Poisoned by Gilt (37 page)

just . . . too late to save my son from Thayers."

"And Walter Emory? What was his crime? What did

he have to do with your son's death?"

"Nothing. Not a thing." He sighed and shook his

head. "It was your partner's fault! Steve Sullivan knew

right away what I'd done. You should have seen the hatred in his eyes when I bumped into him the morning

that Richard died! I knew he was never going to let the

police drop it. And . . . I guess I panicked. I wanted to

scare him off . . . Sending him those threatening business

cards to frighten him into thinking it was a serial killer.

But, jeez! Not even a live grenade scares that guy! I got

your van confused with his when I kicked in the headlight. I was going to plant another threat in his van on the

anniversary of Caleb's death, but you spotted me first, so I

acted even drunker than I was."

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"But Steve had nothing to do with Walter's coming

here, Burke!"

"I couldn't sleep," he continued as if I hadn't spoken.

"Steve didn't know . . . nobody knew that Thayers had

done a terrible thing, much worse than what I'd done in

making him pay for it. So I kept the data hidden right

there." He gestured wildly at the opening in the wall behind me. "One morning, I was taking it out. I wanted to

think through how I could make the information public

without incriminating myself. Turns out Walter Emory

was standing at the back door, watching me. I was so startled that I dropped the folder. The report and the photograph of Caleb went sliding across the floor toward him. I

knew right away it was all over. That he'd seen the photograph of me holding my child, and that he'd spotted

'CleenAir' on the cover sheet and recognized the name

as Thayers's invention. He knew I'd done it. He had the

same expression of horror on his face that you had a

minute ago."

"You had a gun in your hand at the time?" I asked incredulously.

He shook his head. "In the kitchen with me. The

weapons I stole from Darren had always been my Plan B.

In case my plan for poisoning Thayers failed. I sneaked

over there during the open house, just long enough to

unlock the back door to his shooting gallery." He released

a bitter laugh. "The idiot never even checks his doors before going to bed." He shook his head a second time.

"That morning, when Emory surprised me with an unexpected inspection, I'd been . . . contemplating suicide.

But then I saw that look on Emory's face. Nobody was

ever going to understand! I grabbed a pistol, and he tried

to run, but I shot him. I killed an innocent man."

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He straightened his shoulders, his expression looking

frighteningly determined. He aimed the gun at me with

more resolve, as though he'd steeled himself. "This is

how my life has been, ever since Richard Thayers entered it, Erin. I can't get a break." He gestured at me.

"Now, the only person who believed in me is the one

who finds the evidence that will put me in a prison. So I

have no choice."

"No! You have to stop this now, Burke! You said it

yourself. You save lives. You don't take them."

He was gritting his teeth. My words were having no effect.

"Turn around, Erin. This will be easier for both of us if

you're not looking at me."

"I'm not going to turn my back on you, Burke.

Anyway, there's no way you can get away with this."

"I'll say it was an accident. That you were here when

you shouldn't have been, and I thought you were a burglar."

"That won't work. No jury in the country would believe that!"

"I'll think of something. I always do. Turn around,

damn it!"

"You know Caleb wouldn't want you to kill me." I

held Caleb's picture in front of me like a shield.

"Oh, God!" Burke started sobbing again. He pointed

the gun at his own temple. "Get out of here, Erin. Get

out of my house."

"Give me the gun, and I'll give you Caleb's picture.

Then I'll go."

"No. Just leave it on the countertop. This is the only

way this can end."

"You're going to get a sympathetic jury, Burke. You

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can plead temporary insanity for Walter's shooting, and

they'll wonder if they'd have done any differently in

Richard's death. It might not even be murder, because of

intent. You can claim you only wanted to make him sick,

and then everything snowballed."

"Maybe Caleb will be waiting for me on the other

side," he said quietly.

He did something to the gun with his thumb to remove the safety, then again pressed the gun barrel against

his temple.

"No! Stop!" I pleaded.

He shut his eyes.

I sprang forward, tackling him, my shoulder hitting

him in the chest just as the gun went off. We crashed to

the floor with such a jarring force that a shock wave of

pain raced through me. For an instant, I thought I'd been

shot, but quickly realized my breath had merely been

knocked out of me when I'd landed on top of him. The

gun had gone flying behind him and crashed against the

back door.

I fought against my body's instincts to curl up and

struggle for air. Expecting Burke to be lifeless, I pushed

myself away and grabbed at a kitchen chair to help me

scramble to my feet, all the while desperately gasping for

air.

Burke was still alive. His head was bleeding, but he

pressed his palm to the top of his head, over a gaping

wound.

"Oh, jeez!" he cried. "I just grazed my cranium! Leave

it to me to miss!"

I staggered toward the gun. Just then, the front door

flew open and a woman's voice yelled, "Police!" Linda

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Delgardio barged inside, her weapon drawn. She gaped

at me.

I could only stare back at her, a sense of relief flooding

through me. It was short-lived, however, as I shifted my

gaze to Burke. He still had one hand pressed against his

head wound, but he'd also grabbed the photograph. He

curled into a ball on the kitchen floor, holding the picture against his chest as he wept uncontrollably, looking

for all the world like a scared little boy.

c h a p t e r
2 5

e p i l o g u e

On Valentine's Day, why wait for

someone else to give you flowers? Buy

them yourself! If your special someone

brings you a bouquet, all the better.

A second room in your home will be

graced, and you'll feel all the more

loved.

--Audrey Munroe

I awoke on February 14 to the sound of

power saws and nail guns. The kitchen remodel

BLISS
was in full swing. Audrey had taped this morning's show, and had tried to convince me to

take the day off and go to a spa with her. I had

waffled and said no, but was still mulling the possibility of calling in sick, not only because a spa

on Valentine's Day sounded like the all-time

best treat imaginable, but because I simply did

not feel up to facing Sullivan today, of all days.

By the time I'd showered, dressed, and come

downstairs, the construction noises had stopped

and the carpenters were laughing. This meant

DOMESTIC that Audrey had brought them their daily coffee

and doughnuts (although she'd probably cut

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them into heart shapes and chosen ones with pink icing), and that she was now entertaining them with one

of her many stories. Judging by the volume of their

laughter, this had to be one of her more ribald tales from

her ballet days.

The coffeepot was dry, so I got the coffeemaker going again and cleared my chair at the dining room

table. This was a daily exercise, because the clutter

seemed to behave like silt and refill whatever troughs I

managed to scoop away. Finally, I sat down with the

morning newspaper and a steaming cup of coffee. Hildi

pranced into the room and gave me my first valentine

by leaping onto my lap and rubbing against me affectionately as she settled down.

I stroked her silky fur as I scanned the paper. There

was only the briefest of stories about Burke's impending

trial--various legal experts opining about whether or

not it would have to be moved from Crestview in order

to get him an impartial jury. The discussion was premature at best, because any trial was months in the future;

only a week had passed since his arrest.

Audrey chuckled as she closed the kitchen door behind her. The sturdy exterior door was a temporary feature which we'd installed upon my suggestion. Audrey

had needed it there for noise abatement, though she'd

insisted on easy access to the construction. The door

featured a large glazed window and would be moved

to the sunroom/breakfast nook during the last step of

the remodel.

"Morning, Erin." She grabbed her notebook and pen

D o m e s t i c B l i s s
3 1 1

from the top of a stack of recipe books and sat down at

the head of the table beside me. "I heard all the latest

from the carpenters. Just like Joe predicted, his daughter Laurie brought home a dog from the Humane Society. Laurie was doing community service volunteer work

there, if you remember. And now Susan is going nuts,

having to housebreak a two-year-old dog, while Laurie

and Sammie are at school and he's here on the job."

She paused."Oh, and Scott's sister is expecting again."

"I take it there's nothing major going on in Bill's life?"

"He's trying to decide between a used Chevy and a

Toyota 4Runner. I told him to talk to my car dealer first

and mention my name to see if he could get a better

deal."

I managed a small smile and a nod. "It's great that

you're on such good terms with all the workmen."

"It makes the whole experience so much more

pleasant for everyone. Plus, it's just human nature that

they'll want to do a better job for home owners who've

treated them with the respect that they deserve."

She made some notations in her notebook."I'm putting a show together on tips for remodeling. Getting to

know all the subcontractors and their staffs is one. And

saving little jars is another."

"Little jars?"

"Yes. To serve as containers for small quantities of

every color of paint in your house. That has saved me so

much time and hassle over the years, I can't even tell

you. This way, whenever I get a nick or mark on my walls

or trim, I can simply grab a jar, shake it to stir the paint

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quickly, and then I can dab fresh paint over the mark

with a fingertip. Compare that to having to haul out a

big paint can and a screwdriver to open it with, along

with a stir stick, putting out newspapers, finding a paintbrush, et cetera."

"That's a brilliant suggestion, Audrey." Hildi leapt off

my lap.

"Thank you." Audrey beamed at me. "Do you have

any more tips like that one for the show?"

Hildi was headed in the direction of her food dish

and managed to knock over a cut-crystal bud vase just

then.

"How about passing along my kitchen-remodel suggestion to keep only the barest necessities in your living

space and put everything else in storage?"

"Oh, absolutely. My do-as-I-say lifestyle is one of the

many reasons my show is filmed in a studio and not in

my house." She closed her notebook. "We can talk

about this later. But right now, Erin, I have a confession to

make."

"Uh-oh." I braced myself.

"I know this is going to make you angry, but I felt so

strongly about it that I went ahead and butted into your

personal business. I asked Mr. Sullivan to handle work

without you today."

"Audrey! You can't keep--"

She held up a palm."You're right. It was wrong of me.

I promise not to do anything remotely like this again, if I

can possibly help it. But this is Valentine's Day. You're

both so miserable just on ordinary days now. On a holi-D o m e s t i c B l i s s
3 1 3

day specifically made for lovers . . . well, the thought was

simply too grim for me to sit back and do nothing."

I leaned forward and reached around some empty

Tupperware bowls to put my hand on top of hers."I appreciate what you're trying to do, Audrey. I do. But this

isn't something you can fix. We have to work this out between us. It may or may not end with our being together, but either way, it's going to take time."

She put her hand on top of mine."I understand that,

Erin. But sometimes things are too overwhelming for us to

carry on with business as usual. This is one of those times.

You have the stress of coping with two murders and a

suicide attempt, on top of Mr. Sullivan's stupid transgression. All the while you're seeing him every day and trying to hold your business together. Then you compound

all of that with today's expectations and baggage?"

Just hearing my litany of woes listed aloud like this

was depressing me. I pulled my hand away and began

to rock myself slightly in my seat.