Poisoned by Gilt (23 page)

what felt like several minutes. Finally, he said, "To desert

the contest feels like an admission of Earth Love's culpability for two murders. That is abjectly unfair. Furthermore, if we complete the contest successfully, we might

be able to spare not just ourselves but the very concept of

green design from becoming the butt of late-night talk

show jokes. Both Richard Thayers and Walter Emory devoted their careers to the noble cause of saving our

planet. Regrettably, it seems they've also sacrificed their

lives to that cause. They deserve better than to become a

punch line for their efforts. So, I'm willing to continue

the contest only if Ms. Munroe agrees to be the judge.

Otherwise . . ."

"Then that's what will happen," Margot stated firmly.

"I'll convince her." She lifted her chin. "We've met more

than once at charity functions," she added, giving me a

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sideways glance, "and she is a wonderful, generous person."

"All right, then. Let's adjourn. Please ask Ms. Munroe

to contact me personally. Assuming she's amenable, we'll

attempt to carry on."

"Thank you, Mr. Wilcott."

He gave her a thin smile, weariness and sorrow weighing heavily on his features. The Earth Love employees

left en masse.

Margot promptly turned to me and hissed, "Once

again, Erin, you disappoint me." She swept from the

room.

Burke grimaced as he watched her. Then he shook his

head and gave me a sympathetic smile. "Typical Margot

self-centeredness. That's the reason I recognized early on

that the two of us were a bad match."

Darren guffawed. "You just don't know how to handle

ladies with money, my friend." He winked, then left, calling, "Ms. Troy! Wait up. Let me get that door for you!"

Exhausted and discouraged, I arrived at home a couple

of hours later. I was eager to curl up on my favorite sofa

with Hildi and shake off the stress of the day.

Hildi promptly greeted me with a rub against my legs

when I stepped into the parlor. I swept her up and cuddled her, just as Audrey entered the room from the dining

room-cum-temporary kitchen.

"Erin, you're never going to believe what I've just decided to do," she said with a huge smile on her face.

I must have unconsciously squeezed Hildi, because

she hissed and scampered from my arms. "Please don't

tell me you're the new judge of Earth Love's contest."

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185

"I'm the new judge!" She arched an eyebrow and gave

me a disapproving once-over, apparently having gathered

the tenor of my last statement. "Aren't you going to thank

me?"

"Why would I be thankful? You're deliberately putting

yourself in harm's way! Did you forget all about my

telling you that the first two judges were murdered, for

heaven's sake?"

"How many times have I asked you to keep yourself

out of danger, but you haven't listened? This is very hypocritical of you, Erin."

"You're right. I'm a hypocrite. Be that as it may, you

really, really need to reconsider."

"I've thought this through enough times already. I told

them that come hell or high water, I was only going to

spend the remainder of this week on the contest. I'm simply going to pick up right where their last judge left off."

"And by that you mean shot dead on somebody's

lawn?"

"Of course not! I'm not in any danger. The fact that

two contest judges have died doesn't mean that they were

killed because they were judges. The previous victims

had prior relationships with each other and with the finalists. I don't. And while I certainly am correctly considered an environmentalist and a conservationist, those are

far from my most noted characteristics."

"Which would be more along the order of . . . oh, I

don't know. Maybe rashness and stubbornness."

Ignoring me, she continued, "The contest will be over

once and for all by this Saturday. I assure you, Erin, I do

not have a death wish. I simply believe in what Earth

Love is trying to do for the world, and I want to help them

accomplish their goals. My biggest fear is just that I'll be

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partial and unable to judge your client's house as harshly

as everyone else's. But when I thought about it more, I realized I'm up to the task. You will understand, after all,

that I absolutely cannot show favoritism. Won't you,

Erin?"

"I don't know," I snapped, aware that I was sounding a

bit like a petulant brat, but not caring. "I wasn't listening.

Just like you haven't been listening to me."

"Pardon, Erin?" She winked. "My thoughts must have

wandered. I'm afraid I didn't hear a word you just said."

c h a p t e r
1 5

"An old Mexican proverb (although I

could be wrong about its derivation)

warns us that, unless you know where

you've been, you can't possibly know

where you're going. Perhaps that's

why we sometimes feel so lost."

--Audrey Munroe

"You know what bothers me, Erin?" Audrey

asked, breaking the silence that had only re
BLISS
cently blessed us as I settled into my book and

she had momentarily taken up her latest project--a quilt for her second grandchild.

"Is there only one answer to your question?" I

asked, a little testy, not wanting to leave the

company of my book's characters.

"We no longer treasure anything."

Uh-oh. That, if I'd ever heard one, was a precursor for one of Audrey's patented rants. I'd be

lucky to get back to my reading within the hour.

Time for preemptive measures."That's not true. I

DOMESTIC treasure your friendship. And I treasure this book

that I'm reading." Laying it on thick, I continued,

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"Most of all, I treasure these quiet evenings at home.

They're so restorative for me that,

I

without them,

couldn't possibly keep going during hard times. Such as

the day I had today, when I was feeling so down in the

dumps from Walter's death, coming so soon after

Richard's. So thank you, Audrey, for this gift of refuge and

respite that you've given me."

"I mean in general," she replied, not batting an eye at

my obsequious speech."As a society. We've turned ourselves into a nation of disposables. Disposable income.

Disposable toilet-bowl brushes. Disposable relationships.

When does it end?"

"That's a question I was just now asking myself," I muttered, cradling the book in my hands.

"Take this quilt, for example. I'm making it for my second grandchild's crib. And every single scrap of cloth

that's going into it has particular relevance for the baby.

Each piece of fabric was worn by one of the baby's relatives."

"That's sweet."

"More importantly, it's an heirloom in the making.

How can we hope to teach our culture to treasure its

ancestry if we don't teach the new members of our

own families to treasure their grandparents and greatgrandparents?"

"That's an excellent point, Audrey, although I hope

you were teaching your sons to treasure their grandparents. Back before you became one yourself."

"I'm not saying that mothers should teach their

daughters and sons how to cross-stitch their family tree,

D o m e s t i c B l i s s
1 8 9

mind you." I reluctantly shut my book, realizing that

when she was willing to ignore my snide remarks, there

was no stopping her."Although, come to think of it, that's

an excellent idea to present in a future broadcast.

There's been a resurgence of sewing circles, you know.

Probably because we have lost so much of our heritage

lately. I'm going to suggest to my audience that they

consider introducing some of the classics of the past--

cross-stitched family trees that are handed down to the

next generation, along with the skills to continue them.

Coiled rag rugs, made from outgrown hand-me-downs.

And, of course, quilts like this one."

As she spoke, she spread out her patchwork fabric,

and a pink petal on her cornflower pattern caught my

eye. I leaned forward. "Hey. That pink fabric looks familiar. This isn't from my pink blouse, is it? I've been missing

that blouse for months now!"

"Didn't I tell you about that?" Audrey asked, blushing

to match the hue of the pirated fabric. "I had an accident involving some India ink when I was working on

Japanese painting techniques."

"And how did my blouse get involved?"

"I don't recall the precise sequence of events. But it

brings to mind something I've been meaning to tell you

for a while now." She looked impishly at me. "Pink isn't

really one of your colors, Erin."

"Audrey!"

"I'll replace the blouse, the next time we go shopping. But you really should look at a deeper red. Magenta, maybe."

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"Speaking of fabric stains," I snapped,"isn't this going

to be a problematic baby gift? Handmade quilts aren't

really all that washable, are they? Don't they need to

be hand washed?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"And I'm sure you don't think a new mom has time to

do frequent hand washings, do you? I mean, you know

a baby's blanket is only going to go for two or three

days tops between washings. That's going to cause a

whole lot of wear and tear on all of those heirloom fabrics of yours."

"Not to mention on your pink blouse," she said under

her breath.

"It's not as if your mother's wedding dress, for example, was intended to be washed twenty or thirty times inside of two months."

"Good point. Fortunately, however, I'm way ahead

of you. Quilts of this size make wonderful wall hangings

for a baby's room. My son and his wife can wrap little

Audrey in it when they're coming home from the hospital. Then they can capture the moment in photographs

and frame some of them. Those photographs, along

with the quilt itself, will make a wonderful matched set to

hang on a wall of the nursery. It will look lovely. And,

many years from now, when Audrey is old enough to appreciate some family history, she will have a memento.

One which can be handed down through the ages.

Which is why, incidentally, I'm also creating a chart that

lists where each piece of fabric comes from. Including

your pink blouse, from her auntie Erin."

D o m e s t i c B l i s s
1 9 1

I felt touched and said, "It's amazing that you

can recall the source of that many different fabric

swatches."

"Yes, well . . . I'm taking creative license whenever

necessary." She pointed at a particular section of her

quilt."This parallelogram is from a striped shirt that somehow wound up in a lost-and-found basket in my laundry

room when the boys were little. But it now belonged to

Cousin Jason, twice removed."

"Actually, I take back everything I said, Audrey.

A baby blanket quilt is a lovely idea. In fact, I hope

you're making one of those for your grandson Colin, as

well."

"I am indeed." She went back to her stitching, but

then paused and looked at me."You look a little tired. I

suppose I should quit talking and leave you to your

reading."

"Thanks." I opened my book to the bookmark.

"An Agatha Christie?"

"Yes."

She craned her neck and studied the cover. "I read

that one."

"Yes, I know. I borrowed it from you."

"Is there anything new happening between you and

Steve?"

I gritted my teeth."Audrey, please! Do I have to go to

my room in order to read in peace?"

She glared at me, but mimed locking her lips with a

key and didn't answer. Her silence lasted all of thirty

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seconds, till she grumbled, "The butler did it, by the

way."

"I'm sure the murder was well justified," I retorted,

knowing she was kidding. "He was probably provoked

by someone giving away the ending to the book he

was reading."

c h a p t e r
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Around mid-morning the following day, Burke's

voice rang out over the answering machine:

"You two are going to want to see Asia's exterior decorating as soon as possible." Sullivan had pressed the message

button in my presence, so we heard his gloomy tone simultaneously.

"Come to think of it," I said, "it's been a week since

Asia gave Burke and Darren a week's notice to take down

their windmills, or else. She must have gone ahead and

hung those plastic flamingos in the trees that border their

joint property line, like she said she would."

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"Along with all of those hundreds of noisy wind

chimes."

The image of plastic flamingos in evergreens was a

much-needed touch of silliness, and I smiled. Sullivan

was also grinning as we caught each other's gaze. "I wonder if she's put plastic penguins on ice skates on the

pond, too. That would be a nice finishing touch."

"We shouldn't laugh," Sullivan said, although he was