Authors: Leslie Caine
is all your fault."
"Oh, I'm sure he's long gone."
"Unless he's a homicidal maniac who can't shake
things like this off."
I set my purse back down. "No rush."
"I was thinking about the murders as I was making dinner . . . stewing over the stew, as it were, and it seems to
me that several people had a motive for killing Richard
Thayers. So what you should be thinking about is: Who
had a motive to kill poor Walter Emory? After all, yes, he
was Mr. Thayers's friend and he took over as contest
judge, but other than that, they had nothing in common.
Sullivan was also Richard's friend. Where's the connection between the two men that resulted in two deaths?"
"That's a very good question, Audrey."
"I know it is. I'm starting to think like you." She gave
me a sly grin. "Which reminds me, you should invite
your Mr. Sullivan over for a late dinner tonight."
"Here?" I said, gesturing at our surroundings.
"Force of habit. Invite him for an after-dinner brandy,
then, perhaps."
I snatched up my purse and left the room, saying over
my shoulder, "I'll think about it," although we both knew
I wouldn't.
I was alone at the office the following morning.
Sullivan was working with Ms. Hands-on yet again, so I
was startled when the door banged open, but relaxed
when I saw it was Margot Troy--and that she was unarmed. Even so, I found myself sitting up straighter at my
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desk; Margot had an aura of authority about her that
made you want to improve your posture in her presence.
"Oh, good. I was hoping I'd catch you alone here," she
said without preamble.
"Oh?"
She peered into my eyes as though she was trying to
find a wandering contact lens for me. "Who do you think
the killer is?"
"I really don't know." In actuality, Matthew Hayes was
my biggest suspect, Jeremy Greene was number two, and
Darren, Asia, and Margot herself were tied for third
place.
"I think it's Darren Campesio. Darren has a few
screws loose. Having given up on me, he's now taken to
asking Audrey Munroe out. We spoke on the phone yesterday afternoon, and she told me so herself. You have to
keep an eye out for her. I think Darren's a sexist pig who
would do anything to avoid losing the contest to a
woman."
"So he resorts to murdering the judges? And kills two
men?"
"I know. It's far-fetched. But stranger things have happened. Besides, there's probably a hidden motive or two
in his bag of tricks. The man's house is a step away from
being a survivalist camp. I'll bet he wants to start his own
army next."
"He hasn't really struck me as being antigovernment."
"He's into a zero-impact lifestyle," she replied. "He
wants to force that choice onto everyone, and that's
where I draw the line. He's a Nazi conservationist."
"I guess you've got to admire him for the level of commitment and passion he has in his beliefs."
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"No, I think he needs to be locked up for everyone's
safety."
"You seriously think he's dangerous?"
"Yes, I do. I'm urging Jeremy to stay away from him.
And you should really think long and hard about keeping watch over Audrey when she's with him. Darren
Campesio is wacky."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Do. I like Audrey, and I'd hate to see her get killed
just because you thought Darren was perfectly harmless."
I held her gaze, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
At length, she said, "Jeremy told me about how the
two of you summarily dismissed him from his job last
night."
Here it comes, I thought, nodding at her. She was going to try to convince me to change her mind and rehire her boyfriend. It would take a lot for me to want to
defend myself in something that was none of her business.
"He's a talented architect," she went on, "but he needs
to learn to work better with people. And he didn't have
anything to do with either man's death. Neither did I, so
we're pretty much down to Darren, Burke, or that young
man with the beef against Richard in class. And I know
Burke well enough to be certain he's not a killer.
Richard's heckler had no reason to kill Walter Emory, so
there you go. It's Darren. Have a good day."
Sullivan returned to our office not fifteen minutes after
Margot had left. "How's it going?" he asked.
"Not bad. I'm not making as much progress with the
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bookkeeping as I'd have liked. But I had an interesting
visit with Margot Troy just now."
"Oh?"
"She's of the theory that Darren Campesio is the
killer, and that we should be protecting Audrey from
him."
"Why does she suspect him?"
"Process of elimination. She knows she, Jeremy, and
Burke are innocent, and--"
"Burke?"
"They dated for a while and she says he's not a killer.
The only other person she considers a suspect is Matthew
Hayes, who, as she said, had no motive to kill Walter."
Sullivan seemed lost in thought as he took a seat at his
desk. "Interesting."
"That she suspects Darren?"
"I actually find it more intriguing that she dismisses
Hayes as a suspect because she assumes he had no motive to kill Walter Emory. I've been making the same mistake. But the last couple days I've been talking to some of
Matthew's business associates and doing computer research. Turns out Walter had been trying to convince the
Crestview town council to shut down Matthew's workshop."
"On what grounds?"
"Importing and using illegal materials."
"Was he able to establish the fact that Matthew was actually guilty of that?"
"Not to anyone's knowledge. Anyone that I could find
to ask, I mean. But Walter had recently made some inroads."
"With the city government, you mean?"
He nodded. "They were going to at least block any
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efforts of Matthew's to expand the store. Which would
have been a thorn in Matthew's side."
"But not enough to motivate two murders."
He shrugged. "That's what I'm thinking, but who
knows? Another interesting fact is that Walter swore out a
complaint against Matthew for damaging his car. Walter
had a little hybrid. Matthew smacked into it with his
SUV at a stoplight last year, and Walter was sure it was no
accident."
"What became of Walter's . . . complaint?"
"Lawsuit was still pending," Sullivan replied with a
shrug.
Not unlike Richard's lawsuit against Jeremy, I
thought, shaking my head at this new entanglement.
Sullivan and I worked with separate clients that after-
noon, and afterwards, I returned to the office and finally
got us caught up on our bookkeeping. Next month it
would be his turn to do the bookkeeping, which was our
least favorite activity.
When it was time to go home, I dashed toward my car.
The temperature had once again dropped significantly,
and the sky seemed heavy with snow. I hesitated when I
spotted a man on the sidewalk ahead, weaving his way
toward me. He appeared to be seriously inebriated. A moment later, I realized it was Burke.
I paused at my van and said, "Burke? Are you all
right?"
He took a deliberately broad stance, as if to get his balance on a swaying surface. "Oh, hey, Erin, good see you."
Yep. Drunk as a skunk. Even the frames of his glasses
were askew on his nose. "Can I give you a ride home?"
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"Me? Naw. My car's here someplace. Dunno. Parking
lot, I think. Don't ya worry your pretty little head about it.
I'll find it. I know it's around here someplace." He tried to
walk backward as he spoke, which was painful to watch.
He could barely walk forward without stumbling. "See
ya, Erin."
"No, wait. You can't drive home like this. You're
drunk."
"Just a little. I'll be fine."
I unlocked my van. "Get in. I'll take you home."
"But . . . my car."
"It'll be safe for the night wherever it is. The worst that
will happen is you'll have a parking ticket to pay tomorrow. But at least you and everyone else on the road will
be safe."
"I'm pretty sure I'm just fine to drive."
"Let's test that. How do you say 'Alabama' backward?"
"Umm . . . it'd end in 'la.' " As he was pondering the
question, which was the first thing that had popped into
my head to offer as a distraction, I guided him into my
passenger seat. "Too bad the word's not Alamama," he
said. "That'd be cool to say."
"Yes. It sounds like a way to describe a pasta dish just
the way your mother made it. A la Mama."
He stared at me with blank eyes. Granted, the line was
far short of hilarious, but it at least warranted a tiny smile.
The guy didn't seem to have a funny bone, even when intoxicated.
"Were you downtown celebrating with friends?" I
asked him as the light at the intersection turned green.
He shook his head. "Just memories. Lots of those. This
is the anniversary of my son's death."
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I instantly felt guilty for having silently sniped at his
lack of humor. "I'm so sorry."
"I toast myself for surviving another year with no future and nothing to look forward to."
"Your job is fulfilling though, surely?"
"Fulfilling? I guess so. It's sure not the life I'd envisioned when I watched my only son being born. When I
held him in my arms for the first time." Burke's voice was
getting softer, and he closed his eyes. Next time I looked
at him, he was asleep with his head forward and his chin
pressed to his chest.
Just as I made the turn onto Burke's dead-end street,
he jerked awake. The lights from an oncoming car appeared to frighten him. He made an odd sound and suddenly grabbed the wheel. We veered toward the
oncoming car.
"Burke!" I screamed. "What the hell are you doing?!"
I slammed on the brakes and barely managed to miss
the other car. We jackknifed around on the icy road.
Thankfully, we came to a complete stop. "You could
have gotten us killed!"
He was staring at me with goggle eyes, now wide
awake. "I'm sorry, Erin. I don't know what happened. I
just . . . instinct'ly grabbed the wheel when I woke up."
"Were you trying to kill yourself? And take me and
some other innocent driver with you?"
"No. The opposite. I had a dream I was driving and
fell asleep at the wheel. So I just . . . Thank God nobody
was hurt!"
The other driver had stormed out of his car and was
approaching us. It was Darren. I shouldn't be surprised,
I realized; there were so few houses on this street.
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"Darren!" I cried, rolling down my window. "You didn't
go into the ditch, did you?"
"Jeez, Erin! Are you all right?" He ignored my question, but now that I looked for myself, I could see that
he'd managed to pull off the road safely. "What happened? You nearly swerved right into me!"
"I know. Sorry about that."
He sniffed the air. "Have you been drinking?"
"No. That's Burke's breath that you smell."
"My son died four years ago today," Burke said to
Darren.
"Too bad."
"Yeah. Thanks."
"I'll help you get him inside the house," Darren said,
all business. He returned to his own vehicle. I drove up
Burke's long driveway and Darren followed. He parked
behind me and quickly got out and strode over to Burke's
door. As Burke fumbled with the latch, Darren opened
the door and said firmly, "Come on, buddy. Let's go."
He grabbed Burke's arm, but Burke shook him off, saying, "I can handle it from here. I can walk just fine. No
need to make a big deal out of it."
"Okay, then," he said, standing back to let Burke pass.
He glared at me as I rounded the car. "Erin, you're going
to have to wait here and call a cab. You nearly crashed
into me. I'm not so sure you should be driving."
"It wasn't my fault, Darren."
"Well, it sure wasn't mine. You came into my lane."
"I grabbed the wheel when I woke up. I was disoriented," Burke admitted.
Darren rocked on his heels. "Ah. Now I get the picture."
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"I got an idea," Burke stammered. "Why don't you
both go and just leave me alone?"
"You're depressed," Darren said flatly. "Maybe I'd better stick around your place, Burke. Make you some coffee. I was going to head into town and run some errands,
but it can wait till morning."
"That's really nice of you, Darren," I told him honestly.
"Hey, that's not right by me. You can't stay over. I'm
fine."
"What's going on?" Asia cried, trotting along Burke's
driveway from the road. "I heard a big squeal of brakes.
Did somebody get run over?"
"No," Darren said. "Erin and I just had a near collision. That's all. No big deal."
"Burke?" I asked gently. "Are you sure you're all