Poisoned by Gilt (27 page)

pointed at the wall behind the targets. "Hidden behind

those black drapes is an emergency exit, in case there's

ever a fire blocking my front door. It lets you out on the

other side of the hill."

"That could be problematic if someone's entering

through the back door when you're in here target practicing," Audrey remarked. "You wouldn't even be able to see

the person behind the drapes."

He gave her a full-wattage smile. "I've got three deadbolts on that door, and the door itself is solid steel." He

pointed at a ceiling fixture in the center of the room.

"There's a red light and an alarm that goes off in here

whenever anyone opens the back door."

"Can you hear that alarm from inside the rest of your

house when this door is closed?" I asked, indicating the

very solid-looking door behind us.

"Er, no."

"So . . . the gun wasn't stolen during your open house,

but someone could have sneaked behind your drapes

then and unlocked the deadbolts, and returned later to

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steal your gun. You wouldn't have been able to hear

them enter."

"Yeah, the police pointed that out to me," he snapped.

"In retrospect, I should have taken down the drapes temporarily and checked to make sure the deadbolts were still

locked after the open house. I kept my gun case locked

tight, at least, but the thief must've used one of those little

battery-operated power tools. Cut right through the latch.

I had to replace the whole damned case."

"What a shame," I said evenly, angry that he'd been so

irresponsible with his firearms. Provided this whole thing

wasn't a cover story for his having shot Walter himself,

that is.

"Well, I'll tell you what. I'd like to see the joker try to

steal weapons from me a second time. This time I'll have

more'n one surprise up my sleeve."

He straightened his shoulders and returned his attention to Audrey. His lingering gaze was more than a little

daffy-looking. "You've seen every room, so I guess we're

done for today. Unless, of course, you'd like to do some

target shooting. I've only got two sets of earmuffs to protect your hearing, though, so Erin would have to wait

outside for us."

"No, but thanks for offering," she said. "I think I've

seen quite enough for one day, but I'll probably need a

fellow-up visit."

"Any time, Ms. Munroe. Any time."

He locked the door behind us and once again escorted

us to the foyer. "Thanks, Darren," she said, shaking his

hand. "It's been a pleasure meeting you and seeing your

house."

"The pleasure's all mine," he said with a wink and a

lecherous smile.

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He was still watching Audrey from his doorway with a

lovesick expression on his face as I turned the car around

and drove away. "I don't know what you thought of his

house, but you sure made a big impression on him. I'd

say the man's totally smitten."

"And the two of us have so very much in common,"

she joked. "Ain't love grand?"

Just as she dropped me off at work Audrey informed

me that she was meeting with Jeremy at home at six P.M.

I was determined to be there, as well. Ironically, Sullivan

was waiting there impatiently for me, determined to head

straight to Jeremy Greene's office and confront him

about his client's inadequate foundation.

"Burke's basement is falling apart," Sullivan announced the moment we strode into Jeremy's office. "You

used the same crappy design as on Richard's house."

"There's nothing wrong with my design!" Jeremy cried.

"I already advised Burke to contact an engineer,"

Sullivan said. "I'm betting he'll disagree."

Jeremy grimaced and pressed the heels of both hands

to his temples. "I . . . cut some corners I shouldn't have, in

retrospect."

"That's an enormous understatement," I said.

"We can still save the house. I'm sure of it. And Audrey

Munroe doesn't need to know about the cracks in the

basement walls."

"She already discovered it on her own earlier this afternoon," I informed him.

His eyes widened. "But . . . she wasn't too concerned,

though, right? I mean, it was just a little crack. It could

have happened to anyone's basement."

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"It's much worse than a little crack," I said.

"But . . . it's only the one wall, right?"

"So far," Sullivan replied, "but that's kind of like leaving only one door unlocked in your car. We've recommended that Burke get someone out there immediately

to make sure the house is still safe to live in."

"It is. It has to be. The place passed all its building inspections. Everything was done to code."

"The same was true of Richard's house," I said, "yet he

felt forced to sue you."

"It was a bogus claim! I told you that!"

"You blamed the builder. But you must have used

a different builder on Burke's place, when Richard's

builder did such a lousy job. Right?"

"Sure, but . . ." He stopped and sighed. He couldn't

very well blame a second builder for his bad design. "We

can't let this get out. If the community finds out about yet

another bad foundation, they'll blame it on straw-bale

construction. It'll set the industry back fifty years."

"So you're concerned not for your own hide, but for

the reputation of straw-bale homes?" Sullivan said skeptically.

"For both, obviously. My business could be ruined."

"If it's any consolation, it's highly doubtful that this

will set green construction back," I said. "Although your

method of using adobe bricks to build the foundation

will likely be banned."

"Again, the inspector gave me a green light."

"My hunch is they'll tighten their standards after this

incident," I replied.

"And that I'm going to lose the contest," he grumbled.

"Technically, it's Burke who'll lose the contest."

Jeremy shook his head. "I designed the house for free,

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in exchange for claiming all the proceeds from the contest myself."

Sullivan's and my jaws both dropped. "Why did you

gamble your entire fee on the possibility of your winning

the contest?" I asked. "It was such a long shot."

He sighed. "You have to remember, this contest was

first announced four years ago. Its sole purpose was to

motivate architects, builders, and home owners into constructing self-sustaining homes. I put my heart and soul

into this design. If I win, I prove that I'm the best green

designer in possibly the greenest town in the country. I

could make my career, just like that."

"Which is why you cheated," Sullivan stated. "By running that power line tapping into Asia's electricity?"

He pursed his lips and glared at Sullivan. "You don't

seriously expect me to confess to anything, do you? This

contest is important to your careers, too, you know. I

would think you'd be on my side."

"Not when you resort to breaking the law," Sullivan

said.

"I didn't necessarily commit any crimes."

"Stealing power from a neighbor is a crime, Jeremy," I

countered.

He muttered, "That damned Asia! If she hadn't

flooded Burke's property, nobody would have noticed the

crack in the basement wall! All I needed was another

week or two, and the contest would've been over, and

I'd've won the damned thing! In any case, I didn't have

anything to do with the judges' deaths. The killer's probably that guy who owns the furniture place."

"Matthew Hayes? Of M.H. Custom Furniture?"

He nodded. "I saw his truck at Burke's house the same

morning Walter was shot. I should have told the police

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that, but I didn't want to have to explain why I was there

myself."

Sullivan said, "Because you were there trying to get rid

of the illegal power-line tap, before you could get

caught?"

"Jeremy, my god! You're withholding evidence and

impeding an investigation for a capital crime!"

He sighed. "You're right. This has gotten out of hand.

Not letting some bastard get away with murder is more

important than my damned career." He hesitated. "I

guess."

"It is, Jeremy. He's already killed twice. You can't risk

thinking he'll stop there."

"Right." He fished Detective O'Reilly's card out of a

drawer. "I'll get this over with right now."

I watched him dial and heard O'Reilly's gruff tones on

the other end as Jeremy told him about spotting

Matthew's van at Burke's house the day of the murder.

Stunned by what we'd learned, Sullivan and I left without another word.

"I'm starting to think you're right," Sullivan said as we

drove to our office. "It's looking more and more like

Hayes or Greene killed Richard. Do you trust Jeremy

enough to call the cops?"

"I know he's at least actually talking to O'Reilly. I recognized his voice."

"Do you think Matthew Hayes is the killer?"

"It's certainly very possible." I needed to have another

chat with Matthew. I could claim I was merely checking

up on Burke's desk. As long as I didn't mention anything

about why he might have been in Burke's driveway the

day of the shooting, I might be able to get a feel for

whether he'd been there for legitimate reasons. "Steve?

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Why don't you drop me off on Thirtieth Street, near the

mall. I'll take RTD back. I need to check on a client."

"Which client?"

"Suzanne Langley. I told her I'd come pick up the

wallpaper samples today and get the paper ordered."

"Okay. She does live nearby. So I guess I can trust

you."

"Of course you can. We're partners. We've got to trust

each other."

"Good. Because if I didn't know better, I'd think that

Matthew Hayes's shop is right on the way to Suzanne's

house, and it'd be just like you to try to pry information

out of him." He gave me a smug grin.

I was annoyed at his obvious delight in outsmarting

me. "Just because I was planning a little side trip doesn't

mean that you can't trust me."

"Except that it does." He continued past the intersection where I'd wanted him to leave me.

"But one of us needs to return phone calls and keep

things in order at the office. We haven't exactly been

working at full steam the last couple of weeks."

"Hey, it's more important that I babysit you than stay

in our office. After all, we're partners."

"But we won't have an office or a partnership if we

keep ignoring our business. Be reasonable, Sullivan! I

can get Matthew to talk if I'm on my own. He'll clam up

if you're there, listening to our every word."

"Fine. I'll stay in the car. And you can beep me with

your cell phone if you need help."

"Will do," I replied.

"You should have just told me the truth about where

you were going."

"Are you always forthcoming with the truth to me?"

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Sullivan said nothing. His jaw muscles were working.

I'd hit a sore spot, and we both knew it. The atmosphere

was suddenly so charged, it felt like the van windows

could explode at any moment. I couldn't stand to address

the real issue between us, but I also couldn't endure this

tension in silence. "You don't have to be so patronizing,

Sullivan! I'm simply going to enter Matthew's place of

business and ask a few questions, not stage a shootout, for

heaven's sake!"

"Regardless, we agreed to watch each other's backs.

I'm holding up my end, even if you're unwilling to hold

up yours."

Once again, I was the one who had let him down. We

arrived in the parking lot. "Thanks for driving," I snarled

as I opened the passenger door.

"Don't mention it."

"I won't ever again."

"All the better," he said.

"What does 'all the better' even mean? You're just

making sure you get in the last word! As if we're still in

grade school! This is sure one heck of a healthy, mature

partnership we've got going for ourselves." He'd begun to

scribble something on his notepad, but I got out of the

van and slammed my door shut without asking him

about it.

Just as I'd taken a step toward the store, Sullivan

tapped on his windshield and, despite my better judgment, I turned to see why. He held up a sign in the window. In a nod to a Gilbert and Sullivan lyric from Pirates

of Penzance, he'd written:

We are the very model of a modern, MAJOR partnership.

Surprised that Sullivan had been the one to lighten

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the situation, I couldn't help but giggle. Sullivan winked

at me, and my steps felt infinitely lighter as I walked away.

My amusement faded when I entered Matthew's shop

and remembered it was quite possible that he was a double murderer. He was alone, reading the newspaper, and

glanced up at me with a hopeful-for-a-sale glint in his eye