Poisoned by Gilt (21 page)

"Oh, right," Walter said amiably. "Forgot I was traveling with a security officer. It's like having my own bodyguard."

"You got it," Jones said, puffing out his chest.

Walter rolled his eyes and gave me a wink. I'm sure we

all noticed that Bob hadn't exactly leapt in front of

Walter, prepared to take a shot of pepper spray for him

from Margot.

Margot lifted a sculpted eyebrow. "In my case, you

should have knocked on the door. I don't appreciate surprises."

"Have you already told them about Jeremy?" I asked

her, pretending it was an innocent question.

"Erin!" Margot snarled.

"Yeah, she did," Walter quickly replied. "We talked to

Mr. Greene last night. He admitted he was the one who

hooked up the power line. Said it was all his own idea. It

made sense," Walter added with a shrug.

"And it fit the evidence," Bob said. "It explained why

the only place on the power cable where Ms. Troy's fingerprints were found was right where it hooked into the

box . . . not where the power lines were coupled together."

"You were trying to unhook the line," Walter asked her

gently, "weren't you, Ms. Troy?"

"Without risking electrocution, yes," she said. "And

unless Burke or Darren has been tampering with my

lines, you're not going to find anything wrong here."

"Good thing," Walter said.

"As long as we're all here," Margot said, lifting her

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chin, "just tell me my status now. Have I been disqualified?"

"No, Ms. Troy. We discussed this with management at

Earth Love first thing this morning, and we're convinced

that Jeremy acted alone. You've been absolved. As has

Burke Stratton, and, of course, Darren Campesio."

"That's great, but . . ." I hesitated as Margot's piercing

gaze shifted toward me. "Sorry, Margot, but isn't there

also a rule about getting disqualified if you willfully ignore knowledge of rule-breaking by another party?"

"She didn't," Walter quickly interjected. "Mr. Sullivan

wasn't the first I'd heard from yesterday regarding this

matter. Ms. Troy beat him to it. She called me right after

the memorial service."

"I'd only just found out myself two days ago, when

Jeremy came to me privately and confessed. I said I'd give

him some time to work things out for himself, but yesterday, when he'd still done nothing, I finally took matters

into my own hands."

"Coincidentally, right when Sullivan had found the

pirated power line?" I asked her as gently as I could.

"Coincidences do happen, Erin," she replied in a

haughty voice.

"One piece of important information that should

make you both happy," Walter said, "is that I'm nearly

done. Just have to check to make sure all my i's are dotted

and my t's are crossed, and I'll be ready to make my final

decision. Monday or Tuesday at the latest."

"That's wonderful," Margot said, finally boasting a

sincere-looking smile. "I can't tell you how much I'll enjoy having this whole contest ordeal come to an end."

"Yeah," Walter said, chuckling again "I think we're

safe in saying that goes for all of us."

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On Monday morning, Sullivan and I pulled into

Burke's driveway for a scheduled meeting. "I just wish I

could figure out how Margot knew I'd discovered the bogus power line," Sullivan grumbled. After my phone call

on Saturday morning, we hadn't spoken again all weekend, but during our drive I'd filled him in on every last

detail of my conversation with Margot.

"Maybe she paid someone to keep an eye on Burke's

house. In any case, that wasn't the part that bothers me.

It's that Jeremy hooked the splice up in the first place."

He said nothing. I knew I'd given him that reply at

least twice. We made our way to Burke's door, and

Sullivan rang the doorbell.

After waiting a reasonable period, he knocked and

again pushed the doorbell button. Sullivan said, "He's

not here."

"We'd better check the garage," I muttered, already

heading around the house to peer through the window in

the door by the backyard. "He's never late for an appointment."

Sullivan followed in my footsteps. Just as I rounded

the corner, I froze. Some twenty feet ahead of me, I saw

what looked for all the world like a man lying prostrate

on the ground. He wore an Elmer Fudd hunter's cap.

Sullivan pulled up short, followed my gaze, and muttered a curse under his breath. An instant later, he was

running toward the body. I followed, cringing.

Sullivan knelt beside Walter Emory's lifeless body. His

clothing was drenched in bright crimson. There were

two bullet holes in his jacket.

c h a p t e r
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steve checked Walter's body frantically for vital

signs as a wave of sorrow and despair washed over

me. Though I knew it was too late, I dropped to

my knees, grabbed Walter's lifeless hand, and cried,

"Walter?!"

"He's dead," Steve said quietly.

I released my grip and got to my feet. "What is going

on?! Why is Walter even here? On Saturday he said that

he'd nearly completed his judging."

"I'm calling nine-one-one," Steve said, already punching the numbers into his cell phone.

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Snow was beginning to fall. The crystalline white

flakes were starting to land on Walter's face. I couldn't

stand the sight; it seemed inhuman and degrading to

leave him in the elements like this. Sullivan must have

shared my reaction, because even as he solemnly spoke

to the dispatcher--reporting a murder and giving the

address--he was removing his coat.

"Wait," I said. "There's a blanket in the van. I'll get it."

He nodded, and I dashed to the van, eager to get away

for even a few seconds to clear my head. The instant the

macabre scene was out of sight behind Burke's house, a

sense of bitter rage overtook me. In the space of two

weeks, Sullivan had lost his mentor, and now Walter

Emory, an eminently decent human being, was dead,

too. I wanted to throw a tantrum and rail about the unfairness of it all.

I threw open the back door to the van, grabbed the

navy blue fleece blanket, and slammed the door shut. I

turned and tried to take a few slow, deep breaths, willing

myself not to fall apart.

A car was parked across the street. It looked just like

Burke's forest green hybrid. The vehicle was facing the

wrong direction and partially in the ditch.

I took a step toward the car, then remembered that

Sullivan was waiting for the blanket. I strode back to him.

The snow was already starting to accumulate. This was

the Colorado champagne powder that was a skier's delight. Right now, though, it just felt like so much salt,

pouring onto an open wound.

Sullivan shook his head at me and lowered his cell

phone. "The dispatcher told me we shouldn't drape anything over Walter. We'd be lousing up the evidence."

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"So we're just supposed to leave him like this? Getting

covered in snow like a . . . park bench?"

Sullivan gave me a defeated shrug, listened to his

phone for a moment, then explained to the dispatcher

that we hadn't entered the house and couldn't say for certain whether or not it was vacant.

When he paused, I told him, "I'll be out front." I

tossed the blanket back into the van and stared across the

street. The vehicle was still there. My heart was pounding

as I approached the car. Was Burke the second victim?

My feet seemed to be moving of their own accord, bringing me to the car window against my will.

It was indeed Burke's Toyota.

His car was far enough off the side of the road that

Sullivan and I must have driven past without even seeing

it. Burke sat behind the wheel, motionless.

"Burke?" My heart was in my throat. He didn't answer.

With the various patterns of shadow and light on the

windshield, I couldn't see if Burke's eyes were open or

shut. He certainly appeared to be unharmed, though. As

I started around the car to the driver-side door, I could

see that he was alive. He was pale, with dots of perspiration on his brow. He was gripping his steering wheel hard

with both hands, and his engine was turned off.

He looked at me for a moment, turned the key in the

ignition to activate the power, then rolled down the window. "Did you call the police?" he asked.

"Sullivan's on the phone now with nine-one-one.

What on earth are you doing, Burke?" I had to consciously keep my voice below the level of a shriek.

"I don't know. I . . . kind of panicked."

"When?"

"When I found Walter's body. In my backyard."

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Again, I willed my voice to stay reasonably calm, although I wanted to grab the man by his lapels. "So you

found him dead, and you didn't call the police?"

He shook his head. "I was going to run away. All I

could think was: I've got to get out of here! I mean, I

couldn't believe it! This is such a nightmare. A second

murder. This time at my own house!"

"But if you're innocent, nothing makes you look guilty

faster than running."

"Worked out okay for O.J. Simpson."

"You're not a celebrity."

He searched my eyes, his own nearly bulging out of

their sockets. "Erin. I'm screwed. The police are going to

assume I did this! I know I'm still tops on their list for

Thayers's murder."

"Was anybody else here? Do you have an alibi?"

"No."

"Did you see anyone? Hear any cars in your driveway?

Anything?"

He shook his head. "I thought I heard the doorbell

while I was in the shower. But when I shut off the water,

it was quiet. I figured I must have been hearing things.

Then I heard a bang a minute or two later. I assumed it

was someone's old pickup truck backfiring."

"When did you spot Walter Emory?"

"Um, I happened to look out my back door. In the

kitchen." He still seemed to be out of sorts and was struggling to concentrate. "When I came downstairs. I

thought someone was lying in my backyard. And then I

started to put things together . . . and I realized that had

been a gunshot earlier. I ran out and tried to do CPR on

him, but it was too late. That's when, I dunno, I just . . .

went a little nuts. I got into my car and started to head out

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of town. Then I got ahold of myself and came back. But

this is as far as I could force myself to come. Erin, they're

going to arrest me on the spot."

The distant sound of sirens was growing louder.

"That's the police. They'll be here any second. You've got

to come back with me to the house. Right now! Tell them

the whole story."

"They'll arrest me!"

"Burke. You have no choice but to take that chance."

His eyes were vacant, his face and his lips pale. He still

wasn't budging from his car. The sirens sounded like they

were just around the bend. He stared through the windshield with a glassy expression.

"Look at me, Burke. You've got to come with me now

and explain things to the police."

He nodded numbly and emerged from his car. "This

has been the worst nightmare. Why does this keep happening?"

I had no answers for him. Two black-and-white police

cars pulled into Burke's driveway just as we were making

our way up his walkway. A pair of officers emerged from

each car, and we were promptly ordered: "Hold it right

there!"

While Burke explained that this was his house and

that he'd discovered the body in his backyard, a third vehicle, a tan four-door sedan, pulled in and parked at the

base of the driveway. I gritted my teeth at the sight of the

driver--Detective O'Reilly. He was my least-favorite officer. He glowered at me as if to make certain I knew that I

was his least-favorite Crestview citizen. And to think that

Sullivan had the ridiculous notion that O'Reilly had a

crush on me!

He drew a steady bead on me. "Miss Gilbert."

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"Detective O'Reilly."

"Come with me," he ordered, and pulled me away

from Burke, marching me through the freshly fallen

snow in the front yard. "Sergeant Holcombe," he called

to the closest policeman. "Keep an eye on her. I'll question her myself in a few minutes."

O'Reilly and the three remaining uniformed officers

spoke to Burke. I could only hear snippets of the conversation. Understandably, they were taking tremendous exception to his decision to bolt without calling them. I

waited, shivering in the cold. At length, O'Reilly ordered

one of the others to come with him to the backyard to see

what Sullivan had to say, and for two other officers to take

Burke to the station house and get his statement.

That left just me and the officer who'd been assigned

to watch me in the front yard. He was obviously a body

builder--his uniform seemed ready to burst at the seams,