Poisoned by Gilt (17 page)

downtown restaurant. I ran my hands appreciatively over

the counter--a lovely green made from recycled glass.

The backsplash, too, was a light green, also produced

from recycled glass.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I'd love some. Thank you."

She already had water steaming in her kettle. As she

prepared two cups of peppermint tea, I said lightly, "I

suppose Richard's going to have lots of friends and loved

ones at the service tomorrow."

"Probably so."

"You're going, aren't you?"

"Yes."

I waited a beat in the hopes that she'd mention that

they'd once been friends, but she merely pursed her lips

and started bobbing the tea bags in the cups with so

much energy that the hot water almost sloshed over the

rims. I sighed. "Did you and Richard know each other

before you first took a class from him?"

She drained the last drops from a tea bag by squeezing

it, then cursed and dropped the teabag, shoved the cup at

me, and ran cold water over her burned hand. "Why do

you ask? Did Richard say something to you about me?"

"No."

She gingerly dried her hand, flung the second tea bag

into the sink, and sat down beside me with her own cup,

her lips pursed all the while. Knowing what a recycling

P o i s o n e d b y G i l t
135

queen Margot was, I felt honored to have been granted

my own unused tea bag, but she was so on edge, I elected

to keep that thought to myself.

"Burke said something, then?" She fixed a piercing

glare on me as she studied my features. "Because I know

I didn't say anything."

Now I was stuck, and my tea was so hot I could only

take the smallest of sips as a means for stalling. "Steve

found your name and address in one of Richard's old

notebooks, which Richard left to him in his will."

"I see." She frowned and took a sip of tea. "The police

gave the notes to Steve. And he told you. So much for my

privacy."

"We won't share that information with anyone else."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I suppose I might as well

tell you the truth. Let's just say that my financial dealings

with Mr. Thayers provided me with an unexpected, and

substantial, tax write-off. His heart was in the right place,

but idea men like Richard Thayers tend to dismiss marketing as part of the equation for successfully launching a

business."

"Do you mean that Richard's products didn't sell?"

She snorted. "It was a disaster. I basically lost every

dime of my investment . . . in air purifiers." I waited

through some lengthy sips of tea for her to continue. "He

learned his lesson, though. That's why he started teaching continuing-ed classes at CU. That way, he could sell

his zero-off-gassing products to his students."

"He had his own private, captive audience."

"Not unlike professors who teach exclusively from

textbooks they write themselves." She took one more sip

of tea and made a face, then glanced at her watch. "I hate

to be rude, Erin, but I have a conference call."

136
L e s l i e C a i n e

"Oh. Okay." I took a couple of quick sips of tea, realizing I'd be deserting most of it. "I'll let myself out, then."

"Thanks for dropping by. Don't worry. There will always be the wannabes, like Richard Thayers, who can't

quite figure out the inside joke."

She swept out of the room, and I let myself out her

front door, utterly perplexed by her parting words. I got

back into the driver's seat of Sullivan's van and shut the

door.

"That was quick," he said.

"And strange. You were right. She was an investor in

Richard's air purifiers and lost her entire investment. But

I couldn't find a graceful way to ask if they were once a

couple, as well."

"Did she seem resentful toward Richard?" Sullivan

asked.

"Not at all. Although . . . she was very reluctant to tell

me about it. Maybe they'd had a secret agreement that

he'd compensate for her lost revenue by judging this contest and selecting her home."

"No way! Richard wouldn't have done anything so underhanded."

I kept my expression placid and said nothing. Sullivan

appeared determined to believe that Richard Thayers

hadn't changed in more than a decade since they'd

known each other well. Yet I was sorely tempted to ask if,

back then, Richard would have swallowed paint in front

of his students or accused Steve of "teaming up with an

enemy" merely because he'd been hired for a design job.

I dearly wanted to be there for Steve in his time of need,

but it was difficult when the Richard Thayers whom

Sullivan admired greatly and defended vehemently was

P o i s o n e d b y G i l t
137

so strikingly different from the odd and unimpressive

man Thayers seemed to me to have become.

Sullivan returned to the passenger seat after we'd

pulled away from the curb and promptly resumed reading. "Are you learning any brilliant ideas from Richard?"

I asked.

"Sure. Always."

We were silent for several minutes. Sullivan seemed to

be stewing about something. At length he said, "I can't

help but wonder about these notes. Why he gave them to

me."

"It is a little strange. I guess it must be because you

were his favorite student, and he wanted you to carry on

in his footsteps."

"Maybe."

We'd joined a long string of cars at an intersection, all

of us waiting to turn left in heavy traffic. His brow remained deeply creased, and I battled the urge to reach

over and smooth it. Finally, I asked, "What's wrong?"

"There's a disturbing passage in here. It might explain

why the police aren't working full-steam on the case."

"Read it to me."

Just as I was finally able to make the left turn, he

cleared his throat and read, " 'I can't help but wonder if

there's truth in what they're quietly saying about me . . .

that I'm a fraud, just in it for the money. Sometimes it all

seems so pointless. Even if I never drive or fly anywhere

again for the rest of my life, I still wouldn't spare the

ozone as much damage as one burning oil well in the

Middle East causes. The world would be better off without me.' "

He stopped.

138
L e s l i e C a i n e

I asked softly, driving on, "You don't think he was talking about suicide, do you?"

He started flipping pages. "Not until you consider

what he also wrote a few days later."

"Go on."

" 'I get a thrill from shocking my students when I drink

the gilt. The way the girls shriek! Just for that moment, I

imagine what it'd be like to actually poison myself in

front of a full classroom. I should just do that and get it all

over with. Let's face it. That's precisely what I deserve."

There was a long, awkward pause. "I don't know what

to say," I finally stammered. "But it seems strange that the

police would release something like that to you, if they'd

read it and considered it solid evidence."

"You're forgetting, Erin," he said dejectedly. "It's not

evidence of a murder, but rather a motive for suicide. So

they probably don't need to keep it in their possession.

I'm sure they just made a photocopy."

We had reached our lot. I pulled into his parking

space and turned toward him. He'd shut the notebook

and was now staring straight ahead, his expression glum.

I put my hand on his shoulder, hoping some words of

wisdom or reassurance would occur to me, but he pulled

away from me and got out of the van.

At least he waited for me between our vans, though, as

opposed to storming off someplace by himself. "It wasn't

suicide, Gilbert."

"Okay," I murmured.

"No, I'm positive. He was just having a weak moment

when he wrote that stuff. He would never have invited

me to that particular class, or seemed so surprised by the

consistency of the paint, if he was planning on killing

himself."

P o i s o n e d b y G i l t
139

"So we'll solve this thing ourselves, if we have to."

He gave me a grateful smile, which I struggled to return. I didn't know Richard enough to say one way or the

other, but I was inwardly panic-stricken by my own suspicions.

What if Richard had asked Sullivan to the lecture as

part of his plan for framing Burke Stratton to take the murder rap for his suicide?

I started to head toward our office, but Sullivan hesitated, staring at the asphalt near my van. He headed

toward the front tire. "What's wrong?" I asked. "I don't

have a flat, do I?"

"Not yet. But you'd better be careful as you leave.

There's some broken glass."

With a sinking feeling, I quickly rounded the front of

my van. "Jeez! One of my headlights is smashed!"

Sullivan joined me, cursing. We both knew this

couldn't have been an accident; my space was at a right

angle to the side of a building, which made front-end

fender benders impossible.

Something was protruding from the ring of jagged

glass that rimmed the cavity of my headlight. It looked

like a business card. "Uh-oh."

"Another anonymous message?" Sullivan asked me,

while I extracted it with my gloved fingers.

Indeed, it was a second red-splattered Sullivan and

Gilbert card. I flipped it over quickly, expecting to see a

second death threat. This time, there was only a crude

drawing of a smiley face.

c h a p t e r
1 2

It was strange how ominous a childish little sketch

could seem. Sullivan wanted to go with me to the

police, but that seemed like a waste of his time, so he reluctantly agreed to let me go alone, provided I made

good on my promise to keep him informed.

Linda Delgardio took my statement. After I'd given

her what little information I could, I asked how the investigation was going. With a slight shrug, she replied, "It's

still considered an open case, at least."

The phrase "at least" clearly spelled doom. My heart

P o i s o n e d b y G i l t
141

sank, for Sullivan's sake. "You're ready to conclude it was

suicide, aren't you?"

She peered at me, weighing her words. "There is some

talk that it'll eventually get ruled a suicide."

"Were Burke's fingerprints found on the can of gold

paint?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, Erin." She touched my hand,

her demeanor both gentle and sad at once. "You know

that."

"That's okay. I already know the answer. Burke told me

himself that a paint can that had gone missing from his

garage had to be the one that Richard drank from, so

Burke's fingerprints would have been all over the can itself . . . just not on Richard's company's label. The killer

would have stuck the label itself onto the can later. And

Sullivan read the section of Richard's notes to me where

he was speculating about drinking a toxic product. So I'm

sure Detective O'Reilly and lots of your colleagues have

concluded this was Richard's last act of vengeance . . . trying to make Burke take the fall for an act of suicide."

Linda pursed her lips.

"I know how much you hate it when I play amateur

sleuth, but for what it's worth, Sullivan swears Richard

would never commit suicide."

"How well did Steve really know his former teacher,

though?" Linda asked rhetorically. "Plus, we located several people who toured Burke's place at that open house

the Sunday before Mr. Thayers's death. One middleaged couple picked out Richard Thayers's photograph

from a number of random pictures and said that he was

there that day."

"Uh-oh. So it is looking like Richard could have

taken that can himself." Something was bugging me,

142
L e s l i e C a i n e

though, and an instant later, I made the connection.

"Richard told us he'd only found out last Tuesday that

Burke's home was in the contest, let alone a finalist.

Those were his exact words. But if he'd really been

there the previous Sunday, he must have known Burke

was a finalist. Which either means he was lying to

Sullivan, or that the couple who picked out Richard's

photograph was mistaken."

Linda held my gaze for a long moment before replying. "Sometimes witnesses see photographs of victims

or suspects, and their minds can play tricks on them

and give them a false memory. You were there that

weekend. Did you ever see Thayers? Or any of the suspects?"

I shook my head. "Hundreds of people came through

Burke's house that weekend. I hadn't met Richard, yet, so

we could have crossed paths without my noticing."

She nodded. She was chewing on her lip, which she

sometimes did when she was lost in thought. After another lengthy pause, she said, "You mentioned the name

Asia McClure to me. Have you had any more dealings

with her recently?"

"Yes. And not pleasant ones. It's an understatement to

say that she is not a conservationist. She says she spotted

me at the open house, so she certainly could have swiped

the paint can. But she's not really a suspect, is she? Did