Poisoned by Gilt Page 3

  state now? Last night, the vibes you two were giving off

  when he came to pick you up were so strong that . . .

  well, frankly, I wasn't even expecting you to come home

  till this morning."

  Time for a subject change. "Seriously, Audrey, using

  paint to emulate wallpaper is an excellent idea. But let's

  nix the cherubs. I'm going to suggest in the strongest

  possible terms: No naked people or mammals of any

  kind."

  "All right. Would clothed bunnies be okay?"

  "No." I put my pasta into the microwave and began

  to throw together a salad, stealing some of the mushrooms and scallions that she'd just been chopping.

  "Didn't your show's expert last year talk about painting

  D o m e s t i c B l i s s 2 1

  vertical stripes? That's a must when you're mimicking

  wallpaper. Also, surely he or she mentioned how you

  should start the process by creating stencils."

  "I don't remember." Audrey crossed her arms and

  leaned against the door casing that trimmed the dining

  room entrance. Thankfully, that lovely section of white

  decorative wood had gone unscathed by Audrey's

  paintbrush. "Although, now that you mention it, I do remember something about stripes and stencils. But I

  wanted to use some free-form drawings."

  "Free-form is just not a smart way to go about creating faux wallpaper. Use chalk plumb lines and masking

  tape, and create vertical painted lines as your first step.

  Or, better yet, allow me to create them for you. That's

  going to make things much easier than painting freehand on these huge walls. And it'll force you to get the

  scale right. Then, I'll help you cut out two or three stencils

  for the basic shapes of flowers.You can add free-form filigree and leaves, and shadings on the flowers."

  She clicked her tongue. "You are such a fuddyduddy, Erin."

  "I'm not a fuddy-duddy. I'm a designer. Selecting wall

  treatments is a huge part of my job. I know what I'm

  talking about, Audrey."

  She threw up her hands. "Fine, fine. I'll take your advice . . . on the condition that you'll take mine."

  With visions of her asking me to paint angels sitting on

  clouds, I braced myself and asked: "Which is . . . ?"

  "Regarding your love life. Stop driving me up the

  wall!"

  22 L e s l i e C a i n e

  "The one with the cherubs?"

  "You and Steve remind me of the amateur ballerinas

  I used to work with. You're so concerned about not

  stepping on each other's toes that you're always tripping on your own feet. Erin, there's no such thing as the

  perfect mate or the perfect relationship for any of us.

  We all have warts. Stop waiting for a guarantee, and

  trust that, whatever the future brings, you'll be able to

  handle it."

  "It's really Steve who needs to learn that particular

  lesson, Audrey," I grumbled.

  "Interesting. That's exactly what Steve said about

  you, when I gave him that very same piece of advice

  yesterday."

  Stunned, I gaped at her. She swept out of the room.

  c h a p t e r 3

  he steel gray sky of a typical winter late afternoon

  Thad turned black and starless by the time I followed the brick walkway at Crestview University. A chill

  wind whistled through the bare tree branches, and I

  struggled to keep my footing on the icy patches that glittered in the yellow light of the street lamps. I made my

  way to the ivy-covered sandstone building and wrestled

  with its heavy door.

  "Let me get that, miss," a man called from behind me.

  "Thank you."

  He followed me inside. He was wearing a dark wool

  24 L e s l i e C a i n e

  beanie and a sheepskin coat, and he was nice-looking--

  in his late twenties or early thirties. He gave me a onceover and a broad grin, then said, "My pleasure," as

  though he really meant it. It was a testament to just how

  badly my day had gone that I flashed a grateful smile.

  The warmth from his flattery lasted two seconds, until

  I recognized Richard's raspy voice emanating from the

  open doorway directly ahead of us. The class session was

  in full swing. I'd guessed wrong on the time, although I

  wouldn't have had to guess if Sullivan had bothered to

  answer the message I'd left on his cell phone a couple of

  hours ago. I dashed across the hall and slipped into the

  room, quickly finding Sullivan. A young woman was blatantly ogling him, and I was only too happy to slip into

  the empty seat between them. He gave me a you'reunforgivably-late arched eyebrow. I gave him an I'd'vebeen-on-time-if-you'd-returned-my-call shrug.

  I took in the worn-out room at a glance--fifty black,

  threadbare seats in five tiered rows where fewer than

  twenty of us now sat at semiattention. Redesigning our

  surroundings in the blink of an eye, I gave Richard a

  more enticing stage that curved into the center aisle.

  Then I swapped the dreadful overhead fluorescents and

  acoustic ceiling tiles in favor of a lovely blue-lit coved

  ceiling, and livened the textures and colors throughout

  the space.

  The three of us--Sullivan to my right, his ogler to my

  left, and me, the monkey in the middle--were by far the

  youngest people in the room. I took off my gloves and

  Sullivan allowed me to shed my coat unassisted, which

  was unlike him. He looked tired and miserable, even in

  my peripheral vision.

  I studied the jet black hair of the woman seated di-P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 25

  rectly in front of me. Her precise, sharp-cut bob was identical to that of--she turned around and fired a glance at

  me with narrowed eyes--Margot Troy!

  Come to think of it, her presence here made sense.

  Margot would have been drawn to the name of the

  course--Going Green. Could she have known in advance that Richard was going to be the finalist judge for

  the green home contest? If so, her being his student certainly tipped the scales in her direction.

  I struggled to focus on Richard's lecture. Did Margot

  know that he'd stepped down as judge? If she was here

  primarily to suck up to him, this latest development

  wasn't going to sit well.

  Margot raised her hand. "I'm sorry, Richard," she said

  in a saccharine voice. "I couldn't hear what you said just

  now. Could you please repeat your observation? The one

  about conservation being our moral obligation?"

  Richard repeated a hoary cliche about our being the

  children of our beloved Mother Earth and it being our

  duty to love, honor, and protect her and her precious, diminishing resources. After several minutes of his droning

  on and on with variations on that same theme, I began to

  suspect that Richard's lecture was the real cause of the

  furrows on Sullivan's brow; Sullivan probably hated that

  his one-time idol was regurgitating the homilies of countless conservationists instead of dazzling us with his own

  vision.

  The girl seated beside me struggled to peer around me

  at Sullivan. She was clicking the spring on her pen repeatedly, probably trying to annoy me into changing

  seats. Fat chance. She looked twenty at the mos
t. I had almost ten years on her, Sullivan had fourteen, and we had

  26 L e s l i e C a i n e

  amassed a world of shared experience in our relatively

  short time together.

  Richard finally began discussing something personal--

  his sideline business producing and selling nontoxic products for households, including paints and wood-finishing

  sealants. A middle-aged woman said timidly, "But your

  products cost so much more than the products at the

  home-improvement stores."

  "In terms of money, sure," Richard countered. "But

  think about the cost to the environment. Think about

  how the toxins in all those products are permanently polluting the earth. And once the air and water are gone, we

  won't survive. Mankind will simply cease to exist."

  "Oh, get over yourself, Thayers," a man yelled from

  the back of the room. I turned. It was the man in the

  sheepskin coat who'd held the door for me.

  "Matthew Hayes," Richard intoned wearily as he eyed

  the handsome young man. "Figured you'd show up here

  eventually to disrupt things."

  "Oh, I'm not here to disrupt. I want you to teach me.

  Teach me something I don't know, Mr. Thayers. Something

  that I haven't heard a zillion times before. Teach me how I

  can use responsible products and still make money. Just

  don't focus on the so-called earth-friendly products that you

  personally profit from!"

  Several classroom members had slouched down in

  their seats. Others were stealing tense glances at Richard

  and his heckler. Was it just a coincidence that on the

  same day, this man whom Sullivan so admired had made

  two such ardent enemies? Or had Burke Stratton sent

  Matthew Hayes here?

  "Don't force me to call security, Matthew."

  "Please, don't throw me out, Master Thayers. Teach

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 27

  me how I'm supposed to make my own profit when you

  antipollutants fanatics are picketing outside my business." He stood up, the color rising in his cheeks. "When

  protestors block customers from my door, while handing

  out fliers, printed on your oh-so-ecologically-responsible

  paper, urging people to boycott my company! Teach us

  how big business is bad! Yet they're the only ones who can

  keep their profit margins low! They can survive despite

  your boycotts. All of which just happens to help sales for

  all your touchy-feely products!"

  An elderly man at the end of our row rose on wobbly

  legs and called to the man behind us, "Sir? I paid good

  money to be here and to listen to Professor Thayers. And

  I'll thank you to either sit there quietly or leave!"

  Matthew Hayes plopped himself back down into

  his chair and crossed his arms. "Dude, sorry to break

  this to you, but if you paid more than a dime for this

  class, you got ripped off." Again he snorted with forced

  laughter. "You actually believe Thayer's nonsense, don't

  you?"

  "Class," Richard said in an authoritarian voice, "this is

  simply a personal vendetta that Mr. Hayes has against

  me. Don't give this misguided man the time of day. He

  skirts the law with his use of ivory and rain forest wood."

  "Untrue! I use recycled materials only, and you know

  it! If any of my materials were illegal, the SEC would

  shut me down."

  "This is not the time or the place," Richard said. "If

  you want to have a private discussion, you--"

  "Yeah, right. Admit it, Thayers. You just can't handle

  anyone with a different mind-set from your own."

  "What mind-set?" Margot remarked over her shoulder. "Do you even have a mind?"

  28 L e s l i e C a i n e

  I began to wonder if this had all been staged--if

  Richard, the "great motivator," had hired Hayes to liven

  up the class with a debate. I stole a glance at Steve. He

  was glaring at the heckler.

  Hayes again got to his feet. "Come on, Thayers. If your

  product is so safe and earth-friendly, put your mouth

  where your money is. Drink it."

  Richard grabbed a quart-sized can of paint. He

  smirked at Matthew. "This is gold paint, which, as you

  must know, is normally the most toxic of all paints, because of its metallic content. You want me to drink this in

  front of you to prove it's safe?"

  "Absolutely!" the heckler fired back at Richard. "Go

  ahead! Drink your paint. If it's so safe, why not?"

  "No! Don't be crazy, Professor Thayers," a woman student cried, echoing my thoughts exactly.

  "He just wants to make you look foolish and desperate," another woman said.

  "No, no." Richard calmly held up his hand. "He's

  right. About this one thing, I mean. I'm happy to prove to

  this . . . earth-eroding miscreant that every word I say

  about my products, and our duty to the planet, is the

  truth." He pulled out a Swiss Army knife from the pocket

  of his baggy slacks and started to pry open the can.

  I looked at Sullivan, who was aghast as he watched his

  mentor. "Stop him!" I whispered harshly.

  "How?" he whispered back.

  "Take the cans away from him!"

  "I'm sure he knows what he's doing." To my ear, however, Sullivan had never sounded less sure of himself.

  "He'll be fine, Erin," Margot said under her breath,

  turning toward us.

  "Wait, Mr. Thayers." I shot to my feet. "Can't you just

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 29

  point out that there's a big difference in calling something nontoxic versus edible? Or potable, in this case? I

  mean, just because it won't kill you to eat a cup of mud

  doesn't mean it won't make you sick. Furthermore--"

  I broke off. My words were falling on deaf ears.

  Richard set down the lid and held the gold paint high

  with both hands as though he were a priest lifting the

  Holy Cup at Mass. With his wild eyes and hair, however,

  he looked more like the quintessential mad scientist. All

  around me, his students were shrieking or laughing as if

  this were a grand staged event.

  Richard Thayers took three or four deep gulps from

  his can of paint. Disgusted, I sank into my chair.

  "Ah. Not bad," Richard said, wiping his lips on a paper

  towel that he'd produced from behind the dais. He

  coughed a little, set down the can, and gave his heckler a

  triumphant smile. But I was certain that I glimpsed a hint

  of fear in his eyes.

  Richard glanced at his watch. "Thank you for your attendance tonight." He cleared his throat. "Class is dismissed."

  "Are you okay, Professor Thayers?" an elderly woman's

  frail voice behind me asked.

  "Just fine. Thank you. And thank you all for coming

  tonight. We'll see you here next week. For our final session." He gave a wan smile, then focused on packing up

  his things.

  "This is really not as big of a deal as it seems," Margot

  said quietly, again rotating in her seat to face us. Her expression and voice sounded sincere, her dark brown eyes

  directly meeting my gaze. Margot had the kind of patrician features and style that screamed old money. I

  guessed her to be in her late forties, but she'd had "work


  30 L e s l i e C a i n e

  done," so it was hard to tell. "I've taken his class three

  years running, and he does this every year."

  "Really?" I asked, still appalled and feeling a little sick

  to my own stomach. "He drinks gold paint every year?"

  "Oh, yes. The first time he did it, everyone panicked.

  Half the class was about to call nine-one-one on our cell

  phones till he convinced us not to. Word's starting to get

  around, though," she grumbled, eyeing Matthew Hayes.

  "Obviously."

  "Matthew Hayes couldn't have known. If he was aware

  that Richard drank paint every year, why would he goad

  him into doing so? He'd only be playing into Richard's

  hand."

  "True. Well. In any case, no worries." She grinned at

  me and stood up. She whispered, "I need to go pay our illustrious instructor some compliments now. It probably

  won't help me win the contest, but it certainly won't

  hurt."

  "Too late for that, Ms. Troy," Steve said. "He stepped

  down today. He knows one of the finalists and couldn't

  be impartial."

  "Oh, but he--" She gave Richard, then me, a confused glance, but a moment later focused on Sullivan

  with a steely resolve. "That could only be your client.

  Otherwise, you wouldn't know before I did. I'm one of

  only three finalists, for heaven's sake. What happened?"

  "We really don't know anything beyond the fact that

  he stepped down, Margot," I said.

  "Peachy," Margot growled. "Just peachy." She narrowed her eyes at the doe-eyed girl beside me, who was

  blatantly listening. "I'm sorry, young lady, does our conversation concern you?"

  "Um, no, er. I was just . . . worried about Mr. Thayers."

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 31

  "Well, as you've already heard, you needn't bother."

  Margot gathered her things and swept out of the room.

  Steve laid his hand on top of mine and gave my fingers

  a brief squeeze. To my chagrin, that was enough physical

  contact to get my pulse racing, especially when our gazes

  locked. He looked sad. "I'd better go talk to him," Steve

  muttered, then rose.

  "I'll meet you outside," I told him. He caressed my

  shoulder for an instant as he walked behind me, then

  brushed past the girl beside me as though she--despite

  her doleful gaze--were invisible. My karma would no

  doubt give me a head-whack for the glee that brought

  me. The girl rushed out the back door as Sullivan strode