Poisoned by Gilt (11 page)

newspaper every day with the fervor of a sports-gambling

addict watching the point spread. Brilliantly, however,

she'd made a rule for herself: Every time she purchased an

item for her home, she had to donate a comparable item

to charity. This policy forced her to avoid clutter--the

garage-sale aficionado's downfall--and to be extremely

judicious with her purchases. Her taste wasn't all that similar to mine--she had a fondness for Danish modern that

I didn't share--but her eye was superb when it came to selecting accent pieces that could make a given room. I

raved about the yellow-and-sage painted metal chandelier

in her enclosed back porch. Its lemon-bough motif would

have looked ridiculous in, say, her formal living room, but

in this airy, outdoorsy space, it was divine. Likewise, she'd

hung a delightfully delicate mahogany etagere on one

wall in her ultraelegant living room and placed three of

the prettiest teacups on it that I'd ever seen. She'd also

found a stunning ceramic statue of lovers embracing

at an antiques store in London, which she'd set on the

mantel in her parlor. This was the room where, I gathered, my tour ended, because she told me to have a seat.

I avoided her Danish chaise and opted for the floral

sofa, which she'd picked up a couple of years ago at an

estate sale.

"Margot, I wanted to apologize in person for--"

"That's the least of anyone's concerns now. How is

Burke taking Richard's death? With his typical intensity,

I assume?"

"You know Burke Stratton personally?"

"We used to date. About a year ago. But it didn't last

long. He dumped me once he found out we were cocompetitors in the green home contest."

This was a surprising and unsettling development. For

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one thing, Margot tended to be guarded about discussing

her love life, and for another, Burke had never given me

any indication that he even knew Margot, let alone had

once dated her. "Why would that bother him?"

"Oh, it was mostly an excuse. Frankly, his shock at

finding out I was a fellow contestant seemed staged to

me. But ostensibly it was because he believed we were

going to feel too bad if one of us won. What it really came

down to is that it was obvious to both of us that his architect and I were much better suited for each other."

"You're dating Jeremy Greene?" I tried not to sound

quite as surprised as I actually was, both at the news and

at her willingness to share this intimate information. He

was some fifteen years younger than she was, though to

be fair, I wouldn't have given that a second thought if

their ages had been reversed.

She beamed at me. "Yes, I am. Ever since Burke set

me free. Isn't Jeremy wonderful?"

I didn't know Jeremy well, and yesterday's conversation regarding Richard's lawsuit had left me suspicious of

the man, so I merely replied, "That's great, Margot. I'm

glad you're happy."

"I am. But let's get back to the business at hand.

Knowing how you're always wanting to make citizen's arrests," she sniffed, "I'm sure you want to hear all about

what I may have noticed that night . . . if anyone was hovering nearby the poisonous paint before you arrived, for

example."

"Did you see something suspicious?"

"No, but I do know for a fact that Richard Thayers

never locked his car. And he used that old Volvo of his

like a storage locker on wheels. He'd have been driving

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around for weeks with that paint in his backseat. It would

have been easy as pie for anyone to swap cans."

"Who besides you knew that out of the half dozen

products, he was going to drink the gold paint?"

"I have no earthly idea. But like I told you in class, it

had gotten to be fairly common knowledge among us

ecologically responsible people."

Which wasn't all that big a community. And it certainly included Jeremy Greene.

"Did you know Richard personally?"

She gave me one of her patented stares, in which she

lowered her chin and peered into my eyes as though she

were looking over the top of invisible reading glasses. "I

told you I've taken classes from him for three years running now."

I hoped she'd elaborate, but when she didn't, I felt

stuck. As a client, she tended to get annoyed and to clam

up whenever she felt she was being pressed too hard to

voice her opinions. She'd likely explode if I asked how

she'd gotten so familiar with her ex-teacher's personal

driving habits. So why had she volunteered the information about her dating Jeremy Greene? I had a feeling that

I was being played, and that she was feeding me specific

information she wanted me to know, but I couldn't begin

to decipher why.

She was fidgeting with a tissue, winding it into a paper

rope.

"Is everything all right, Margot? You seem a little on

edge."

"Yes, I'm fine."

She still didn't elaborate and seemed to have no

intention of doing so in the near future. "I should get going, Margot. I just wanted to apologize to you again for

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my shoddy phone manners the other day. The house is

looking great. Best of luck with the contest."

"Thank you. Although I must say, I had a much better

chance of winning with Richard than with Walter

Emory. They were both fruitcakes, but Walter's even nuttier." She clicked her tongue. "If you're looking for suspects, I hope you remember to put him on your list."

"What motive would he have? He and Richard were

friends."

"And friends sometimes turn into the worst enemies."

Feeling frustrated by the limited information I'd gath-

ered from Margot, I hoped things would go better with

Darren Campesio. First, though, I dropped off the drawings of the sunroom at Burke's very ordinary-looking

house. His boxy two-story home was painted a buttery

yellow with a charcoal gray roof of photovoltaic tiles--

utterly unremarkable. But he had an attractive front

porch, and I'd convinced him to add dollhouselike shutters, which added visual interest and really perked up his

exterior. He wasn't home, so I left the drawings between

his inner and outer doors. It seemed wasteful to drive the

quarter mile or so to Darren's house, and anyway, I didn't

have an appointment with him, so I decided that I'd walk

along the hiking trail behind the properties. This way I

could mention to Darren that I was in the area and was

curious to see another state-of-the-art green home.

There was a large piece of property separating Burke's

and Darren's properties. Months ago, Burke had warned

Sullivan and me that the home owner, Asia McClure,

was a major character--and not in a good way. With that

in mind, I couldn't help but wince at the sight of the tow-P o i s o n e d b y G i l t
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ering white windmill behind Darren's house. Burke, I

knew, was in the process of building an even bigger one,

and that couldn't possibly make Asia happy. As much as I

believed in alternative energy sources, I wouldn't want to

have two enormous towers on either side of my home.

Zoning laws inside the city limits prevented home owners from building such tall, unsightly structures, but

Burke and Darren were governed by the much more relaxed county regulations.

Burke had also said that Asia was an amazing gardener. She had a split-rail fence surrounding her property, except for the small pond situated halfway between

Burke's and her homes. There was an opening between

two evergreens next to her back fence, and I couldn't resist taking a closer peek at her property.

The siding was a pale gray with liberal use of white

trim and instantly brought to mind the old farmhouses of

my childhood in upstate New York. I loved the large

overhangs that shaded the windows, as well as her large

New England gray-painted deck and lattices on the

south-facing side. There were cheerful dormers above

the roof for the deck. The architecture style appeared to

borrow from the old-fashioned bungalows that had been

so popular in the 1920s. I grinned at the place as I pictured warm, cozy bedrooms upstairs and inviting public

spaces on the main floor.

"What do you think you're doing!" a shrill voice

shrieked at me.

I let out a cry of surprise and jumped back.

Doing a fast step-march across the lawn toward me was

a short woman in a big sun hat, fastened with a red

checkerboard ribbon beneath her chin. The woman was

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built like a bear cub, with short stocky legs and arms, and

fierce, beady eyes that were focused on me.

"Sorry, ma'am. Your property caught my eye from the

footpath, and I--"

"Look what you did!" She pointed to a spot just to the

right of my feet. "You stepped on my flower!"

I looked down and saw the dried-up stem of a daisy

that had apparently grown out through the rails of the

fence and had snapped off near its roots. "I'm sorry."

"That's my private property! You destroyed it!"

"It wasn't intentional. I must have brushed against it

with my leg."

"I didn't say it was intentional. But my plant is equally

ruined either way."

"Um, all I can say is I'm sorry. At least it was long past

its bloom, right?"

She was glaring at me. Maybe I'd hit a sore spot with

my mention of its being past its bloom.

"What were you doing, leaning over my fence and

ogling my house? Why didn't you stay on the path, where

you belong? That's the middle of the path right there."

She stabbed her finger at the path three times. "You're a

skinny thing. Wasn't it wide enough for you? You think

you need to tread on my flower beds?"

"I was simply admiring your lovely home. From outside your fence. I truly didn't mean to come anywhere

near your flower bed." Your dormant flower bed with its

dried-out flowers, I added to myself. "I couldn't resist taking a look at your house. I'm naturally drawn to nice

homes. I'm an interior designer. Burke Stratton is my

client."

She put her hands on her hips and glowered at me.

"Aha! You mean you're a decorator for his granola-P o i s o n e d b y G i l t
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crunching, tree-hugging, it's-not-easy-being-green contest. With that contest judge who got knocked off.

Though he probably deserved it."

Surprised, I asked, "Did you know Richard Thayers?"

"I heard through the grapevine that he was one of

those . . . ecoterrorists. Like the people who burned the

ski lodge in Vail years ago."

"Where did you hear that? About Richard, I mean?"

"Around. I belong to some groups who happen to believe in the power of corporate America, not in maniacs

like that crazy paint-drinking professor." She pursed her

lips and eyed me up and down. "Whereas you are obviously one of those liberals who flock to Crestview like it's

their mother ship calling them home. You recommend

those big ugly windmills to your clients, and you ruin my

life! You don't even respect private property!"

Any further discussion was obviously going to be

pointless. I turned away and headed for the path. "I think

I'll get back to work now. Pardon me if I caused you or

your flower any permanent damage."

I could feel those steely eyes boring holes into the

back of my head as I continued to Darren Campesio's

home. I took the well-trod minipath along his property

line, being careful not to brush against Asia's fence, and

rounded to his house. Richard was right when he'd

mocked Darren's house as being "part cave." Seen from

the rear, the only indication that there was a house here

was the circular smokestack protruding from the highest

point of a round hill. I knew from photographs and drawings that the snow-covered bumps in the hill were actually skylights. I'd never been inside his house and was

dying to do so now.

I made my way to his front door and used his brass

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knocker. From this angle, the house looked like an ordinary yellow-brick ranch, albeit one with unusually hilly

landscaping and a windmill in its backyard.

Darren came to the door. Burke had told me he was a

retired military man, and he certainly looked the part:

muscularly built and wearing camouflage clothes, in his

sixties or seventies. "Can I help you?" he said, giving me

a disdainful visual once-over. Clearly, I hadn't passed my

first inspection.

"My name is Erin Gilbert. I'm working on the design

of Burke Stratton's house, and--"

"I know who you are. I remember seeing you at

Burke's during the open house."

His own open house had been at the exact same time

as Burke's, so that was odd. "You were at Burke's?"

He gave a slight shrug. "It was my best chance to see

what the competition was up to. Nothing illegal about

that. I checked." He lifted his pointy chin. "Unlike your

client, I'm making an effort to follow the rules."

"My client was exonerated by Earth Love this morning. He hasn't cheated."