Poisoned by Gilt (15 page)

Sullivan was putting into our work, I could squeeze in an

hour or even two for my personal project without falling

behind.

Audrey called on my cell phone at half past eleven

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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."

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"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."

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"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

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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

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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 that 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

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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

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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!"

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"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."

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