by Leslie Caine
had cause to be driven into a murderous rage, but at Asia
and Jeremy, not Richard or Walter.
I got back behind the wheel. Audrey was jotting some
notes on her pad, which she returned to her handbag
when I started the engine.
"Once again, Erin, you did a truly remarkable job on
that house."
"Thank you, Audrey." I turned onto the road.
"I'm simply stating the obvious, but you're welcome. I
only hope your work isn't going to go for naught."
"What do you mean?"
"Just that Dr. Stratton's house appears to have been
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 215
built on a sinkhole or something, judging by the cracks
in the basement."
I winced, but if she noticed she didn't let on. She
mused, "None of the questions on my score sheets ask me
to rank the home's durability or its prospects in the event
of a geological disaster. But clearly that's an oversight on
Earth Love's part. It hardly matters how energy-efficient
your refrigerator is, for example, if you've built your
house on top of quicksand. I can't rave to Earth Love
about Dr. Stratton's house's wonderful green design and
ignore the tiny issue of the entire place collapsing."
"It's just one little crack." So far.
"So is the San Andreas fault line, but I wouldn't build
my house directly on top of it."
I pulled into Darren's driveway. Her eyes widened as
we swung around in his circular driveway. "Now this
place, on the other hand, looks like it could survive a nuclear explosion."
"I've seen lots of photos, but I've never been inside,
and I'm dying to see it. Mind if I tag along?"
"Of course not, my dear. You're the one who's been so
worried about Burke's competitors crying foul."
That was back when I thought he had a good chance of
winning, I thought. Before I saw Burke's basement. "I've
changed my mind. Everyone was there when Margot
nominated you for this job. Darren will just have to deal
with it."
I let Audrey lead the way and stood slightly behind her
as she used his brass doorknocker. Darren wore a big
smile as he swung open the door. The smile faded a little
when he saw me, but Audrey hastened to explain that
we'd been carpooling and she'd asked me to join her.
216 L e s l i e C a i n e
He mumbled a welcome at me, but only regained his
enthusiasm when he returned his gaze to Audrey. "I'm so
glad you're doing this," he said to her. "Thank you for volunteering your time. I'm Darren Campesio."
"Audrey Munroe."
"I've heard about your show. I don't own a television,
I'm afraid, but I'm sure I would enjoy watching you, if I
could." He pulled the door shut behind me so quickly
that it nearly closed on my heel. "Let me take you on the
dime tour." He grabbed Audrey's arm and turned his
back on me. Apparently he'd decided to handle my joining his cozy twosome by pretending not to see me. "But
first, can I get you some refreshments? Tea? Juice?
Coffee? Cinnamon toast?"
"No, thank you," Audrey said graciously. "Erin? Would
you like anything?"
I was tempted to ask for a slice of watermelon just to be
obnoxious--it would have been no more incongruous
than the cinnamon toast--but I took the high road and
said, "No, but thanks for offering, Darren."
He gave me a perfunctory nod, then launched into a
well-rehearsed spiel about the wondrous benefits of underground living. If anything, though, the front rooms of
the house were surprisingly unexceptional and had the
feel of any other modest home. The furnishings were
what I'd term rustic-western-cabin: plaid upholstery, lots
of antlers and metal doodads shaped like caveman drawings of bears, and low clunky butcher-block tables,
which, not surprisingly, Darren had made himself. The
back rooms, which were actually underground, featured
light tunnels, which worked with mirrors and lenses, not
unlike periscopes, and looked like portholes. No room
was completely shut off from sunlight, and he'd posi-P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 217
tioned mirrors wisely--although their frames were
adorned with deer antlers. In my opinion, antlers as decor is a stylistic choice in which a little goes a long, long
way. The loftlike upstairs, with its three bedrooms all in a
row separated by two three-quarter baths, reminded me
of a Motel 6 layout. In fact, I suspected he'd gotten all his
artwork from one of those hotel art "no paintings over
sixty dollars" sales that were periodically advertised on
late-night TV.
However, tacky decor aside, his home was remarkably
fuel-efficient. He heated the entire house using his woodstove, and cooked with it as well. So little wood was required that he only needed to burn branches that he
gathered from his own trees. He had an outstanding water collection system, which used charcoal filters of his
own design. The energy from his windmill and his solar
panels heated a hot-water tank and was stored in fuel
cells to provide him with electricity year-round. He had a
garden in the courtyard in front of his house where he
grew and canned enough fruits and vegetables for him
"to live off of forever, if I had to!" (He was a vegetarian
because it was "better for the ecology.") His home was
one hundred percent self-sustaining. Ugly, yes, but very
green. Not unlike an avocado kitchen from the seventies.
"I'm impressed," Audrey acknowledged as Darren returned us to the front door at the end of the tour.
"Thought you would be," he said with a wink. "Do
you have any questions?"
"I do," I said immediately. "Where is this shooting
gallery of yours? Is that through the one door you didn't
open, off your den?"
"Er, yes."
"I'd like to see that room, if I may," Audrey stated.
218 L e s l i e C a i n e
"Ah, well, that room isn't really . . . in good viewing
shape."
"Oh, I can overlook a little dust and clutter, or what
have you," Audrey replied. When he gave no response,
merely shifting his weight from foot to foot, she added,
"I'm under a directive to inspect all rooms, Darren."
"Well, then. We can't have you ignore a directive,
now, can we?"
He ushered us back into the den, which was a more
cavelike version of the same mountain-man motif. He
removed a small keychain from a pocket in his olive
drab khakis, unlocked the door, and flipped a switch,
which gradually illuminated a long, narrow, windowless
room. We stepped inside. I generally avoid horror
movies, but this room reminded me of the trailers for
any number of gruesome films, and it was all I could do
not to bolt out of there in order to restore my normal
breathing pattern.
Directly in front of us was a half wall with a swinging
door that divided the room into two sections. We stood in
the small, square shooting portion, with a long, narrow
target hall on the other side of the ha
lf wall. Darren patted the dividing wall's two-foot-wide ledge. "Got this from
a restaurant downtown that the owner was remodeling.
Used to be part of his bar. I fortified it with two-by-fours. I
stock it with ammunition and some odds and ends from
my military days. It's perfect, don't you think?"
He grinned at Audrey, who merely shifted her gaze to
me without reply. The salvaged bar was certainly the
nicest feature of the room. Then again, it was also essentially the only feature.
Beside the door next to me hung a sturdy-looking gun
case, which held three rifles and two handguns, with un-P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 219
used brackets for several more weapons. At the far wall
opposite the entrance, three targets--black torsos on
white cardboard--had been lined up on easels. Black
drapes behind the targets completely hid the back wall.
The floor consisted of strips of carpet over hard-packed
dirt, and the two long walls were cinderblocks. The low
ceiling--less than eight feet--was made of particle board
left unpainted, which supported four or five unadorned
low-wattage light fixtures.
"I love what you've done with this space, Darren,"
Audrey deadpanned.
He chuckled. "Some folks get claustrophobic the instant they walk through the door. But don't worry." He
pointed at the wall behind the targets. "Hidden behind
those black drapes is an emergency exit, in case there's
ever a fire blocking my front door. It lets you out on the
other side of the hill."
"That could be problematic if someone's entering
through the back door when you're in here target practicing," Audrey remarked. "You wouldn't even be able to see
the person behind the drapes."
He gave her a full-wattage smile. "I've got three deadbolts on that door, and the door itself is solid steel." He
pointed at a ceiling fixture in the center of the room.
"There's a red light and an alarm that goes off in here
whenever anyone opens the back door."
"Can you hear that alarm from inside the rest of your
house when this door is closed?" I asked, indicating the
very solid-looking door behind us.
"Er, no."
"So . . . the gun wasn't stolen during your open house,
but someone could have sneaked behind your drapes
then and unlocked the deadbolts, and returned later to
220 L e s l i e C a i n e
steal your gun. You wouldn't have been able to hear
them enter."
"Yeah, the police pointed that out to me," he snapped.
"In retrospect, I should have taken down the drapes temporarily and checked to make sure the deadbolts were still
locked after the open house. I kept my gun case locked
tight, at least, but the thief must've used one of those little
battery-operated power tools. Cut right through the latch.
I had to replace the whole damned case."
"What a shame," I said evenly, angry that he'd been so
irresponsible with his firearms. Provided this whole thing
wasn't a cover story for his having shot Walter himself,
that is.
"Well, I'll tell you what. I'd like to see the joker try to
steal weapons from me a second time. This time I'll have
more'n one surprise up my sleeve."
He straightened his shoulders and returned his attention to Audrey. His lingering gaze was more than a little
daffy-looking. "You've seen every room, so I guess we're
done for today. Unless, of course, you'd like to do some
target shooting. I've only got two sets of earmuffs to protect your hearing, though, so Erin would have to wait
outside for us."
"No, but thanks for offering," she said. "I think I've
seen quite enough for one day, but I'll probably need a
fellow-up visit."
"Any time, Ms. Munroe. Any time."
He locked the door behind us and once again escorted
us to the foyer. "Thanks, Darren," she said, shaking his
hand. "It's been a pleasure meeting you and seeing your
house."
"The pleasure's all mine," he said with a wink and a
lecherous smile.
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 221
He was still watching Audrey from his doorway with a
lovesick expression on his face as I turned the car around
and drove away. "I don't know what you thought of his
house, but you sure made a big impression on him. I'd
say the man's totally smitten."
"And the two of us have so very much in common,"
she joked. "Ain't love grand?"
Just as she dropped me off at work Audrey informed
me that she was meeting with Jeremy at home at six P.M.
I was determined to be there, as well. Ironically, Sullivan
was waiting there impatiently for me, determined to head
straight to Jeremy Greene's office and confront him
about his client's inadequate foundation.
"Burke's basement is falling apart," Sullivan announced the moment we strode into Jeremy's office. "You
used the same crappy design as on Richard's house."
"There's nothing wrong with my design!" Jeremy cried.
"I already advised Burke to contact an engineer,"
Sullivan said. "I'm betting he'll disagree."
Jeremy grimaced and pressed the heels of both hands
to his temples. "I . . . cut some corners I shouldn't have, in
retrospect."
"That's an enormous understatement," I said.
"We can still save the house. I'm sure of it. And Audrey
Munroe doesn't need to know about the cracks in the
basement walls."
"She already discovered it on her own earlier this afternoon," I informed him.
His eyes widened. "But . . . she wasn't too concerned,
though, right? I mean, it was just a little crack. It could
have happened to anyone's basement."
222 L e s l i e C a i n e
"It's much worse than a little crack," I said.
"But . . . it's only the one wall, right?"
"So far," Sullivan replied, "but that's kind of like leaving only one door unlocked in your car. We've recommended that Burke get someone out there immediately
to make sure the house is still safe to live in."
"It is. It has to be. The place passed all its building inspections. Everything was done to code."
"The same was true of Richard's house," I said, "yet he
felt forced to sue you."
"It was a bogus claim! I told you that!"
"You blamed the builder. But you must have used
a different builder on Burke's place, when Richard's
builder did such a lousy job. Right?"
"Sure, but . . ." He stopped and sighed. He couldn't
very well blame a second builder for his bad design. "We
can't let this get out. If the community finds out about yet
another bad foundation, they'll blame it on straw-bale
construction. It'll set the industry back fifty years."
"So you're concerned not for your own hide, but for
the reputation of straw-bale homes?" Sullivan said skeptically.
"For both, obviously. My business could be ruined."
"If it's any consolation, it's highly doubtful that this
will set green construction back," I said. "Although your
method of using adobe bricks to build the foundation
will li
kely be banned."
"Again, the inspector gave me a green light."
"My hunch is they'll tighten their standards after this
incident," I replied.
"And that I'm going to lose the contest," he grumbled.
"Technically, it's Burke who'll lose the contest."
Jeremy shook his head. "I designed the house for free,
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 223
in exchange for claiming all the proceeds from the contest myself."
Sullivan's and my jaws both dropped. "Why did you
gamble your entire fee on the possibility of your winning
the contest?" I asked. "It was such a long shot."
He sighed. "You have to remember, this contest was
first announced four years ago. Its sole purpose was to
motivate architects, builders, and home owners into constructing self-sustaining homes. I put my heart and soul
into this design. If I win, I prove that I'm the best green
designer in possibly the greenest town in the country. I
could make my career, just like that."
"Which is why you cheated," Sullivan stated. "By running that power line tapping into Asia's electricity?"
He pursed his lips and glared at Sullivan. "You don't
seriously expect me to confess to anything, do you? This
contest is important to your careers, too, you know. I
would think you'd be on my side."
"Not when you resort to breaking the law," Sullivan
said.
"I didn't necessarily commit any crimes."
"Stealing power from a neighbor is a crime, Jeremy," I
countered.
He muttered, "That damned Asia! If she hadn't
flooded Burke's property, nobody would have noticed the
crack in the basement wall! All I needed was another
week or two, and the contest would've been over, and
I'd've won the damned thing! In any case, I didn't have
anything to do with the judges' deaths. The killer's probably that guy who owns the furniture place."
"Matthew Hayes? Of M.H. Custom Furniture?"
He nodded. "I saw his truck at Burke's house the same
morning Walter was shot. I should have told the police
224 L e s l i e C a i n e
that, but I didn't want to have to explain why I was there
myself."
Sullivan said, "Because you were there trying to get rid
of the illegal power-line tap, before you could get
caught?"
"Jeremy, my god! You're withholding evidence and
impeding an investigation for a capital crime!"
He sighed. "You're right. This has gotten out of hand.
Not letting some bastard get away with murder is more
