole batch of customized materials for a big construction project and then scrapping

  them."

  As if he'd never spoken, Asia continued, "This way,

  with my pink flamingos wired into place on the tree

  branches, they will forever grace your property, looking

  down at you from above the fence. And furthermore, I'm

  stocking the pond with carp."

  "Carp? But . . . they'll eat the shrimp larvae that I'm going to raise in the spring! And they'll--"

  "I'm putting them in my half of the pond." She put her

  hands on her hips. "Which is my right. The same way

  you put shrimp in your half of the pond."

  "But my shrimp aren't going to eat your carp!"

  124 L e s l i e C a i n e

  "Rules of natural selectivity." She turned one of her

  hands aloft and dipped slightly to that side. She looked

  like the proverbial little teapot just waiting to be tipped

  over and poured out. "As a big-deal environmentalist, I

  would think you'd be all in favor of such a thing. You people do advocate letting nature take its natural course,

  don't you?"

  "At the moment, I'm more interested in not having

  my food source get destroyed by you!"

  "Oh, please. Food source? You showed me those

  shrimp last spring. They're no bigger than insect larvae!

  That's why they call them 'shrimps' to begin with."

  Darren chuckled. "Asia doesn't like shrimp!"

  Burke glared at him, and Asia quickly told Darren,

  "Oh, don't worry. I have plans for your property border,

  too. Big plans. Consider it payback for the my-windmillis-bigger-than-yours competition."

  "But your view of the mountains isn't blocked by my

  windmill! I'm on the east side!"

  "Even so, I don't like the thought of my property being

  flanked by your windmill, either. What if a big blast of

  wind knocks over your tower, and it crashes into my

  fence?"

  "The weather moves from west to east! It's Burke's

  windmill you've got to worry about crashing into your

  house, not mine!"

  "An earthquake, then. Regardless, you were the one

  who started this whole ridiculous business of windmills

  in the first place." She pulled out a white inflatable toy,

  still in its bag. "Now, these inflatable Santas and snowmen are going to look a little out of place among my trees

  year-round, but it is my property, after all. So I can do as I

  please."

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 125

  Burke and Darren were turning red. Burke kept fidgeting with his glasses, and I half expected him to rip them

  off his face and chuck them at his neighbor's face.

  "To top it all off, I've decided to get more with the

  times, so I'm going to be using an iPod from now on

  when I garden. That's going to become a necessity, because I'm taking up a second hobby. Along with raising

  carp, I'll be collecting these!" She brought out a ghastly

  violet-colored wind chime. "Since both of you have such

  an interest in wind, I know how much you'll appreciate

  being able to monitor the wind just by listening. I'm

  thinking a hundred chimes should do the trick."

  "Asia," Burke moaned, "this is a ridiculous overreaction."

  "Oh, and I'm installing colored lights along our fence

  line, Darren. It'll look just like Mardi Gras, year-round.

  Won't that be nice? And, with all those wind chimes going at once, it'll sound like one, too." She turned to glare

  at Burke. "And smell
like one, thanks to your stinky

  shrimp hatchery. Unless my carp do the trick."

  "I'm merely trying to develop personal food sources

  from the pond."

  "You make enough money to buy groceries!"

  "That's not the point. It's about sustainability. About

  not taking more than we put in."

  She looked him over from head to toe. "You're a doctor. If you're that obsessive about maintaining our resources, why don't you reduce the earth's population by

  letting your patients die?"

  "I don't expect people like you to understand," he

  growled.

  "No, Dr. Stratton. Because people like me are sane!

  Whereas you and that dead judge of yours are both

  126 L e s l i e C a i n e

  loony." She forced a smile. "You've got one week from today to take your windmills down, or my exterior decorating goes up. Good day, gentlemen. And Erin." She

  gathered up her bag of goodies and left, leaving Burke

  and Darren staring in stunned silence.

  "Would carp really eat shrimp larvae?" I asked Burke.

  "Probably." He sighed. "Maybe she's bluffing."

  "She isn't," Darren replied. "She hates conservationists. Told me so herself. I spotted her lugging an orange

  cooler toward the pond this morning. I asked what was in

  it, and all she said was, 'You'll find out soon enough.'

  Damn it, we have a right to put up windmills! We have to

  stop her! Or at last retaliate!"

  "How? She hates everything and everyone. It makes

  her unflappable." Burke paused and added thoughtfully,

  "Except . . . she does love flowers."

  "Yeah, of course she does," Darren grumbled. "But

  that's only because they're the only life form that doesn't

  actively shrink from her presence."

  Burke chuckled, and as the two men smiled at each

  other, they seemed to share a moment of friendship.

  Darren was the first one who looked away.

  "There's another possible course of action," I said.

  "Acknowledge her point and take down your windmills."

  "I can't allow someone to bully me into giving up on

  my plans," Burke retorted. "The windmill's already been

  paid for."

  "Mine, too. Plus mine's already fully installed. The

  thing cost me a fortune. I'll get reimbursed twofold when

  I win the contest, though."

  "Unless I win," Burke said.

  "That's never going to happen."

  Burke snorted.

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 127

  Darren shot him a furious glare, then opened the

  door. "Never!" He slammed the door.