Poisoned by Gilt Read online

  the man, so I merely replied, "That's great, Margot. I'm

  glad you're happy."

  "I am. But let's get back to the business at hand.

  Knowing how you're always wanting to make citizen's arrests," she sniffed, "I'm sure you want to hear all about

  what I may have noticed that night . . . if anyone was hovering nearby the poisonous paint before you arrived, for

  example."

  "Did you see something suspicious?"

  "No, but I do know for a fact that Richard Thayers

  never locked his car. And he used that old Volvo of his

  like a storage locker on wheels. He'd have been driving

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 85

  around for weeks with that paint in his backseat. It would

  have been easy as pie for anyone to swap cans."

  "Who besides you knew that out of the half dozen

  products, he was going to drink the gold paint?"

  "I have no earthly idea. But like I told you in class, it

  had gotten to be fairly common knowledge among us

  ecologically responsible people."

  Which wasn't all that big a community. And it certainly included Jeremy Greene.

  "Did you know Richard personally?"

  She gave me one of her patented stares, in which she

  lowered her chin and peered into my eyes as though she

  were looking over the top of invisible reading glasses. "I

  told you I've taken classes from him for three years running now."

  I hoped she'd elaborate, but when she didn't, I felt

  stuck. As a client, she tended to get annoyed and to clam

  up whenever she felt she was being pressed too hard to

  voice her opinions. She'd likely explode if I asked how

  she'd gotten so familiar with her ex-teacher's personal

  driving habits. So why had she volunteered the information about her dating Jeremy Greene? I had a feeling that

  I was being played, and that she was feeding me specific

  information she wanted me to know, but I couldn't begin

  to decipher why.

  She was fidgeting with a tissue, winding it into a paper

  rope.

  "Is everything all right, Margot? You seem a little on

  edge."

  "Yes, I'm fine."

  She still didn't elaborate and seemed to have no

  intention of doing so in the near future. "I should get going, Margot. I just wanted to apologize to you again for

  86 L e s l i e C a i n e

  my shoddy phone manners the other day. The house is

  looking great. Best of luck with the contest."

  "Thank you. Although I must say, I had a much better

  chance of winning with Richard than with Walter

  Emory. They were both fruitcakes, but Walter's even nuttier." She clicked her tongue. "If you're looking for suspects, I hope you remember to put him on your list."

  "What motive would he have? He and Richard were

  friends."

  "And friends sometimes turn into the worst enemies."

  Feeling frustrated by the limited information I'd gath-

  ered from Margot, I hoped things would go better with

  Darren Campesio. First, though, I dropped off the drawings of the sunroom at Burke's very ordinary-looking

  house. His boxy two-story home was painted a buttery

  yellow with a charcoal gray roof of photovoltaic tiles--

  utterly unremarkable. But he had an attractive front

  porch, and I'd convinced him to add dollhouselike shutters, which added visual interest and really perked up his

  exterior. He wasn't home, so I left the drawings between

  his inner and outer doors. It seemed wasteful to drive the

  quarter mile or so to Darren's house, and anyway, I didn't

  have an appointment with him, so I decided that I'd walk

  along the hiking trail behind the properties. This way I

  could mention to Darren that I was in the area and was

  curious to see another state-of-the-art green home.

  There was a large piece of property separating Burke's

  and Darren's properties. Months ago, Burke had warned

  Sullivan and me that the home owner, Asia McClure,

  was a major character--and not in a good way. With that

  in mind, I couldn't help but wince at the sight of the tow-P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 87

  ering white windmill behind Darren's house. Burke, I

  knew, was in the process of building an even bigger one,

  and that couldn't possibly make Asia happy. As much as I

  believed in alternative energy sources, I wouldn't want to

  have two enormous towers on either side of my home.

  Zoning laws inside the city limits prevented home owners from building such tall, unsightly structures, but

  Burke and Darren were governed by the much more relaxed county regulations.

  Burke had also said that Asia was an amazing gardener. She had a split-rail fence surrounding her property, except for the small pond situated halfway between

  Burke's and her homes. There was an opening between

  two evergreens next to her back fence, and I couldn't resist taking a closer peek at her property.

  The siding was a pale gray with liberal use of white

  trim and instantly brought to mind the old farmhouses of

  my childhood in upstate New York. I loved the large

  overhangs that shaded the windows, as well as her large

  New England gray-painted deck and lattices on the

  south-facing side. There were cheerful dormers above

  the roof for the deck. The architecture style appeared to

  borrow from the old-fashioned bungalows that had been

  so popular in the 1920s. I grinned at the place as I pictured warm, cozy bedrooms upstairs and inviting public

  spaces on the main floor.

  "What do you think you're doing!" a shrill voice

  shrieked at me.

  I let out a cry of surprise and jumped back.

  Doing a fast step-march across the lawn toward me was

  a short woman in a big sun hat, fastened with a red

  checkerboard ribbon beneath her chin. The woman was

  88 L e s l i e C a i n e

  built like a bear cub, with short stocky legs and arms, and

  fierce, beady eyes that were focused on me.

  "Sorry, ma'am. Your property caught my eye from the

  footpath, and I--"

  "Look what you did!" She pointed to a spot just to the

  right of my feet. "You stepped on my flower!"

  I looked down and saw the dried-up stem of a daisy

  that had apparently grown out through the rails of the

  fence and had snapped off near its roots. "I'm sorry."

  "That's my private property! You destroyed it!"

  "It wasn't intentional. I must have brushed against it

  with my leg."

  "I didn't say it was intentional. But my plant is equally

  ruined either way."

  "Um, all I can say is I'm sorry. At least it was long past

  its bloom, right?"

  She was glaring at me. Maybe I'd hit a sore spot with

  my mention of its being past its bloom.

  "What were you doing, leaning over my fence and

  ogling my house? Why didn't you stay on the path, where

  you belong? That's the middle of the path right there."

  She stabbed her finger at the path three times. "You're a

  skinny thing. Wasn't it wide enough for you? You think

  you need to tread on my flower beds?"

  "I was simply admiring your lovely home. From outside your fence. I truly didn't mean to come anywhere

  near your flower bed." Your dorman
t flower bed with its

  dried-out flowers, I added to myself. "I couldn't resist taking a look at your house. I'm naturally drawn to nice

  homes. I'm an interior designer. Burke Stratton is my

  client."

  She put her hands on her hips and glowered at me.

  "Aha! You mean you're a decorator for his granola-P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 89

  crunching, tree-hugging, it's-not-easy-being-green contest. With that contest judge who got knocked off.

  Though he probably deserved it."

  Surprised, I asked, "Did you know Richard Thayers?"

  "I heard through the grapevine that he was one of

  those . . . ecoterrorists. Like the people who burned the

  ski lodge in Vail years ago."

  "Where did you hear that? About Richard, I mean?"

  "Around. I belong to some groups who happen to believe in the power of corporate America, not in maniacs

  like that crazy paint-drinking professor." She pursed her

  lips and eyed me up and down. "Whereas you are obviously one of those liberals who flock to Crestview like it's

  their mother ship calling them home. You recommend

  those big ugly windmills to your clients, and you ruin my

  life! You don't even respect private property!"

  Any further discussion was obviously going to be

  pointless. I turned away and headed for the path. "I think

  I'll get back to work now. Pardon me if I caused you or

  your flower any permanent damage."

  I could feel those steely eyes boring holes into the

  back of my head as I continued to Darren Campesio's

  home. I took the well-trod minipath along his property

  line, being careful not to brush against Asia's fence, and

  rounded to his house. Richard was right when he'd

  mocked Darren's house as being "part cave." Seen from

  the rear, the only indication that there was a house here

  was the circular smokestack protruding from the highest

  point of a round hill. I knew from photographs and drawings that the snow-covered bumps in the hill were actually skylights. I'd never been inside his house and was

  dying to do so now.

  I made my way to his front door and used his brass

  90 L e s l i e C a i n e

  knocker. From this angle, the house looked like an ordinary yellow-brick ranch, albeit one with unusually hilly

  landscaping and a windmill in its backyard.

  Darren came to the door. Burke had told me he was a

  retired military man, and he certainly looked the part:

  muscularly built and wearing camouflage clothes, in his

  sixties or seventies. "Can I help you?" he said, giving me

  a disdainful visual once-over. Clearly, I hadn't passed my

  first inspection.

  "My name is Erin Gilbert. I'm working on the design

  of Burke Stratton's house, and--"

  "I know who you are. I remember seeing you at

  Burke's during the open house."

  His own open house had been at the exact same time

  as Burke's, so that was odd. "You were at Burke's?"

  He gave a slight shrug. "It was my best chance to see

  what the competition was up to. Nothing illegal about

  that. I checked." He lifted his pointy chin. "Unlike your

  client, I'm making an effort to follow the rules."

  "My client was exonerated by Earth Love this morning. He hasn't cheated."

  "Why are you here?"

  "I just wondered if you were willing to talk about the

  contest with me."

  "Why would I want to do that?"

  "I'm trying to help Burke, if I can. I want to clarify

  some things about his past relationship with the deceased, Richard Thayers, the judge of the competition."

  "In other words, you're part designer, part private investigator?" He snorted.

  "I guess you could say that."

  "You're also part fool if you think I'm going to allow

  you to pick up any energy conservation tricks by letting

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 91

  you inside. The guy's already copying my new windmill!

  Isn't that bad enough?"

  "I have no intention of picking up tips at this late date.

  Besides, didn't you say that you were examining Burke's

  house just last week?"

  "Good day, Miss Gilbert." He shut the door.

  Baffled by his belligerent behavior, I walked back the

  way I'd come, passing Asia's property by staying dead center on the path and not so much as taking a sideways

  glance at the trees behind her backyard.

  At Burke's back door, I glanced behind me and did a

  double take. "Talk about the pot calling the kettle black,"

  I muttered to myself. Darren had followed me partway

  down the path and was now watching me through huge

  binoculars. Annoyed, I plastered on a phony smile and

  waved. He shifted his lenses to the tree, as though he

  were merely bird watching.

  Burke had gotten home just then and followed my vision to his nosy neighbor. Burke stood in front of me protectively. "Hey!" Burke yelled, gesturing emphatically for

  him to get back. "Go mind your own business, would

  you?"

  "That's exactly what I'm doing," Darren shouted back.

  "Everyone knows you're under investigation! I'm not letting a cheater steal the contest!"

  "A, I was already found innocent by the judges, and B,

  get a life!"

  Darren said nothing and walked back toward his

  house.

  "Can you believe that guy?" Burke muttered, shaking

  his head.

  "Neither of your immediate neighbors was especially

  friendly to me."

  92 L e s l i e C a i n e

  "I could have predicted that. Let's just say that this

  isn't exactly Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. What were you

  talking to them about?"

  "I was trying to get a feel for whether or not they had a

  motive for killing Richard and if they could have taken

  the paint can from your garage."

  He gave me a grateful smile. "I'm so glad I have someone on my side. Now if I could just get the police to believe me when I say I'm innocent."

  The next morning, there was a chill in the air, and the

  western sky had that pearly gray color that foretold snow.

  Sullivan and I arrived at our parking spaces at the same

  time and walked in together, chatting about the predicted snowstorm that evening. A business card was on

  the floor when Sullivan opened the door. I picked it up,

  expecting to see a card that a rep had slipped through our

  mail slot.

  "What's that?" Sullivan asked.

  I stared at the card in surprise, wondering why someone had splattered red ink on our Sullivan and Gilbert

  card. An instant later I realized the card had deliberately

  been altered. The red ink was supposed to resemble

  drops of blood. "Oh, damn it," I muttered as I flipped it

  over.

  "What?"

  I held it out so Sullivan could see. On the back, handwritten in block letters, were two words: YOU'RE NEXT!

  c h a p t e r 8

  sullivan and I decided to call my police officer

  friend, Linda Delgardio, immediately. She said

  she'd come to our office as soon as she could and arrived

  about twenty minutes later. Linda was a warm, pretty, vivacious woman, and when she was off duty, she had a

  droll and infectious sense of humor. Right now, however,

  she was all busin
ess. "Someone could have picked up

  one of your cards almost anywhere?" she asked as she

  sealed the doctored one into an evidence bag.

  " 'Fraid so," Sullivan replied.

  "Do you have any way of telling how long this

  94 L e s l i e C a i n e

  particular card has been circulating? Did you make a

  new print run of cards, for example, at some point?"

  Sullivan shook his head. "We just made the one big

  printing more than six months ago. And we gave a hundred or so of them away at the open house for the green

  home contest, over a week ago."

  "We set stacks of them in several rooms at Burke

  Stratton's house," I explained, "and Margot Troy gave

  them away at her place, as well."

  "She did?" Linda and Steve asked in unison.

  "I designed her kitchen a couple of years ago, and she

  told me she was willing to help me advertise."

  "That was nice of her," Sullivan said.

  "Is it possible to lift fingerprints from the card?" I

  asked Linda.

  "I'll take it to the lab, of course, and we'll hope for the

  best. Realistically, I don't see much chance. It's likely

  whoever did this only handled your card by its edges."

  She shrugged. "But sometimes we get lucky."

  "I've got to say, I don't feel especially comforted by the

  thought that we might 'get lucky,' " I said. "This is serious.

  It can only be a threat from the killer."

  "Not necessarily," Linda replied. "It could simply be a

  prank. Murder always brings out the nutcases in the community. Some people seem to crave the thrill of making

  veiled threats."

  "People who just happened to know that Richard

  Thayers was a friend of mine?" Sullivan countered skeptically.

  "The papers carried that article about your work on

  Burke Stratton's house and its being a finalist in the

  Green Design contest," she countered. "And Thayers

  was announced all over the local media as the judge."

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 95

  "But still," I objected, "why would we get singled out?

  Why not one of the contestants, for example?"

  "There's really no way to answer that question, Erin,"

  Linda replied. "But then, it doesn't have to make sense to

  us, just to whoever wrote 'you're next' on your business

  card."

  "Come to think of it, there's our link to the Earth Love

  Web sites," Sullivan said. "And to Richard Thayers's site."

  "You added links to our Web pages?" I asked, annoyed.