Poisoned by Gilt (9 page)

his death is he was teaching a conservation class and poisoned himself with paint, thinking it was nontoxic."

"That's about the extent of our knowledge, too,"

Sullivan said. "Someone replaced his can with a toxic

one. He was murdered."

"And earlier that same day, he'd filed charges against

your client to boot him from the competition. True?"

"We don't know if those two things are related," I interjected firmly. "What we do know is that Burke Stratton

would like to clear his name as quickly as possible." I exchanged glances with Sullivan, realizing too late that I

must have sounded cold and even heartless to him.

"I should have figured out this could happen," Walter

muttered. "To recognize that there'd be some problems,

at the very least."

"Pardon?" I asked, confused.

"Never mind. Just thinking out loud. I should have advised Richard not to agree to be judge. Hindsight's always

twenty-twenty, as they say."

"Judging the contest might not have had anything to

do with his death," I said, pressing my point. "For all we

know, the police might be on the verge of arresting some

bitter ex-employee or jealous lover."

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"Did Richard say anything to you about Burke

Stratton?" Sullivan asked, ignoring me.

Walter shook his head. "Name means nothing to me.

You two must know him pretty well, though. You think

he's nuts enough to kill a man just because he caught

him cheating in a contest?"

"Not in my opinion," I answered quickly.

Walter fixed his gaze on Sullivan, who had merely

clenched his jaw. "You disagree?"

"They'd had a major blowup a few years ago."

"Ah. Sure. Sure."

Walter shifted his attention to me as if expecting a rebuttal, but no way was I going to get into a big disagreement right now. It was disconcerting that Walter's

energies appeared to be much more focused on investigating Richard's death than on judging the contest.

"Have you had a chance to examine whatever reports

Richard filed with Earth Love about Stratton's violations?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes. "What there is of them. He cited

Stratton for tampering with his meters and with his water

allocations. But he doesn't list any of the actual evidence

that led him to those conclusions. Guess he figured he'd

be presenting that at the hearing."

"When's that going to take place?" I asked.

"Soon as possible. We're hoping for Monday, if that

works out for Dr. Stratton."

"Is that going to be enough time?" Sullivan asked.

"You're going to need the police to release whatever evidence Richard had collected, and then examine it yourself."

Walter lifted his palms. "Vanished. If it ever existed in

the first place."

P o i s o n e d b y G i l t
67

"Wait." Sullivan gaped at him. "You mean, all of

Richard's belongings have been searched in the past

twenty-four hours, and you're already certain Richard's

evidence against Burke can't be found?"

"According to the officer I spoke with this morning,

Richard had all the files from Earth Love with him in his

car. Not a single report regarding Dr. Stratton's violations, though. His latest notes in his journals were examined. Nothing about Stratton. The contents of his desk

and file cabinets were inventoried. Under the circumstances, we're just going to have to go with what little

we've got. If more information turns up, we'll hold a second hearing and reexamine the issue."

"Why hold a hearing at all?" Sullivan grumbled.

"You're obviously going to clear him."

"Earth Love's trying to follow their own contest guidelines as best they can, I guess," Walter replied. He patted

his thighs twice, then rose. "Good meeting you both.

Thanks for chatting with me. I'll be seeing you again, I'm

sure."

I got up and shook Walter's hand. I thanked him for

stepping in to help out with the contest, then offered a

few words of condolence for the loss of his friend.

Sullivan shook his hand as well.

Just a few seconds after Walter had closed the door,

Sullivan turned to me. "That proves it, as far as I'm concerned. The evidence that Burke was cheating had to

have been stolen from Richard. And only Burke would

benefit from its sudden disappearance."

More likely there was no evidence in the first place, I

thought glumly. "Burke isn't necessarily the only one

who'd have benefited. I had an interesting conversation

with Jeremy Greene yesterday evening. There's something

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fishy going on with him. Did you know that several months

ago, Richard was suing him for an inadequate design of his

foundation?"

"Whose foundation?"

"Richard's. Jeremy was his architect for the house that

he built five years ago."

"Huh. That's . . ." He let his voice trail off.

"Jeremy said it was the builder who loused up and

nothing was wrong with his design. The strange thing is,

though, that Richard was suing Jeremy, not the builder.

In any case, I'm worried about Burke's basement now."

Steve paced. "Jeremy stood to lose invaluable publicity for his design, if Richard kicked Burke out of the contest," he said thoughtfully. "Still, though, Burke was the

only one who would have been publicly accused of

cheating when Richard's evidence was presented in the

newspapers."

I considered arguing the point, but held my tongue.

He started to collect his things, including his portfolio

case. "I've got to head to Jennifer's house."

"Jennifer Fairfax? Our presentation for her isn't till

noon, is it?"

"No, she moved it up. She wanted me to show her our

design, then take her to the Denver Design Center this

morning."

"Really? When did she suddenly decide all of that?"

And why was I being cut out of the equation?

"Uh, yesterday. I ran into her downtown. She said she

was free all morning and wanted to move our presentation up. I figured the least I could do after you covered

for me all day yesterday was to do it solo and free up your

lunch hour today."

"Great," I said in a monotone. "Thanks."

P o i s o n e d b y G i l t
69

He did a double take. "You don't have a problem with

this, do you? I'm just taking her to the Design Center,

not the Brown Palace."

My problem was that Jennifer Fairfax was a gorgeous

divorcee who blatantly flirted with Sullivan every chance

she got. And should I point out that he hadn't as much as

mentioned the change to my schedule till now, after I'd

pried the information out of him? If this had been a

simple case of a client changing an appointment, he

wouldn't be acting so defensive.

Apparently it wasn't just Burke who had a potentially

crumbling foundation. I forced a smile. "No problem.

Have fun."

c h a p t e r
6

You can't help but take special pride

in home-improvement projects when

you've done them yourself. On the

other hand, if you're all thumbs, you

can take pride in being smart enough

to hire good help.

--Audrey Munroe

"I'm really not sure about this base color,

Erin." Audrey crinkled her nose and stood with

BLISS
her hands on her hips by the dining room table,

peering at my handiwork."It's a little too beige."

I took a deep, calming breath and counted

to ten. Truth be told, I hadn't been pleased with

the beige myself, but this was Audrey's house,

after all, so I'd proceeded after checking with

her repeatedly about the color--back when it

would have been a snap to repaint."That's because it is beige."

"Oh, I know. But this is a linen beige. I think I'd

have preferred a lemon beige."

"Lemon versus linen. Interesting difference in

enunciation." I was babbling, trying not to lose

D o m e s t i c B l i s s
7 1

my temper. She'd made up both of those names. The

nicely descriptive name of the muted yellow that she

should have allowed me to use was "buttermilk."

Audrey, meanwhile, was rifling through my books of

paint chips. She paused and studied one. "Here." She

tapped it with her fingernail."This is perfect."

With a sigh, I set down my little one-inch roller. Just

three feet remained unpainted on my final stripe in the

entire room. I wiped off my hands and joined her. She

was leaning against the buffet. We'd moved all the

furniture to the center of the room and, on Audrey's insistence, had draped drop cloths over it in an unnecessary step of caution. If only she'd taken this much care

with her paint selections.

I glanced at the paint chip. Buttermilk. "That's the

one I recommended when we first started." That color

would brighten this sometimes too dark northernexposure room. It would also make a lovely contrast with

the forest green upholstery of her chairs.

"Is it?" She held it up to the sunlight."Oh, so it is. Excellent recommendation, Erin. I should have listened."

"Thank you." I started to put away the paint for the

accent stripes.

"No, wait. I love the navy blue and the lilac stripes you

painted. Those colors are perfect."

I continued to tap down the lid with my hammer. All

paint cans seem to have an amazing resistance to being properly resealed. At least by me, that is. "They're

painted on top of the beige, Audrey."

"What are you saying?"

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"That it might be time to hire a professional painter.

And that, in any case, it's time to call it a night."

She winced."In other words, all the stripes have to be

redone, too? Oh, dear. I should have said something

much sooner."

"It's all right, Audrey."

She surveyed the room, turning a slow circle. "You

know what, Erin? I was wrong. This beige is just fine. Let's

keep it as is."

"No. We can change color schemes completely, or

rethink the faux wallpaper, but keeping this paint is the

one option that's off the table."

"I mean it," Audrey protested. "It's fine. I like the

beige."

"You don't call anything 'fine,' Audrey.You're not one

to settle. And there is no way I'm going to let you

change your . . . spots now."

"But I don't want you to be angry at me."

"I'm not. And in any case, right now, I'm working as

your designer, and I've got to handle this situation the

same way I would at any other client's house. No designer worth her salt wants her client to cave merely for

the sake of not causing trouble. We would much rather

redo something five times than do it just once but leave

the client less than thrilled with the results."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. And especially in this case, because I

agree with you. That buttermilk color will not only set off

the design, but it will also complement the yellow tones

in your kitchen."

D o m e s t i c B l i s s
7 3

"Which is precisely what you told me at the start. I'm

sorry."

"It's really all right, Audrey. But I do think it's best at this

point to hire a professional. For painting the base color

only; I'll still do the stripes. This way we'll have a nice

clean--and wonderful--canvas for painting the faux

wallpaper design, and I won't feel like I need to rush

things, which is when painting mistakes happen."

"If that's really what you want."

"Just don't let the pros talk you into hiring them for

painting the stripes and the roses. I really want to do that

myself."

"Deal." She peered at me and to my surprise, gave

me a hug, which was a little out of character for her.

Afterwards she held my gaze for a moment."This isn't exactly the way you wanted to be spending your Friday

night, is it?"

An understatement. Right around now, Sullivan and I

should have finished a romantic dinner in Denver and

been walking hand in hand in Larimer Square to the

concert venue. "It's not how you'd like to be spending

yours, either, I'm sure."

"Well, but my heart isn't invested in any one man, so

it's different. I've got my little black book at the ready

anytime I choose to access it."

"Good for you."

"If you want to consider dating considerably older

men, I can let you borrow it."

I laughed."Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

I resumed putting away the painting supplies. Even

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the striped beige was a massive improvement in this

room, and I'd be happy to live with it for the next few

months--or however long it would be until Audrey was

motivated to hire a painter.

My thoughts promptly wandered to Sullivan. He'd

been highly distracted when he returned from his trip to

Denver with Jennifer Fairfax this afternoon. He'd said

only that she'd really liked our presentation board, but

wanted to be "really hands-on with our final decisions."

It had taken every ounce of my self-restraint to refrain

from asking whether or not he was sure that "our final