Authors: Leslie Caine
never have agreed to do this. I shouldn't be showing you
Burke's home. It's a huge conflict of interest."
"No offense, dear, but you're just the interior designer.
The architect and the creators of the products that Burke
uses are much more responsible for his low energy consumption than you are."
"First off, Sullivan and I were the people who sat
down with Burke and Jeremy and chose his e-rated mate-P o i s o n e d b y G i l t
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rials. We also helped him design some of the specific features of his kitchen and bathrooms that made them so environmentally friendly and functional, such as the
ventilation and exhaust systems. In the second place, you
and I are obviously going to be speaking to each other as
we drive between the finalists' homes, and that conversation could unconsciously affect your overall opinion."
"I'm my own person and always have been. I intend to
pretend that you're simply here as my driver, and that
Burke's house was designed exclusively by Steve
Sullivan."
"That'd be ironic," I muttered.
"Is there a problem there?"
"Sullivan suspects Burke is the murderer."
"He does? And do you agree?"
"Not at all."
She fell silent for several seconds, then remarked,
"That's probably making interactions between you two
and your client awkward."
"To say the least."
"Well, then. Let's talk about something else for a
while. Which of the three houses do you like the best?"
Audrey asked.
"I'm not going to answer that!" I had to slam on the
brakes and honk as the driver of an SUV tried to make a
sharp turn without relinquishing her grasp on her cell
phone.
We remained silent until I parked on the street beyond
any view from Margot's windows. "We're here."
"This is Margot Troy's house, right?" she asked.
"You're not even going to get as close as her driveway?
Why are you being so paranoid?"
"To avoid an embarrassing situation."
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"Oh, come join me. I'll just claim that you're acting as
my bodyguard."
I shook my head. "No, Audrey. Margot's angry at me
for not wanting you as contest judge. I don't want to give
her any ammunition for claiming that I'm brainwashing
you."
"All right, then. I'll be back as soon as I can." She
started to get out, then hesitated. "When she comes to
the door and sees that there's no car in her driveway,
should I tell her I walked here? Or are we pretending that
I'm environmentally conscious enough to have taken the
bus?"
"Say that you wanted to make note of your initial reaction as you approached slowly from the street."
"Oh. Okay. That's very clever of you, Erin." She gave
me a wink and headed down the driveway.
I spent the time returning phone calls on my cell and
working out some designs in my head for current customers. One of our new clients had chosen Brazilian
cherry hardwood floors for her remodel. We would have
that gorgeous, rich wood running from the front door
throughout her kitchen and dining room. In my mind's
eye, however, I could see Matthew Hayes smirking at me.
Brazilian cherry was hardly earth-friendly or politically
correct. He had made some excellent points about how
easy it was for me to merely mention green alternatives
when ultimately, I had to let the customer decide.
After thirty minutes or so, Audrey returned. "Interesting woman, that Margot. She's very pushy, isn't she?"
Before I had time to formulate a tactful reply, Audrey
asked, "Do you think she's guilty?"
"I hope not, but I have to admit, she's close to the top
of my list of suspects."
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"Who's at the very top?"
"Matthew Hayes. Of M.H. Custom Furniture."
"Oh, yes. There've been some articles in the Sentinel
about him and his politically incorrect beliefs. At least he
speaks his mind and sticks to his guns."
"I guess that's a positive. Unless he fired one of those
guns recently."
"Indeed. So where are we heading next?"
"Well, Darren Campesio and Burke Stratton are
neighbors, although they both have something like tenacre spreads."
"Good. One-stop viewing. And we can park in an actual driveway. Burke obviously won't mind that we're
traveling together."
I waited, hoping she'd volunteer her reaction to the
home she'd just seen, but she remained silent. A minute
or two later she asked, "Where is Steve right now?"
"He wants to meet us at Burke's house." I glanced at
the dashboard clock. "Actually, we'll arrive about twenty
minutes ahead of him. So we'll go to Darren's house
first."
"My. You're really timing this down to the minute."
"We're trying to keep up appearances to show Burke
that we're a team. That's difficult when I'm trying to help
Burke clear his name, and Sullivan's trying to trip him up
into divulging some major clue that'll convict him."
"Is that the only source of conflict between you and
Steve?"
"Pardon?"
"I have the feeling that something else is bothering
you."
"Not really."
We lapsed into silence, probably because Audrey
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didn't want to talk about Margot's house, and I didn't
want to talk about Sullivan. We parked at Burke's, intending to take the path to Darren's property. Burke, however,
came running up to us from his backyard. His smile
looked plastered into place, his brow was dotted with perspiration, and his eyes were nothing short of panicstricken. "Erin! Ms. Munroe! You're here early!"
I pointed with my chin at the minipath that led to the
trail behind the homes. "We were going to go to Darren's
first, actually, so that Steve could meet us here at four."
He gave me a peculiar look that involved a quick head
shake and a grimace, then focused his attention on Audrey,
grabbing her hand and panting, "It's such an honor to
meet you in person, Ms. Munroe."
"Why, thank you, Dr. Stratton."
He gracefully turned their handshake into his taking
her arm and pivoting, saying all the while, "There's no
need to wait. You're here now, and I'm afraid you won't
enjoy even a short walk at this hour. The wind's really
kicking up, and the temperature is dropping."
Audrey peered at me. There was no chance that she'd
missed Burke's all-too-obvious ploy to prevent her from
cutting across his backyard to the footpath. I didn't know
what his motive was--maybe his windmill construction
had taken a bad turn, or maybe he didn't want her to see
some new monstrosity that Asia had placed near the
pond or along her fence.
"I can survive," she said. "I wore sensible shoes. Isn't
Mr. Campesio's house just one house down from yours?"
"Yes, but the melting snow has made the path muddy
and slippery in some places." Burke shot me a desperate
look as it belatedly hit me that he needed my help.
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"Of course," I said. "I should have thought of that myself. Burke and I will show you his house now, and then
we'll drive to Darren's. All right, Audrey?"
"Certainly. You've got possession of my car keys, after
all, which they say is nine tenths of the law." She gave me
the patient smile that I knew meant to step lightly. She
patted Burke's hand, which was still on her arm. "Let's
see this lovely home of yours, shall we, Dr. Stratton?"
"Please call me Burke," he said with a grateful smile.
He was still obviously anxious about something. He began a rambling dissertation on the thickness of his external walls and the benefits of straw-bale construction. I'd
heard him give this lecture countless times during the
open house. Back then he'd sounded like a tour guide at
a museum. Now he sounded like an amateur actor with
stage fright. He botched the presentation of the foyer and
living room so completely that Audrey walked straight
through them with barely a glance around.
The three of us entered the kitchen. "We installed
three layers of . . . I mean, triple-paned windows, with,
um, with . . ." He paled and looked ready to pass out when
Audrey wandered toward the glass door that faced the
backyard. "Ms. Munroe? The windows over here have
superefficient e-coatings. They're like Superman. The
Superman of glass."
Audrey arched an eyebrow and held her tongue. I surreptitiously scanned the yard, but could see nothing
wrong.
"But, I, uh, guess you can read about all of the, um,
our choices that make, in construction, I mean, in the
spec sheets that Earth Love gave you, that make this
house such a green winner."
"That's true," I jumped in. "We are talking about the
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Domestic Bliss Goddess herself, after all. Audrey, you
don't need me to point out the inner door of the foyer,
which serves as an air lock to reduce the air exchange as
people enter and exit. Or the environmental benefits of
the bamboo flooring in the living room, and the sea grass
area rugs. And I'm sure you also already noticed the cork
kitchen floor. You've done dozens of shows on sustainable building materials, so you know how earth-friendly
those materials are. But aren't they gorgeous?"
"Yes, they are," she agreed with an appreciative smile.
"Now feast your eyes on the kitchen."
"Stunning," she replied.
"And I bet you know how environmentally sound it is
to use these kitchen cabinets made from highly compacted sawdust--waste products from less responsible
building practices--that are then veneered with cypress,
chosen because of its sustainability and durability. The
same reasoning went into selecting the concrete countertops. Burke wouldn't settle for merely reusing a granite
slab from someone else's old kitchen. He's taken a waste
product--fly ash--and recycled it into a new, functional,
and fabulous surface. And, of course, every appliance is a
modern miracle of energy efficiency." I had taken a cue
from Burke and grabbed Audrey's arm, slowly leading her
away from the back door. We approached everyone's favorite conversation piece--the small window built into
the stucco surface of the wall, which showed the straw
composition within.
"But before we allow you to inspect the kitchen at
your leisure, notice the reveal here."
Audrey smiled at it and said, "Yes, that's honest-to-God
straw, all right."
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I did a double take at the reveal. Was it my imagination, or had the straws shifted a little? "I wanted to create
a minidiorama inside the glass," I said, "with a wolf collapsing as he tried to blow it down. I thought it was whimsical, but I got voted down."
Audrey chuckled. "You know what else might have
been fun? You could put a needle in it, so you'd have the
proverbial needle in a--" She stopped. "Oh, wait. That's
a haystack, not a straw-stack." She tapped her cheek, lost
in thought. "A plastic drinking straw or two might have
been humorous."
"I try to stay away from plastic products," Burke said,
with his characteristic lack of humor.
As Audrey inspected every square inch of the kitchen,
she was at least as inquisitive on her own as any home
owner I'd spoken to at the open house. She grilled us
about the large component of conservationism that went
into Sullivan's and my every decision. As we continued
our dry, detail-intensive tour, I couldn't find any way to
momentarily shake Audrey so that Burke and I could
have a private word. While Audrey was examining
Burke's bookshelves in the den, Burke finally managed to
whisper, "My backyard stinks to high heaven. Asia's
prank, no doubt."
Sullivan arrived just then, and I promptly said, "Hi,
Steve. Why don't you show Audrey the second floor? I've
got a couple of questions for Burke about the sunroom."
He knew me well enough to play along. He launched
into a monologue about where Burke had gotten the salvaged lumber for the stairs as they climbed to the second
floor.
I had just turned to ask Burke what was going on when
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he looked out a kitchen window and snarled, "There she
is now." He marched out the back door, and I followed.
"Asia! What the hell have you done?"
Before she could answer, I spotted something that
gave him his answer. "Look over there, Burke." I pointed
at a hose starting to appear in the melting snow. The hose
snaked around the pond and halfway across his yard.
"Oh, jeez! I'd just gotten home myself when you and
Audrey arrived. I didn't see it." There was no spigot, but
he chinked the hose to stop the water flow, making a face
as he dragged it back toward Asia. "Is this a shunt from
your sewer line?!" he cried.
She shrugged. "Call it a payback for your siphoning
electricity off my power line."
"You want a payback, do you?"