Poisoned by Gilt Page 11

  broken tree limbs and the knee-high pile of debris.

  "It's the cottonwood tree. A branch broke off." Although

  I held my tongue, I'd warned her last year that cottonwoods

  were notorious for losing huge branches in storms, and

  that hers had been planted too close to the house for comfort. "It took out half your kitchen," I said, stunned. The

  lovely black granite countertops were cracked. The island

  and cooktop were crushed, the sink smashed. Water burbled through the pipes somewhere underneath the trunklike tree limb. "I'm going to run downstairs and shut off

  your water main."

  She nodded. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

  "Audrey, I am so, so sorry this happened."

  Again, she nodded, still unable to speak. I turned and

  jogged down the stairs. The least I could do was keep her

  kitchen from flooding. Yet I had the desperate feeling

  that there was little else I'd be able to do to shore up her

  106 L e s l i e C a i n e

  spirits, now that her gorgeous, sparkling kitchen lay in ruins.

  It took me a while to squeeze past all of Audrey's suitcases and boxes of art supplies and shut off the main.

  Afterwards, I raced back up the stairs, expecting to see

  Audrey sobbing. Instead, she was on the phone, calmly

  making arrangements. She thanked whoever was on the

  line and hung up. "I've called a tree company," she declared. "They'll cut up the branch and haul it out of

  here. Next I'll call my insurance agent and get him up to

  speed."

  "Okay. I'll call my favorite contractor, and we'll see

  how soon he can get here to board up the damage." I

  sighed. "Again, Audrey, I'm so sorry."

  "Oh, well," she said cheerfully. "The house is fully insured. The refrigerator's fine, so we didn't lose any food.

  And now that the branch has knocked out half the room,

  it's the perfect time for me to bump that wall out and

  build the breakfast nook I've always wanted."

  c h a p t e r 9

  Personally, I believe that when life

  gives you lemons, you shouldn't settle

  for mere lemonade. Lemon chiffon

  pie, for example, is my absolute

  favorite dessert.

  --Audrey Munroe

  After donning parkas and fastening an old

  wool blanket as best we could across the gap in

  BLISS the wall, followed by several minutes of phone

  calls to the insurance company and contractors, Audrey and I were able to find humor in the

  sudden intrusion of half a tree in our kitchen. As

  we inspected the damage, I remarked, "You

  never said anything about wanting a breakfast

  nook before."

  "Well . . . I do now. And I live with an interior

  designer who can help me plan an even nicer

  kitchen. How perfect is that ?"

  I chuckled. "Gee, thanks, Audrey. It's nice to

  DOMESTIC know that I can help you turn this disaster into

  something positive."

  108 L e s l i e C a i n e

  "Yes, indeed. We can bring the kitchen up to greenhome standards this way."

  I hesitated. "Actually, Audrey, we can--and will--get

  the most energy-efficient appliances on the market, for

  anything that's sustained considerable damage. But

  Energy Star guidelines went into effect in 1993, so that's

  when efficiency standards took a quantum leap.

  There's nothing in here more than five years old."

  "Well, not counting the two of us."

  I grinned. "Right. I just meant that they'd be worth

  considering replacing if they were ten-plus years old,

  because of energy efficiency. And we'll do whatever

  else you'd like to do in addition to that. But the truth

  about green homes is that the greenest home is the

  one that's already built."

  "Maybe so, but this home is missing one wall and a

  sizable portion of its roof."

  "True. But when you apply that same axiom to a

  remodel, it's the one that uses the fewest new materials."

  "Oh, I see." She scanned the damaged roof, window,

  and wall. "In that case, we'll concentrate on rebuilding

  only the damaged areas and building the breakfast

  nook there." She pointed to the corner where there

  were cracks in the walls from the heaviest part of the

  branch."Are you saying that we'd be better off continuing the heart-of-pine floorboards rather than going with

  bamboo or cork throughout?"

  "Almost definitely, just because there's such a small

  percentage of the pine that's likely to have been dam-D o m e s t i c B l i s s 1 0 9

  aged. By the same token, we should order replacement

  cabinetry from the same manufacturer, instead of all

  new cabinets throughout. We just need to ensure that

  they use formaldehyde-free materials for the shelves

  and drawers .. . maybe wheatboard or strawboard, if

  that's an option."

  She nodded and scanned the ceiling."You know, I've

  always wanted a skylight over my sink. And we can

  make a combination greenhouse/breakfast nook with

  lots of windows."

  "That'd be wonderful. That's what's known as daylighting--when we reduce our power use by taking advantage of daylight." I stopped, realizing she was well

  familiar with the term and didn't need a lecture from

  me. But as I scanned the room, I made a mental inventory. We could use individually controlled task lighting so

  we wouldn't waste electricity illuminating more space

  than we'd need, and we'd install fluorescent bulbs.

  We'd add insulation when we rebuilt the wall, and all

  the new windows would have high-performance glazing. Plus we'd make sure we could create cross breezes

  through the new kitchen. "Since the sink's a goner, we

  can consider getting rid of the garbage disposal and installing a recycling center in one cabinet."

  "I could live without a disposal," Audrey said thoughtfully.

  "And we could construct the greenhouse to have an

  external door. We can heat the room exclusively with

  passive solar energy and close it off at night. That way,

  too, we can do wonders with the floor . . . put down

  110 L e s l i e C a i n e

  heat-absorbing slate. I'm sure I can find nice tiles at the

  reclamation yard."

  "Hildi will love a nice sunny room with a warm floor."

  "She will. It'll be like her own private sauna."

  "I can't wait. I'm so glad this happened!"

  "You are?"

  "Yes. Work with me, here, Erin. This is how I avoid needing mood-enhancing drugs."

  "In that case, this storm damage is a stroke of good

  luck. Just not for the tree."

  "Well, no. But this was an act of nature, so it must have

  been its time." A chilly breeze swept through the room.

  "Let's seal off this room once we get my dishes and

  cookware moved into the dining room. I've got that

  thick roll of plastic in the storage room of the basement,

  and some duct tape. Good thing you didn't quite finish

  painting the dining room. Now we'll be able to tape the

  plastic to the walls without worrying about damaging

  the paint."

  "Yet another positive take on this."

  "And I've got the perfect architect in mind. We'll be

  killing two stones at once
when I hire him to work for us."

  I chuckled a little at her deliberate botching of the

  two-birds cliche."Really? Who?"

  "Jeremy Greene."

  "Audrey! I consider him a key suspect in Richard

  Thayers's death!"

  "Precisely! And what better way to get information

  out of him than by hiring him?"

  c h a p t e r 1 0

  he next morning, it was strange and upsetting for

  Tme to enter the dining room and realize that we

  would be using this cramped, claustrophobic room as

  our makeshift kitchen for weeks to come. The space was

  the typical clutter catastrophe that normally caused people to solicit my services. Last night, I'd urged Audrey to

  put everything in storage except those few items that she

  knew we would need for the short term. Yet she must

  have dragged armloads of stuff into the room the minute

  I'd gone to bed. Two full sets of plates, including her

  fine china, were stacked in the corners. We were now

  112 L e s l i e C a i n e

  equipped to serve a dinner party of sixteen, provided the

  dinner guests ignored the fact that we had no oven or

  cooktop, and that seven of the eight chairs at the table

  were either filled or blocked by the complete contents of

  her sizable pantry. Cans, pasta boxes, cereal boxes, and

  spices were piled everywhere, and cookware, utensils,

  and glasses sat on every flat surface.

  Audrey had at least stuck with my directive to reserve

  her sidebar for her essential small appliances, which

  would temporarily serve as our only means to cook indoors. There I'd placed her coffeemaker (which was already doing its thing, thanks to the timer), her toaster, hot

  plate, and electric frying pan. The microwave was too

  large for the sidebar, but rested on the ice chest next to

  the designated temporary home for the refrigerator.

  Unfortunately, she'd also brought out the pasta maker,

  the bread maker--which hadn't been used once in the

  two years that I'd lived with her--two mixers, the ice

  cream maker, and the blender. I was betting that the waffle iron was around here somewhere.

  I heard Audrey open the front door, no doubt to retrieve the newspaper. She shuffled into the room in her

  robe and snow boots, her nose buried in the paper. I

  watched her nervously. She was taking her life into her

  hands, given the numerous opportunities to trip over

  something. Once she'd arrived safely, I considered quipping that she'd missed the opportunity to use the chandelier as storage hooks, but I didn't want to give her

  any ideas and instead simply gave her a cheery, "Good

  morning."

  "Morning, Erin." She poured herself a cup of coffee.

  "We got an even foot of snow yesterday. Maplewood's

  been plowed, so you'll be able to drive to work. You're go-P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 113

  ing to want to read the front-page story first, though." She

  handed me the A section of the Sentinel.

  My vision was drawn to a photograph of Richard

  Thayers at a rally, holding a placard that read World's

  Watchdogs. The banner headline was "Ecoterrorism

  Connection?"

  "Oh, jeez. Sullivan's going to be on the rampage."

  With considerable effort, I angled myself past the stacks

  and boxes and into a chair to read the rest.

  "Did you see the paper this morning?" Sullivan

  promptly asked when I arrived at the office. "The

  Sentinel printed nonsensical speculation by a batch of

  talk-radio airheads, claiming Richard was an ecoterrorist.

  And so some rational person got fed up and decided to

  strike back by committing first-degree murder."

  "I did see it." I hung up my coat and scarf, and made

  my way to my desk chair. "They must have been talking

  to someone in the same social circles as Asia McClure,

  because she suggested the same possibility to me the

  other day."

  "Yeah, well, that woman's a crabapple with legs. The

  story is total crap. No way was Richard an ecoterrorist."

  "The papers never said that he was, you realize . . . only

  that the killer could have assumed he was a member of

  World's Watchdogs, because he was photographed at

  their rally."

  "Watchdogs has nothing to do with ecoterrorism, either. It was a misguided splinter group of theirs that

  claimed responsibility for a handful of ecoterrorist acts."

  "I know." That doesn't mean the killer knew that,

  though, I said to myself.

  114 L e s l i e C a i n e

  Sullivan remained tightly wound. "I called Walter

  Emory and asked him to drop by to discuss this. He cares

  as much about finding Richard's killer as I do."

  That last remark stung me immeasurably. I couldn't

  decide if objecting would make things better or worse,

  but after a few seconds, I reluctantly let it pass. "What

  time did he--"

  The little brass bell above the door jingled as someone

  opened it. Speak of the devil, I thought, as Walter

  stepped inside, wearing the same coat and baggy pants

  he'd worn on his last visit, although he'd added a hat with

  Elmer Fudd earflaps to his ensemble.

  "Morning, Walter," I said.

  "Morning." He beamed at me. "Fine day, isn't it?" he

  nearly shouted.

  "If you like gray, dreary, and cold," Sullivan replied.

  "When you get to be my age, any day you can get out

  of bed counts as a fine morning." He removed his hat and

  coat, but kept hold of both instead of using our coat tree.

  "I've been worried about the story on the front page of

  the Sentinel today," Sullivan said. "Did you read it?"

  "Yeah, I did."

  "Do you think there's any substance to the claim that

  Richard could have been killed by an antiecoterrorist?"

  "Kind of doubt it." Walter lowered himself into the

  chair that was stationed halfway between our desks and

  laid his coat and hat over his knees. "Don't you? I mean,

  killing somebody for being a zealot when it comes to the

  environment doesn't make a whole lot of sense."

  "Yeah," Sullivan said, "but there've been less sensible

  motives that have driven people to murder."

  Walter crossed his arms and regarded him for a moment. "You see, Steve, here's the way I look at it. Of the

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 115

  two of us, Richard Thayers and myself, I'm the one with

  the national reputation for lobbying to save our planet.

  So if anyone's going to be a target of pro-pollution vigilantes, it's going to be me, not him."

  "But whoever killed Richard Thayers probably isn't

  someone who's focused in on the national news," I interposed. "It's more likely someone with a personal ax to

  grind. Maybe someone who's just thinking locally, about

  a perceived slight, or because his own business failed."

  Someone like Matthew Hayes, I mused in silence.

  "Ah. You mean someone who's got his or her selfinterest at heart, but who is spurred on by a big hatred of

  environmentalists."

  "Maybe," I replied with a shrug.

  "Well, I guess that's always possible."

  "Aren't you nervous?" Sullivan asked Walter.

 
"About?"

  "About your own safety. If this is the work of someone

  who detests your organization and all that it stands for,

  don't you worry that you might have put yourself in the

  crosshairs?"

  Walter sat staring into space for a moment, his eyes

  widening. "Hmm. In other words, I could be next in

  line."

  "I didn't mean to scare you," Sullivan said. "In fact,

  Erin and I got the message 'You're next' on our own business card . . . with red paint splattered on it. We're in the

  crosshairs ourselves."

  "So you're just spreading the joy around, eh?" Walter

  replied, giving me a jovial wink. In that moment, my appreciation for the man doubled.

  "I'm sure nothing will happen, Walter," I said. "For all

  we know, Richard's murder might have nothing to do

  116 L e s l i e C a i n e

  with the contest, or his interest in conservation. But a little precaution and vigilance wouldn't hurt."

  "Just keep your eyes open," Sullivan added.

  "Right. I will." He grinned at me. "Thanks for your

  concern, Erin. And don't worry. I'm nearly done with my

  judging. Just one more impromptu visit to each of the finalists' homes, to see if catching them off guard makes

  any difference. Then I'm putting this sorry affair to bed,

  once and for all."

  "Good," I said. "I'm glad for everyone's sake that this is

  almost over with, so we can move on."

  "Yeah. Not counting Richard," Sullivan growled.

  I winced, chagrined at my own insensitivity.

  "Oh, now, Erin didn't mean it like that." Walter got to

  his feet and struggled back into his coat, shuffling his hat

  between his hands. "Anybody can see she doesn't have a

  mean bone in her body." He gave me a nod, and said,

  "I've got to shove off." He grinned at Sullivan. "It's been

  good for me to see for myself that part of Richard lives on

  through his students. I'll keep you posted on the contest."

  Walter's visit seemed to put Sullivan into a funk.

  Maybe he took offense to Walter's taking my side, or

  maybe he was still mired in angst over his recent loss, but

  once again he seemed to need some space. I wondered,

  though, if all this "space" he needed wasn't steadily pushing me right out of his life. I started working on Audrey's

  new kitchen, calculating that with all the extra hours

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