Poisoned by Gilt Page 2

you've found such a major violation that you've suggested it may be a criminal matter. How did you get from

  point A to point F so quickly?"

  Richard stiffened and all but sneered at me. "As I believe I already told you, Miss Gilbert, I can't go into the

  details. I'm sorry." He rose, faced Steve, and only then

  forced a smile. "Well. I've wasted enough of your time."

  Steve, too, got to his feet as Richard continued, "I just

  wanted to apologize, face-to-face, for jumping down your

  throat last night."

  "Hey. That's all right."

  "No, it isn't. I leapt to some ridiculous conclusions.

  I'm not always rational when it comes to Burke Stratton.

  The man is bad news. If you continue to work with him,

  you'll regret it. But that's your decision. And this has been

  a hell of a lousy way to resume our friendship, S.S."

  "Yeah. Cruddy circumstances." The men shook

  hands. "Thanks for stopping by."

  "Technically, since I'm the finalist judge till they accept my resignation, I shouldn't have said a word about

  this. But I felt you deserved the heads-up. It was the least

  I could do, really." He gave me a thin smile. "Sorry that

  I'm forced to be so cryptic, Miss Gilbert."

  Not knowing what else to say, I muttered, "Thank you.

  Drive carefully."

  The moment the door closed behind Richard,

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 11

  Sullivan dropped into his desk chair, shot me a look of

  disgust, and snapped, "That was awkward."

  "Yes, it was. And I'm sorry, but truth be told, my questions seemed completely reasonable to me."

  "He'd just gotten through telling us that he shouldn't

  even have been talking to us in the first place! That he

  wasn't at liberty to discuss any details!"

  "No, he hadn't, Sullivan. He must have told you that

  over the phone. All he said at first in my presence was that

  he was sorry to be so vague."

  "It's the same thing!"

  "No, it isn't. Apologizing for being vague is not at all

  the same as being ethically or perhaps legally under a gag

  order."

  He made no comment and returned to his work--

  rifling through several pictures of formal dining room

  sets in order to whittle down the selection process to the

  best two or three for our client. His every motion was

  made with extra zeal and noise. I reclaimed my seat at my

  desk, which was at a right angle to his, and tried to get

  back to work, too. I gave up within only a minute or two.

  "Why are you angry at me, Sullivan? Could you please

  explain to me what's going on here?"

  "I don't know what Richard knows, Gilbert. But I do

  know he always tells it like it is. Always. So we need to listen." He paused, still so edgy I didn't dare interrupt. "I

  wanted you two to like each other. He's a great motivator . . .

  has such great vision. He believed in me when no one else

  did, including myself. There was a time when just having

  him look over my shoulder at a project I was struggling with

  would suddenly help me to find the answers. Somehow, it

  feels like the exact opposite is happening. As though he's

  12 L e s l i e C a i n e

  looking over my shoulder right now, and I'm suddenly seeing all our flaws."

  My heart leapt to my throat. "Our flaws? You don't

  mean in our relationship, do you?"

  He ignored me. A silent yes!

  I stared at him in profile. "Are you having second

  thoughts about our decision not to see other people?"

  He lifted his hands in exasperation. "Damn it, Gilbert!

  I happily quit seeing other women because nobody measured up to you. But when I'm with you, I'm not measuring up to your standards, and--"

  "That's not true," I cried, but he was talking over me.

  "I'm always screwing up. It's always wrong! You were

  right before. We shouldn't date."

  His words seemed to hang in the air. I swiveled in my

  chair to face my monitor and hide my expression from

  him. "Oh. I see."

  The phone rang.

  "I didn't mean 'we shouldn't' as in 'we won't.' Just

  that . . . you were right that it's not working."

  "No, that's fine."

  "The words just slipped out. I didn't mean to hurt your

  feelings, Erin."

  "I'll get over it." Just like I could dive face-first through

  the window and probably survive. Two years of harboring

  a crush on this one man had just crushed me. Despite my

  overwhelming urge to cry, I picked up the phone.

  Sullivan had risen and was now leaning on my desk.

  He whispered, "But I didn't mean that the way it

  sounded."

  I was too upset to listen. I cleared my throat and said,

  "Sullivan and Gilbert Designs" into the phone.

  "I don't want to stop seeing you."

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 13

  A woman was speaking. I asked her: "Can you please

  hold?" and pressed the button without waiting for her response.

  "Who is that?" Sullivan asked.

  "I don't know. A soon-to-be-former client, most likely."

  I sighed and looked up at him, suddenly feeling a horrid

  pang that made it hurt to breathe. If only he weren't so

  close to being everything I wanted, and yet never within

  reach. "We can't do this now."

  "I don't want to do this at all."

  "Oh, Steve." I massaged my temples, willing myself

  not to lose my composure. "I don't know if you mean 'do

  this' as in breaking up or as in being together. But I just

  meant that this isn't a good time for us to talk about it."

  "No kidding. It's a train wreck. Look. Let me cover our

  last two appointments this afternoon alone, while you see

  if you can get us caught up here. Okay? Meet me tonight

  at Richard's class. Please."

  I nodded as I clicked back on the line and said, "This

  is Erin Gilbert. I'm sorry to keep you waiting." Silence.

  "Hello?" Nobody was there. Sullivan pushed out the

  door.

  "It is a train wreck," I muttered to myself.

  The phone rang again, and I answered immediately.

  "Erin, it's Burke," he said. His typically gentle voice

  was tinged with desperation. "I need your help."

  Had he already been told about the charges Thayers

  had made against him? "Why? What's wrong?"

  "Some idiot with an ax to grind has put me under investigation for false claims of rule violations. Turns out

  the finalist judge is this guy named Richard Thayers, who

  hates my guts. He did some work for me four years ago,

  and it was all such garbage, I refused to pay. It had to be

  14 L e s l i e C a i n e

  him who made these ridiculous charges. But I don't

  know for sure. Nobody at Earth Love would tell me."

  "Should I--"

  "At any rate," he interrupted, his words gushing out in

  a semitirade, "I'm telling you, Erin, promising you even,

  that the claims are totally bogus. But my status as a finalist is now pending. Worst part is, there'll be some sort of

  trial. It'll be covered in the Crestview Sentinel. My name

  will be dragged through the mud."

  "I'm so sorry, Burke. That's terrible."

  "I need you and
Steve to testify. I'll get Jeremy

  Greene, my architect, to testify as well. Once I find out

  what the charges are. Earth Love won't tell me that, yet,

  either. They said I'll have to call back tomorrow morning,

  after they've had a chance to read through the reports."

  "I'll do what I can, Burke, but--" I stopped. This

  wasn't the time to explain about Sullivan's possible conflict of interest. Burke was our client, and we'd been paid

  to be on his side.

  "But what?"

  "Steve's not here, and we'll need to talk this over. All

  three of us. Let's aim for sometime tomorrow, after you've

  learned exactly what you're up against. Or Friday, if that

  works better."

  The other line was flashing with an incoming call. I

  set a tentative time to meet at the office in the morning,

  said a hasty good-bye to Burke, and answered the new

  call. "Erin, this is Margot Troy," a woman's voice huffed.

  "Did you realize you hung up on me?"

  "Was that you on the phone just now?"

  "A minute or two ago, yes. You tried to put me on

  hold."

  "I'm really sorry, Margot."

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 15

  "You've got too many clients. This is the reason I

  didn't hire you to spruce up for the open house last

  Saturday. Today I'd decided I wanted to hire you again,

  for a second small job, but now I won't. In any case, it was

  nice seeing you at the Earth Love open house, and best of

  luck to Burke."

  "That's very kind of you, Margot. And I'm--"

  "True," she interrupted, "but it's also just basic manners. You should have thought to wish me well, for old

  times' sake. But you're obviously too busy even to answer

  my phone call."

  "Margot, I am so--"

  She hung up. "Sorry," I said to myself.

  Margot Troy. My former client from hell. I found both

  her and her home fascinating, though. The woman was

  filthy rich, yet believed so strongly in recycling that she'd

  built and furnished her home entirely from secondhand

  or salvaged materials. I couldn't work for her until the

  contest was over, in any case, but I needed to repair this

  new rift. Tomorrow, maybe. If Sullivan and I had any free

  time.

  Thinking about Steve's and my schedules reminded

  me that I didn't know what time Richard's class was. Had

  either of them mentioned it? And what on earth was going on between Richard and Burke?

  More importantly, were things over between Steve

  and me? Were these walls thick enough that I could let

  out a scream without causing anybody to call 911?

  I took a calming breath and counted to ten. Okay. I

  could still breathe. And count. All was not completely

  lost. On most days, I love my job. I truly do. Just not this

  particular day.

  c h a p t e r 2

  We cannot continue to abuse Earth's

  resources, and we must all do our part.

  Reducing wastefulness can be as simple and painless as using fewer paper

  napkins and rethinking the type of wall

  and window treatments we use.

  --Audrey Munroe

  This is what my life's work is all about, I thought

  as I shed my coat and marveled at the deBLISS lectable ambience of my home's foyer. The

  space itself was perfect: Currier and Ives,

  Architectural Digest, welcome-to-my-lovely-life

  perfect. The earthy tones and textural depths of

  the pearl gray plaster walls were divine, as was

  the sparkling chandelier, with its soul-cheering

  wash of light. And the three white calla lilies in

  the crystal vase atop the charming antique

  table. But what was making my heart soar at the

  moment was the breathtaking view of the parlor

  through the French doors.

  DOMESTIC

  Never had I been forced to work quite so

  hard on a room, and especially not on one

  D o m e s t i c B l i s s 1 7

  which already had such great bones--high ceilings,

  hand-carved trim, and antique wide-plank floorboards.

  I helped my landlady with interior design in lieu of paying rent, and it was as Sisyphean a task as I'd ever

  known. This room had gone from a storage room for mismatched furniture to an arts-and-crafts rumpus room

  and back more times than I could count. Even so, my

  eventual triumphant design had been worth every exasperating moment: I had achieved bliss. I hung my

  coat in the closet and entered my new favorite space.

  From the mouthwatering reds and blues of the Oriental carpeting to the hint of peach in the medallion on

  the marvelous coved ceiling, every item in this room was

  beautiful on its own--and seemed even more extraordinary when seen as one piece of the whole composition. Within these four celery-toned walls, the textures,

  shapes, and lines were in such harmony that the space

  was nothing less than sublime. Even Hildi, my cat, looked

  like a scenic prop as she sat curled into a black, satiny

  oval shape on Audrey's gold brocade wing chair. Best

  of all was that Audrey, the epitome of a recalcitrant and

  skeptical home owner, now loved this room every bit as

  much as I did.

  Just around the corner, in stark contrast, the den had

  a willy-nilly mishmash of furnishings. And around the

  other corner, the walls of the dining room were undergoing yet another of Audrey's experiments in, well,

  something or other. She used her house as a testing laboratory for possible segments on her local, Martha

  Stewart-like TV show, Domestic Bliss with Audrey Munroe.

  18 L e s l i e C a i n e

  I greeted my kitty and sighed at the joy of being embraced by my warm surroundings. But my thoughts

  quickly returned to my latest spat with Sullivan. Then it hit

  me: If we ever got our act together, I would have to

  move out of Audrey's fabulous house. Could that be

  part of what was driving my interminable attraction to

  him? Was I unconsciously drawn to him and our perpetual pattern of limbo, because it delayed me from having to grow up? From getting my own place and

  moving forward with my life?

  With sagging spirits, I made my way to the kitchen,

  where I could hear Audrey working at the chopping

  board. With Audrey at the helm, anything could be getting chopped, from carrots to strands of--

  I lost my train of thought as a ghastly alteration to the

  dining room ceiling commanded my full attention. Were

  those cherubs?! And was this some kind of a fresco?

  She'd painted a pink-and-yellow-hued baby, with its

  torso on the ceiling and lower half on the wall. A second

  baby was sitting on that one's shoulder, and a third was

  apparently clinging to his ankle for dear life. I looked

  again and corrected myself: her ankle.

  Audrey must have heard my footsteps, because

  she joined me in the dining room. "Erin! You're home

  early!"

  "Yes, but not for long. I'm grabbing something to eat,

  then meeting Sullivan at CU. We're going to a community class together." Like metal paper clips to a magnet,

  my vision was drawn once again to the ceiling."Audrey,

  I have to ask. What's with the pudgy babies in the cor-D o m
e s t i c B l i s s 1 9

  ner? You're not thinking of going all Sistine Chapel in

  here, are you?"

  "Are the cherubs too much?"

  "That depends. If you're thinking of continuing to live

  here, as opposed to turning the place into a museum or

  a church, then yes."

  She sighed."That's what I thought, too. I was going to

  apply a decoupage of some sort, but then decided I

  shouldn't be using up paper products. With all your emphasis on green home designs lately, you've raised my

  social consciousness."

  But apparently not your taste, I thought sourly.

  "I couldn't help but think about all those poor trees

  being cut down just to be ground up into wallpaper."

  "There's a wide array of fabrics and sea grasses

  available for wall treatments nowadays."

  "Maybe so, but last year, I did a show segment on using paint to mimic wallpaper. That surely has to be an

  even greener alternative. In terms of conservation, I

  mean, not literally the color green. So, I was going to

  paint a nice pink rose up there. Unfortunately, it started

  to look like a baby's derriere. Then I started to think

  about you and Steve, and what adorable babies the

  two of you would have, and next thing you know, voila!"

  "Eww! I'm never going to allow Sullivan into our dining room again!" Panicked, I scanned all the walls and

  the ceiling. "Thank God. No storks." I shook my head in

  exasperation. "This grandmother thing must be getting

  to your head!" Some six months ago, she'd been thrilled

  to welcome her first grandchild, and her eldest son had

  20 L e s l i e C a i n e

  just announced that he and his wife, too, were expecting--but they all lived hundreds of miles away. Locally, I

  seemed to be the next best thing to a blood relative.

  "You were the one who admitted your biological

  clock was going off."

  "That was just a moment of weakness, inspired by two

  glasses of Beaujolais on an empty stomach." I brushed

  past her into the kitchen and headed straight for the refrigerator. I had a leftover serving of pasta with pesto in

  there that was perfect for a quick dinner. "Besides, you

  know how it is with Steve and me.You'll be working on a

  second coat, with every inch of the dining room filled

  with bouncing babies, before we'll have fully committed to our relationship. If we ever do."

  She studied my features, her own expression crestfallen."Oh, Erin.You're saying you two are back to an 'if'