Killed by Clutter
Page 26
“I thought you decided you wanted to be in charge of when the colors changed yourself, instead of the yarn dictating the color.”
“Yes, but now I’m driving myself nuts by changing back and forth...‘Make it pink, make it blue....’ I’m spending as much time making knots as I am actually knitting.”
“They’re coming out just fine, though, as far as I can see.”
She frowned. “By the time I finish, little Natalie Audrey’s feet will have outgrown them. Didn’t the pattern say that they could be made in half an hour?”
I’d printed a free pattern for her off the Internet. “Yes, but I’m sure the time difference is due to your switching colors. Maybe you should make one bootie solid pink and the other one blue.”
She shook her head. “It’ll look like her parents were color blind or were too lazy to find a matched pair.” She glanced at her watch. Uh-oh.
“I’m worried about Helen,” I said after a heavy pause.
“She’s a survivor, if ever there was one. She’ll probably outlive us both.” A second glance at her watch.
“I don’t see how she can continue to live in that house. Not after all the violence the place has had to absorb. These days I can barely even stand to walk into a home that reminds me of hers. I don’t want to have to go there again.”
“But you will. And you’ll get that place whipped into shape and looking better than ever. Plus, now that Stephanie’s finally realized that she’s indebted to you for rescuing her aunt, you’ll be getting lots of referrals.”
Startled by Audrey’s words, I sat up. “How did you hear about that? I only talked to her myself earlier this afternoon.”
She retrieved her knitting and said, “Hmm? Oh, you must have mentioned it during dinner.”
“Except I didn’t.”
I waited, but she was pretending to be thoroughly absorbed in her handiwork. When she met my gaze she said, “I’m bringing a knitting expert onto my show tomorrow. You should really take up the hobby yourself, Erin. It’s relaxing, and they’re doing so much with yarns today. The textures! And the colors! Just remarkable.”
“Why were you talking to Steve Sullivan today, Audrey?”
She peered over her reading glasses at me. “Oh, yes. That’s where I heard about Stephanie. I spoke to Mr. Sullivan recently. He said to say hi to you, in fact.”
“Did he?”
She looked yet again at her watch and got to her feet. “It’s time for me to throw in the bootie and admit that the skein of pink-and-blue yarn would have been easier to work with. I’m going to leave you here to hold down the fort and run back to the store.”
“That’s quite a yarn, all right.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not the only one who can make up puns. You’ve been looking at your watch, and half the time when you do that, it means—” The doorbell rang. “Audrey! Is that going to be Steve Sullivan, yet again?”
She clicked her tongue and swept up her purse as she strolled toward the kitchen. “All right, yes. I mentioned that you’ve been down in the dumps the last couple of days. He said something about dropping by this evening, on his way home.”
“I don’t need you to act as my social planner, Audrey!”
“Obviously that’s not true, or you wouldn’t have been staring into space for the last couple of hours. Anyway, I really do need to skedaddle and get some more yarn, so you’ll need to see to our houseguest. Or to our door-to-door salesman, as the case may be.” She winked at me. “Have fun!” She let herself out the back door.
I sighed and made my way into the foyer and pulled open the door. Steve was standing there, hands buried in the pockets of his jeans, managing to look as if he’d just stepped off the cover of GQ. “Sullivan.”
“Gilbert.”
“Come on in.” I noted absently that Hildi had followed me into the foyer; Sullivan hated cats, so her presence was bound to make him keep his visit brief. “I already know you’re here on an official Mission from Audrey.”
“What do you mean?” He shut the door behind him.
“Oh, she told me she went to see you today to....” My voice drifted off as I watched him kneel to greet my cat.
“Hi, Hildi,” he said gently, scratching her behind the ears.
“I thought...aren’t you allergic to cats?”
“Yeah, but I was talking to my sister about it the other day, and she told me that lots of times folks with allergies don’t have much trouble with long-haired cats, like Hildi.”
“You even remembered her name.”
He chuckled as he stood up straight. “What’s so surprising about that? You think I never listen to you?”
“Frankly...yes.”
“Shows how badly you underestimate me, Gilbert.”
Rather than ponder that possibility, I turned and led the way farther into the house, asking over my shoulder, “Want something to drink?”
“Sure. You got any beer?”
“I’ll check.” He followed me into the kitchen. My heart was doing its rapid-heartbeat thing again. Yeesh! I checked the fridge. No luck, but I spotted an opened and particularly tasty bottle of white wine. “No, sorry. Wine?”
“No, thanks.”
“I think I’ll have a glass.” If I can pour without spilling it everywhere, that is. I grabbed a white-wine glass and poured a splash of the Chablis. “How ‘bout something else, then? Cranberry juice? Ginger ale?”
“Water’s fine. I just need something in case we have good cause to clink glasses.”
“Why would we do that?” I set a small glass of water in front of him and took a sip of wine.
He grabbed his wallet out of his pocket and explained, “I was hoping you’d agree to a merger. So I printed up a couple sample business cards.”
I nearly choked on my wine. “You’re serious?”
“Stephanie even offered us a loan against future services rendered. She’s feeling bad about all the grief she gave you in particular. I told her I doubted we’d need a loan, but that she can make it up to us with future referrals. We can reduce our overhead a lot by combining our offices...and we can stop competing over the same customers. You know as well as I do that we’re the two best designers in town. What do you say, Gilbert?”
“I have to give you an answer right on the spot?”
“Sure. You’ve always been decisive. Why chicken out now?”
I furrowed my brow. “Let me see those business cards.”
He handed me the pair of cards. They were simple and tasteful, with a nice font on an excellent-quality cardstock. Truth be told, I liked them better than my own business cards. The only difference between his two samples was that one listed our company name as “Gilbert & Sullivan Designs,” and the other as “Sullivan & Gilbert Designs.”
“I like this one,” I replied, indicating the one marked Gilbert & Sullivan. “It’s more memorable.” Plus my name would be first.
“Yeah, but that’s why I like the other one. Clients will still make the connection, but will realize our names really are Sullivan and Gilbert.” Plus his name would be first, I inwardly grumbled.
“You agree to go with ‘Gilbert and Sullivan,’ and you’ve got a deal,” I stated boldly.
He gave me a haughty sneer and shook his head. “You go with ‘Sullivan and Gilbert,’ and you’ve got a deal.” He spread his arms. “It’s not like you’re doing me any favors here. I’ve been in Crestview longer. I have a bigger client-base than you do.”
Annoyed, I asked in a near shout, “Then why did you print up the other card? Just to harass me?” I took a big swig of wine, draining the glass.
“No. Thought I’d propose a fair method to choose the new name.” He snatched both cards from my grasp and started changing their positions in his hand like a conman operating a shell game. He stopped and held them toward me. “Here you go, Gilbert. Pick a card. Any card. Whichever one you choose is the new name for our business.”
“Fine. Seems juven
ile, but, like you said, at least it’s fair.”
Our typical way of dealing with each other, I thought; I hadn’t actually even agreed on a merger, and we most definitely hadn’t “clinked glasses” to celebrate the venture. On the other hand, he had given Hildi an affectionate pat, so it’s not like he was all bad, and he was so handsome. Talented. I’d meant to think talented. Too much wine swallowed too fast.
I let my hand hover above the card on the left and then the card on the right, watching his face for any telltale reactions. He was holding the bottom of both cards and could read them easily. But he gave me no clue, then smiled at me as our eyes met.
I returned the smile and pulled out the card on the left. “You sure?” he said. “I’ll give you one more chance to change your mind.”
I hesitated. He would only have said that if it was “Gilbert & Sullivan,” because otherwise he could have held his tongue and had things his way. An instant later, though, it occurred to me that he would take immense pleasure in tricking me into keeping the “Sullivan & Gilbert” card.
“I think I’ll take you up on that. Thanks, Sullivan.” I grabbed the other card and gave him back my original selection. I wagged the new card triumphantly in front of his nose. “This is the official name of our business.”
He lifted his water glass as I turned the card over. “Here’s to us, partner,” he said. “Cheers.”
I looked down at the card to see “Sullivan & Gilbert” emblazoned on its surface. I grabbed the wine bottle and filled my glass. “I hate you, Sullivan.”
He grinned and clinked his glass against mine. “I know.”
Author’s Note
If you enjoyed this book, I hope you will enjoy all eight mysteries in the Domestic Bliss Mystery Series: Death by Inferior Design, False Premises, Manor of Death, Killed by Clutter, Fatal Fung Shui, Poisoned by Gilt, Holly and Homicide, and, in Spring of 2014, Two Funerals and a Wedding.
To find out more about these and other books by Leslie Caine and Leslie O’Kane, please visit my website or my Facebook page.
Acknowledgments
Thank you from the bottom of my heart to my wonderful, talented, writer friends, especially Francine Mathews, Claudia Mills, Elizabeth Wrenn, Marie Desjardin, Christine Jorgensen, Lee Karr, and Kay Bergstrom, whose encouragement and insightful comments were a beacon during my many months of writing and rewriting. I couldn’t write anything at all without the support of my family, especially Mike, Carol, and Andrew. There are dozens more people whose names aren’t listed herein and deserve mention; please forgive me and know that your names and many significant contributions are written in my heart.
Discover Leslie Caine
Allie Babcock Mysteries
Play Dead
Ruff Way to Go
Allie Babcock Box Set (Books 1 & 2)
Give the Dog a Bone
Woof at the Door
A Dog-Gone Christmas Novella
Domestic Bliss Mysteries
Death by Inferior Design
False Premises
Manor of Death
Killed by Clutter
Fatal Feng Shui
Poisoned by Gilt
Holly and Homicide
Molly Masters Mysteries
Death Comes to the PTA
Death at a Talent Show
Death on a School Board
Death Comes to a Retreat
Death of a Gardener
Death Comes to Suburbia
About the Author
Leslie Caine was once taken hostage and gunpoint and finds that writing about crimes is infinitely more enjoyable than taking part in them.
She is author of three cozy mystery series: the Molly Masters Mysteries, writing as Leslie O’Kane, featuring Leslie's alter ego: a mother of two cartoonist who creates eCards; the Allie Babcock Mysteries, writing as Leslie O’Kane, featuring a dog therapist; and the Domestic Bliss Mysteries, writing as Leslie Caine, featuring interior designers Erin Gilbert and Steve Sullivan.
To learn more about her series and learn about new releases, please visit: www.leslieokane.com