Poisoned by Gilt (30 page)

right?"

"Yeah. Jeez! I just had a couple drinks! Go home. All

of you!"

"Fine. I'll see you later." Darren gave me a little wave,

then got in his car and left, heading back toward town

and away from his house.

Asia clicked her tongue and whispered to me, "Are

you sure Burke is actually drunk, not faking it?"

"Why would he fake being drunk?"

She chuckled and shouted at Burke, who'd reached

his front steps, "Someone must have nearly caught you in

the act, hey, Burke?"

He turned around and gave her a chilling glare, then

he unlocked his door, walked inside the house, and shut

the door. Oddly, if I hadn't smelled the alcohol on him

and seen how he'd been staggering earlier, I actually

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would have sworn the man was completely sober at that

moment.

Asia was watching him. She turned toward me and

looked me up and down. "Were you partying with Burke,

or did you just happen to bump into him like that?"

"We bumped into each other downtown."

"That's what I figured. He's up to something."

"He's drunk."

Asia shook her head. "He never drinks to excess. He

says it releases the demons in him."

"Well, he did this time." And the demons emerged, all

right. A shiver ran up my spine at the thought of how

close he'd come to getting us into a serious car accident.

"Ha! I wonder what the true story behind that one is."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, that's right. You're just the drop-in worker bee for

him. You haven't lived next door to him for nearly four

years. I forget that you don't know him all that well." She

turned and started to walk back toward her house.

"Wait. Enlighten me."

"Whenever Burke gets in trouble, he always hauls out

the grieving-father card."

"Oh?" I asked skeptically.

"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."

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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?"

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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!"

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"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
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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

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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.

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"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

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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.

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