Poisoned by Gilt (25 page)

never have agreed to do this. I shouldn't be showing you

Burke's home. It's a huge conflict of interest."

"No offense, dear, but you're just the interior designer.

The architect and the creators of the products that Burke

uses are much more responsible for his low energy consumption than you are."

"First off, Sullivan and I were the people who sat

down with Burke and Jeremy and chose his e-rated mate-P o i s o n e d b y G i l t
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rials. We also helped him design some of the specific features of his kitchen and bathrooms that made them so environmentally friendly and functional, such as the

ventilation and exhaust systems. In the second place, you

and I are obviously going to be speaking to each other as

we drive between the finalists' homes, and that conversation could unconsciously affect your overall opinion."

"I'm my own person and always have been. I intend to

pretend that you're simply here as my driver, and that

Burke's house was designed exclusively by Steve

Sullivan."

"That'd be ironic," I muttered.

"Is there a problem there?"

"Sullivan suspects Burke is the murderer."

"He does? And do you agree?"

"Not at all."

She fell silent for several seconds, then remarked,

"That's probably making interactions between you two

and your client awkward."

"To say the least."

"Well, then. Let's talk about something else for a

while. Which of the three houses do you like the best?"

Audrey asked.

"I'm not going to answer that!" I had to slam on the

brakes and honk as the driver of an SUV tried to make a

sharp turn without relinquishing her grasp on her cell

phone.

We remained silent until I parked on the street beyond

any view from Margot's windows. "We're here."

"This is Margot Troy's house, right?" she asked.

"You're not even going to get as close as her driveway?

Why are you being so paranoid?"

"To avoid an embarrassing situation."

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"Oh, come join me. I'll just claim that you're acting as

my bodyguard."

I shook my head. "No, Audrey. Margot's angry at me

for not wanting you as contest judge. I don't want to give

her any ammunition for claiming that I'm brainwashing

you."

"All right, then. I'll be back as soon as I can." She

started to get out, then hesitated. "When she comes to

the door and sees that there's no car in her driveway,

should I tell her I walked here? Or are we pretending that

I'm environmentally conscious enough to have taken the

bus?"

"Say that you wanted to make note of your initial reaction as you approached slowly from the street."

"Oh. Okay. That's very clever of you, Erin." She gave

me a wink and headed down the driveway.

I spent the time returning phone calls on my cell and

working out some designs in my head for current customers. One of our new clients had chosen Brazilian

cherry hardwood floors for her remodel. We would have

that gorgeous, rich wood running from the front door

throughout her kitchen and dining room. In my mind's

eye, however, I could see Matthew Hayes smirking at me.

Brazilian cherry was hardly earth-friendly or politically

correct. He had made some excellent points about how

easy it was for me to merely mention green alternatives

when ultimately, I had to let the customer decide.

After thirty minutes or so, Audrey returned. "Interesting woman, that Margot. She's very pushy, isn't she?"

Before I had time to formulate a tactful reply, Audrey

asked, "Do you think she's guilty?"

"I hope not, but I have to admit, she's close to the top

of my list of suspects."

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"Who's at the very top?"

"Matthew Hayes. Of M.H. Custom Furniture."

"Oh, yes. There've been some articles in the Sentinel

about him and his politically incorrect beliefs. At least he

speaks his mind and sticks to his guns."

"I guess that's a positive. Unless he fired one of those

guns recently."

"Indeed. So where are we heading next?"

"Well, Darren Campesio and Burke Stratton are

neighbors, although they both have something like tenacre spreads."

"Good. One-stop viewing. And we can park in an actual driveway. Burke obviously won't mind that we're

traveling together."

I waited, hoping she'd volunteer her reaction to the

home she'd just seen, but she remained silent. A minute

or two later she asked, "Where is Steve right now?"

"He wants to meet us at Burke's house." I glanced at

the dashboard clock. "Actually, we'll arrive about twenty

minutes ahead of him. So we'll go to Darren's house

first."

"My. You're really timing this down to the minute."

"We're trying to keep up appearances to show Burke

that we're a team. That's difficult when I'm trying to help

Burke clear his name, and Sullivan's trying to trip him up

into divulging some major clue that'll convict him."

"Is that the only source of conflict between you and

Steve?"

"Pardon?"

"I have the feeling that something else is bothering

you."

"Not really."

We lapsed into silence, probably because Audrey

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didn't want to talk about Margot's house, and I didn't

want to talk about Sullivan. We parked at Burke's, intending to take the path to Darren's property. Burke, however,

came running up to us from his backyard. His smile

looked plastered into place, his brow was dotted with perspiration, and his eyes were nothing short of panicstricken. "Erin! Ms. Munroe! You're here early!"

I pointed with my chin at the minipath that led to the

trail behind the homes. "We were going to go to Darren's

first, actually, so that Steve could meet us here at four."

He gave me a peculiar look that involved a quick head

shake and a grimace, then focused his attention on Audrey,

grabbing her hand and panting, "It's such an honor to

meet you in person, Ms. Munroe."

"Why, thank you, Dr. Stratton."

He gracefully turned their handshake into his taking

her arm and pivoting, saying all the while, "There's no

need to wait. You're here now, and I'm afraid you won't

enjoy even a short walk at this hour. The wind's really

kicking up, and the temperature is dropping."

Audrey peered at me. There was no chance that she'd

missed Burke's all-too-obvious ploy to prevent her from

cutting across his backyard to the footpath. I didn't know

what his motive was--maybe his windmill construction

had taken a bad turn, or maybe he didn't want her to see

some new monstrosity that Asia had placed near the

pond or along her fence.

"I can survive," she said. "I wore sensible shoes. Isn't

Mr. Campesio's house just one house down from yours?"

"Yes, but the melting snow has made the path muddy

and slippery in some places." Burke shot me a desperate

look as it belatedly hit me that he needed my help.

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"Of course," I said. "I should have thought of that myself. Burke and I will show you his house now, and then

we'll drive to Darren's. All right, Audrey?"

"Certainly. You've got possession of my car keys, after

all, which they say is nine tenths of the law." She gave me

the patient smile that I knew meant to step lightly. She

patted Burke's hand, which was still on her arm. "Let's

see this lovely home of yours, shall we, Dr. Stratton?"

"Please call me Burke," he said with a grateful smile.

He was still obviously anxious about something. He began a rambling dissertation on the thickness of his external walls and the benefits of straw-bale construction. I'd

heard him give this lecture countless times during the

open house. Back then he'd sounded like a tour guide at

a museum. Now he sounded like an amateur actor with

stage fright. He botched the presentation of the foyer and

living room so completely that Audrey walked straight

through them with barely a glance around.

The three of us entered the kitchen. "We installed

three layers of . . . I mean, triple-paned windows, with,

um, with . . ." He paled and looked ready to pass out when

Audrey wandered toward the glass door that faced the

backyard. "Ms. Munroe? The windows over here have

superefficient e-coatings. They're like Superman. The

Superman of glass."

Audrey arched an eyebrow and held her tongue. I surreptitiously scanned the yard, but could see nothing

wrong.

"But, I, uh, guess you can read about all of the, um,

our choices that make, in construction, I mean, in the

spec sheets that Earth Love gave you, that make this

house such a green winner."

"That's true," I jumped in. "We are talking about the

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Domestic Bliss Goddess herself, after all. Audrey, you

don't need me to point out the inner door of the foyer,

which serves as an air lock to reduce the air exchange as

people enter and exit. Or the environmental benefits of

the bamboo flooring in the living room, and the sea grass

area rugs. And I'm sure you also already noticed the cork

kitchen floor. You've done dozens of shows on sustainable building materials, so you know how earth-friendly

those materials are. But aren't they gorgeous?"

"Yes, they are," she agreed with an appreciative smile.

"Now feast your eyes on the kitchen."

"Stunning," she replied.

"And I bet you know how environmentally sound it is

to use these kitchen cabinets made from highly compacted sawdust--waste products from less responsible

building practices--that are then veneered with cypress,

chosen because of its sustainability and durability. The

same reasoning went into selecting the concrete countertops. Burke wouldn't settle for merely reusing a granite

slab from someone else's old kitchen. He's taken a waste

product--fly ash--and recycled it into a new, functional,

and fabulous surface. And, of course, every appliance is a

modern miracle of energy efficiency." I had taken a cue

from Burke and grabbed Audrey's arm, slowly leading her

away from the back door. We approached everyone's favorite conversation piece--the small window built into

the stucco surface of the wall, which showed the straw

composition within.

"But before we allow you to inspect the kitchen at

your leisure, notice the reveal here."

Audrey smiled at it and said, "Yes, that's honest-to-God

straw, all right."

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I did a double take at the reveal. Was it my imagination, or had the straws shifted a little? "I wanted to create

a minidiorama inside the glass," I said, "with a wolf collapsing as he tried to blow it down. I thought it was whimsical, but I got voted down."

Audrey chuckled. "You know what else might have

been fun? You could put a needle in it, so you'd have the

proverbial needle in a--" She stopped. "Oh, wait. That's

a haystack, not a straw-stack." She tapped her cheek, lost

in thought. "A plastic drinking straw or two might have

been humorous."

"I try to stay away from plastic products," Burke said,

with his characteristic lack of humor.

As Audrey inspected every square inch of the kitchen,

she was at least as inquisitive on her own as any home

owner I'd spoken to at the open house. She grilled us

about the large component of conservationism that went

into Sullivan's and my every decision. As we continued

our dry, detail-intensive tour, I couldn't find any way to

momentarily shake Audrey so that Burke and I could

have a private word. While Audrey was examining

Burke's bookshelves in the den, Burke finally managed to

whisper, "My backyard stinks to high heaven. Asia's

prank, no doubt."

Sullivan arrived just then, and I promptly said, "Hi,

Steve. Why don't you show Audrey the second floor? I've

got a couple of questions for Burke about the sunroom."

He knew me well enough to play along. He launched

into a monologue about where Burke had gotten the salvaged lumber for the stairs as they climbed to the second

floor.

I had just turned to ask Burke what was going on when

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he looked out a kitchen window and snarled, "There she

is now." He marched out the back door, and I followed.

"Asia! What the hell have you done?"

Before she could answer, I spotted something that

gave him his answer. "Look over there, Burke." I pointed

at a hose starting to appear in the melting snow. The hose

snaked around the pond and halfway across his yard.

"Oh, jeez! I'd just gotten home myself when you and

Audrey arrived. I didn't see it." There was no spigot, but

he chinked the hose to stop the water flow, making a face

as he dragged it back toward Asia. "Is this a shunt from

your sewer line?!" he cried.

She shrugged. "Call it a payback for your siphoning

electricity off my power line."

"You want a payback, do you?"