Poisoned by Gilt

by Leslie Caine

"Oh, yes," she chided. "Just last month my car broke

  down and he gave me a ride home, way over the speed

  limit. A female officer pulled him over." She rolled her

  eyes. "You should have seen him pulling out the violins

  to play his 'Poor, Poor Me' tune. He was practically sobbing the whole time he was talking to the lady cop. Right

  up until she downgraded the ticket to a warning and let

  him go. He laughed all the way home." She harrumphed. "The man's absolutely shameless."

  c h a p t e r 2 0

  he next morning, I couldn't help but notice the

  Tdark circles under Sullivan's eyes. He hadn't

  shaved, nor had he combed his hair. He was working at

  an easel near his desk, putting the finishing touches on

  the dining room design for a first-time client.

  I stared at the powder blue shirt he wore over his black

  T-shirt. He had a smear of lipstick on his collar!

  "What?" he said.

  I averted my gaze. "Nothing. You look like you tied

  one on with Burke last night. That's all."

  "Burke?"

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 247

  My heart was racing. Had Sullivan come straight to

  work from the woman's house? Was there any other explanation? How cliched could this get? "Yeah. I had to

  drive him home last night. I bumped into him downtown. He seemed to be drunk."

  "What do you mean, seemed to be? You think he

  might've been pretending, so he could score a ride

  home?"

  Unwilling to look again at Sullivan and his telltale collar, I stared at my computer screen. "No, Asia McClure

  accused him of faking it. He'd told me he drank too

  much because it was the anniversary of his son's death.

  But then she claimed he did stuff like that, played the

  sympathy card, whenever he got in a jam. She seemed so

  sure of herself that I did some computer research last

  night and found Caleb Stratton's obit. He died four years

  ago yesterday, just like Burke said."

  "Why were you talking to Asia last night?"

  Who the hell cared!? "Um . . . Burke nodded out for a

  while, and when he awoke, he was disoriented and kind

  of grabbed the wheel from me. The tires squealed right

  by Asia's driveway. She came running out to scold everyone."

  "Damn it, Erin!" He tossed his colored pencil into the

  tray and shot to his feet. "You deserved a scolding!"

  I gaped at him.

  "Either Burke's a two-time murderer, or he's being

  framed as one! Either way, it's stupid and risky for you to

  be alone with him at night!"

  "The man was drunk! What was I supposed to do? Let

  him drive that way?"

  "You should have called him a cab!"

  248 L e s l i e C a i n e

  "With my car right there? That would have been

  ridiculous!"

  "It makes a lot more sense than driving a murder suspect around, alone, late at night!"

  "He is our client, and I'm certain he's innocent.

  Furthermore, if you care so much about me and my personal safety, why don't you show it, instead of yelling at

  me all the time! Not to mention having the gall to come

  into work with lipstick on your collar!"

  His jaw dropped. He tugged at his collar, then mumbled, "Sorry." He yanked off his outer shirt, examined the

  collar a second time, and draped the garment over the

  back of his chair. "That'll teach me not to let my laundry

  go this long." He gave me a sheepish smile, his gaze

  barely flickering in my direction, let alone meeting mine.

  "I think I ran into a friend the last time I happened to be

  wearing this shirt. She must have given me a peck on the

  cheek." He eased himself into his chair with the weariness of a long-distance runner who'd just lost his race.

  Stunned into silence, I stared at him. He really did

  look defeated--and guilty. Much as I wanted to believe

  him, I had too good of an eye for color for my own good.

  The lipstick was the same copper shade that Hands-on

  Fairfax favored.

  The silence was palpable. I needed to get out of here.

  I stood. "Um . . . that structural engineer Burke hired was

  supposed to be there first thing this morning. I want to

  drop by and speak to him myself."

  Sullivan nodded. "I'll come with you." He paused.

  "Notice that I'm not shouting."

  His voice was gentle, reminding me of why I was so

  drawn to him. That reminder only made me feel all the

  more miserable. His suggestion defeated most of the pur-P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 249

  pose behind my hasty exit, but he was my business partner, and I had to act like a professional. Regardless of

  how badly my heart was aching.

  A small pickup truck drove out just as we neared

  Burke's driveway. Jeremy stood outside, as he had apparently been speaking to its driver. He waited for us as we

  rounded the mailbox and parked.

  "I take it that was the engineer," Sullivan said to

  Jeremy as we emerged from the van. "Did he already give

  Burke a preliminary report?"

  "No, he collected the data and told Burke he'll get

  back to him first thing Monday. He and I spoke at length

  just now, though. I said I'd relay the gist to Burke myself."

  Jeremy rubbed his face, which was pale and drawn. He'd

  shaved his scraggly beard and was wearing off-white

  Dockers, which matched the color of his wan face. "You

  two might as well listen in. That way you can all have a

  piece of me at once."

  Sullivan and I exchanged glances as Jeremy trudged

  ahead of us. All that remained to be seen was how badly

  Burke was going to handle the engineer's dire prognosis

  for this house. I already grieved for all our wasted work.

  We had managed to wring every last cubic inch of visual

  interest, cozy warmth, and sparkling appeal out of what

  had started out as a ponderous, drab, and boxlike space.

  "Burke?" Jeremy called as he ushered us inside. A moment later, Burke appeared at the doorway to the

  kitchen. "Gilbert and Sullivan stopped by. I offered to

  have them join us as I fill you in. That all right with you?"

  "Uh . . . yeah. Sure. I was just making myself some

  coffee. Anyone else want some?" He was dressed in a

  250 L e s l i e C a i n e

  sweatshirt and jeans, his eyes bloodshot. He certainly

  looked like someone with a hangover.

  We all declined. He poured his cup and then headed

  to his kitchen table. We'd all taken so much pride in describing to visitors how we'd commissioned the Crestview

  Lumberyard to make the boards for this circular table

  from the lodgepole pine that had once stood in this very

  spot. Jeremy remained standing, but the moment the

  three of us were seated, he said, "Okay, Burke. 'Fraid I

  got some real bad news."

  "Ah, jeez." Burke shoved his cup to the center of the

  table, then balled his fists. "Go on."

  "As you started to suspect a few months ago, the foundation just wasn't built right. Or at least it wasn't for the

  movement in the underlying soil. Your house is kind of

  like the tower of Pisa . . . starting to lean."

  "Damn it, Jeremy! How did the inspectors fail to notice that the foundation was this
bad?"

  "You're right. The structural inspection should have

  caught it. But it looked fine. It was just . . . bad luck."

  "No, it was bad design work on your part," Burke

  growled. He slammed his fist on the table. His full coffee

  cup sloshed with the vibrations.

  I hoped this lovely little table wasn't going to get

  wrecked. I signaled Sullivan with my eyes, and he

  reached behind him and grabbed a cloth napkin from

  the built-in sideboard.

  "You said you'd take care of the soil inspection for

  me," Burke continued, "and you obviously didn't. So you

  now owe me a million dollars."

  "A million dollars?!"

  Steve grabbed Burke's cup in anticipation of future

  table poundings.

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 251

  "That's just for starters. Make it two, come to think of

  it. You deserve to pay an additional million for punitive

  damages. But the good news is, for two mil, you can have

  this place, lock, stock, and barrel. She's all yours."

  "There's no reason to overreact," Jeremy said meekly.

  "Oh, no? You wouldn't call the fact that my house is

  toppling over a reason to get upset?"

  "It will be years before you can even tell there's a problem." Jeremy forced a smile, but dots of perspiration were

  forming on his brow.

  "You mean, not counting the cracks and seepage in

  the walls of my basement?"

  "Okay, fine," Jeremy countered, beginning to pace.

  "Yes, the basement doesn't look great. But it's just a basement. You're living here alone, and not even really using

  it for anything. Except for your pool table. We'll move it

  upstairs. Into your den. It'll be nicer there anyway."

  Now that was beyond stupid. We'd maximized every

  inch of the den to keep that small space from becoming

  cavelike. We'd designed the built-in shelves for the specific sizes of his medical journals, textbooks, and chess

  trophies. It was Burke's favorite room.

  "Oh, will it?" Burke pounded the table once again.

  "And will we build levelers into the table legs? So that as

  the house leans, we can keep jacking up one side?"

  Jeremy waited patiently through Burke's sarcastic remarks. "The engineer says we can shore up the supports

  on the case-ons," Jeremy pleaded, "and we'll build a retaining wall. With any luck whatsoever, your house here

  will last as long as forty years, with no additional damage.

  That's really not all that bad, when you think about it."

  Burke turned his desperate eyes to Sullivan and me

  252 L e s l i e C a i n e

  and asked, "If I put this place on the market tomorrow, do

  you think I could break even?"

  Sullivan frowned and shook his head. "You'd be obligated to report the problem to prospective buyers."

  Burke grabbed his head with both hands and said

  nothing. Finally he sat up. "Well, Jeremy. Thanks for

  telling me. You'll be looking forward to hearing from my

  lawyer, I'm sure."

  "I . . . guess I'd better go."

  Although Sullivan slid the coffee cup back over to

  him, Burke stayed seated in stunned silence for several

  seconds after Jeremy had closed the front door behind

  him.

  "I'm really sorry about all of this, Burke," I said.

  He shrugged. "Must be my karma. Or maybe I really

  screwed some people over in a past life. And now I just

  can't catch a break." He shook his head. "At least Asia

  will be happy now."

  "How so?" Sullivan asked.

  "There's no reason for me to finish installing the windmill. The house won't even be standing by the time it

  pays for itself."

  That afternoon, Matthew Hayes phoned while Sullivan

  was engaged in an "emergency meeting" with Jennifer

  Fairfax. The desk was finished. I arranged to come in

  and pay for it now, so he could deliver it tomorrow--

  Saturday morning. It worried me a little that Burke might

  want to refuse delivery, considering the fiasco with his

  house.

  A much bigger worry, though, was that Sullivan and I

  had argued about his sudden appointment with Ms.

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 253

  Fairfax. I'd very reasonably pointed out that if something

  had gone so wrong with her home that he had deemed

  this appointment an emergency, we should both attend.

  He had unreasonably countered that he needed to handle this alone. Fed up, I asked, "Why? Are you two having

  a fling?" And as he stormed out the door, he had yelled,

  "Erin, please! I've got enough troubles on my mind without you acting jealous!"

  When I arrived at Matthew's store, the strung-out sales

  clerk was talking in agitated tones on his cell phone. He

  did a double take at me as I approached, then said,

  "Here's someone," into his phone, flipped his phone

  shut, and headed toward me.

  Unable to imagine an enjoyable outcome after that

  greeting, I took a tiny step back.

  "You were here before," he said to me. "Listen, dude, I

  gotta split. When Matthew gets back, tell him I had an

  emergency."

  "But, wait! Where's Matthew?"

  "He'll be right back," he answered over his shoulder.

  He charged through the door.

  "Okay, then," I murmured to myself. Well, I could

  wait five minutes for Matthew. At which time I would be

  sure to get his employee's name to nominate him for a

  good-service award.

  The phone behind the counter rang. I took a moment

  to consider what I'd want a customer to do if this was my

  store, but decided to answer it anyway, in case Matthew

  was calling. "M.H. Custom Furniture," I said cautiously.

  "Yeah," a man said. "How late are you open?"

  "Six P.M." I answered, reasonably certain that was accurate. I tensed. A large and extremely scruffy-looking man

  had chosen that moment to enter the store. I wondered if

  254 L e s l i e C a i n e

  this was who the flake had been talking to on his cell

  phone before bolting. Maybe he was here to rob the place.

  "Okay. Thanks," the caller said.

  "You're welcome," I replied, briefly toying with the notion of asking him to send the police. This was one scarylooking customer/robber. He was at least six feet seven

  and three hundred pounds, wearing grubby gray sweats,

  and unshaven except for his lumpy scalp. He'd have

  looked equally fitting in an Oakland Raiders uniform or

  prison garb. I hung up.

  "Hey. Is your boss here?" His voice was deep enough

  to make the floorboards rumble.

  "Matthew stepped out. But he'll be back any second.

  Literally." I chewed on my lip. Should I tell him that I

  didn't work here and didn't know how to work the cash

  register? As far as I was concerned, he was welcome to

  take the whole thing with him.

  "Just want to know where I can unload the copper."

  He gave me a wink.

  My sense of relief at his wink was enormous. It meant

  that the man wasn't a robber. Well, actually, it meant that

  he'd probably stolen the copper, but wasn't here to rob

  me. I was never again going to have such a golden opportunity to check into Matthew's b
usiness ethics. I found

  myself able to grin as the large man held my gaze. "Is this

  the kind of shipment that fell off a truck, by any chance?"

  He laughed. "You got it, lady."

  "The loading dock is right around back."

  "Can I get around the building on the left side, or the

  right?"

  Beats me was not going to be a good answer. Whereas

  getting myself outside where I could hightail it to my car

  would be advantageous. "I'll come out and show you."

  P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 255

  "Suit yourself."

  He led the way outside, not bothering to slow the door

  from swinging back at me. With my chances no worse

  than fifty-fifty, I indicated with my chin that we should go

  to the left. "So, where did you get this copper . . . really?"

  He eyed me. "Where do ya think?"

  "I've heard about people stripping copper out of

  houses that have been foreclosed . . . ripping out the copper pipes and even the electrical wires."

  He chuckled. "Good guess. You're not as naive as you

  look."

  I silently wondered if I should consider that a compliment.

  "But, for the record, Matthew and I work on a strictly

  no-ask-no-tell basis. For all our dealings."

  "Are you the one who gets him the ivory for his inlays?"

  "Could be." He looked at the concrete dock. Luckily,

  I'd chosen the right path for him to drive down; the other

  side was barricaded. "I'll go move my truck. You can unlock the back door."

  "I don't actually have access to Matthew's keys. But

  he's probably returned to the store by now. My name's

  Erin Smith," I lied. "What's yours?"

  He narrowed his eyes. "That's one of those no-ask-notell business dealings I was explaining a moment ago."

  He held out his hand. "That'll be nine hundred. Cash

  only."

  "Erin!" Matthew's voice boomed at me. He was

  marching toward us, his gaze smoldering. "What the hell

  are you doing?"

  That was an excellent question. Moments ago I'd been

  so frightened that I was willing to hand over a cash register,

  256 L e s l i e C a i n e

  and now I was standing behind a building with this shady

  character! What kind of a moron was I?! "Here's the man

  with the money, right here," I said, gesturing toward

  Matthew.

  "What are you doing back here?!" Matthew asked me

  again.

  "Showing your supplier where to unload your materials."

  Matthew clenched his jaw and shot us both a furious