Death by Inferior Design (19 page)

To provide an extra splash of color, I nestled a small pillow of aubergine velvet among the chenille ones we’d made. To highlight and echo that color burst, I placed an aubergine hand-blown art glass piece on the round table on Carl’s bedside. The slant of early afternoon sunlight that now graced the room was lovely and serene, and the lighting would be even nicer in the morning. Then the art glass would catch the sunlight with an intensity and warm glow reminiscent of a glass of fine claret at a midsummer day’s picnic.

Speaking of wine, I arranged a bottle of Merlot and two crystal glasses, along with a corkscrew, on the round table next to the art glass. In a subliminal message that I was certain Debbie would pick up on, I retrieved a hard-cover copy of
Far From the Madding Crowd
from her closet and centered it on the shelf. Lastly, for an extra touch of romance, I placed and lit three sandalwood-scented candles.

I called Jill back inside, and although she said nothing at first, the look of unabashed envy on her face was heartwarming. After she turned a full three-sixty, she looked at me and said quietly, “Regrettably, Kevin made me promise I won’t redo rooms until a full year has passed, which isn’t the case with our master bedroom. Expect a call in
four
months.” She sighed, then turned on a heel. “I’m going to go see the final results of my den and send Debbie over.”

“I hope she likes it.”

“She’ll love everything. Trust me. It’s
Carl
who’s impossible to please,” she called over her shoulder as she descended the stairs.

Alone again, I checked the room from all common angles, except while sitting on their bed; once a bed was fully made and pillows in place I had a superstition about that, and the last thing the Hendersons needed was bad luck. I positioned the arms of the brass sconces partway out and hid the remote control along the very back edge of books on the bottom shelf of the bed. Jill’s reaction had made my heart sing, and I had to admit that this was the nicest bedroom I’d ever been in—warm, elegant and yet cozy and inviting, and extraordinarily romantic with its rich, deep Mediterranean hues.

To my surprise, I heard a male voice along with Debbie’s as the front door opened below. Debbie called, “Erin? Carl came home for lunch. Are you ready for the great unveiling?”

I came down to the landing and said, “Go on up. I’ll be there in just a moment.” I always prefer to give homeowners a minute to absorb how different their interiors have become before expecting them to give me their response to them.

Debbie was hugging Carl when I stepped back into the room. Hearing my footsteps, she immediately pulled away and said, “Erin, you’re a genius! I never imagined this room could be so
stunning.”

“Do you like it, Carl?” I asked, inwardly bracing myself.

He fidgeted with his glasses. “This is . . . really something. Dang! I didn’t want to hire you. As far as I could tell, the room was just fine before, but jeez . . . I don’t even know what to say. I mean, this is so . . . neat.” He stared at the television set on its stand. “Look at that, Debbie! We can look straight at the TV now, without craning our necks!”

“Hurray,” she said in a deadpan voice.

“It was just an observation,” he muttered. “I’m not saying . . .” He scanned the room in an obvious attempt to find something else to comment on. He fixed his vision on the round table in the corner. “Oh, hey. You gave us some wine. Great!”

“I’m delighted you like the room.”

“We love it,” Debbie assured me. “I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

“You just did. Enjoy. I’m going to go home now, but I’ll call on you tomorrow to make sure you’re completely satisfied.”

I went downstairs. As I collected my purse and grabbed my keys, I heard Carl say, “I think I’ll take the afternoon off. Would you like some wine, my dear?”

“I’d love some,” I heard her reply.

I pumped a fist and breathed a triumphant “Yes!” as I let myself out the door.

And yet I hesitated when I got behind the steering wheel of my van. I was sky-high now and dying to see Steve’s completed design. I decided to just brazenly go over there and ask Jill to show it to me. I made the short drive to the McBrides’ and parked behind Sullivan’s van.

Kevin McBride answered the bell and immediately said, “Erin! Come in and see my room.”

He put his arm around my shoulders as, after kicking off my shoes, I headed inside. “Steve Sullivan might not be as easy on the eyes as you are, but he did one heck of a job for us.”

“I’m sure he did. He’s very talented.” Even barefoot and with Kevin in his indoor shoes, I was an inch or so taller than he. I jerked my shoulder just enough to signal him that I didn’t appreciate having his hand there, and he wisely let go of me as we rounded the corner into the den.

Well, rats. This interior was drop-dead wonderful, and I had to catch my breath as I took in my surroundings. It was a Sullivan room, and he was a master of clean lines and understated yet dramatic visuals; what had I expected?

Jill and Sullivan appeared to be in consultation about the entertainment center along the north wall. She was working the hardware, which allowed the pocket doors that hid the television set to slide out of sight to either side of the TV, but was saying to Sullivan, “I just don’t know.” She saw me in the doorway, stepped back to give me a view of the piece, and said, “Erin, what do you think? It’s just so . . . plain.”

The shelving echoed the clean lines of the coffee table, and I knew at a glance that all that the piece needed to meet with Jill’s approval was an eye-catching and expensive-looking vase or sculpture. “I love it! The top shelf is at just the right height to showcase beautifully your favorite figurine or sculpture.”

“That’s exactly correct,” Jill exclaimed. “Kevin, let’s go get the Ming vase from the study.”

The moment we were alone together I expected Sullivan to bite my head off for stepping on his toes, but he whispered instead, “Come downstairs with me for a moment.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“You’ll see.” I followed him to the study, where, under Jill’s watchful eye, Kevin was lifting the blue-and-white vase as though it contained nitroglycerin. If that was a
real
Ming and Kevin were to drop and shatter it, Jill would no doubt strike him dead where he stood. Sullivan told them, “I want Erin to look at something for me. Would you mind terribly if I showed her your basement?”

Jill flashed a panicked look in her husband’s direction, then returned her gaze to Sullivan. “Is there something wrong that you’re not eager to share with us? A crack in our foundation?”

“No, it’s nothing important. Really. Your foundation is rock solid. I just noticed an unusual wire connection when I was down there earlier today and couldn’t get the phone jack to work. Erin knows way more about wiring than I do.”

“Go right ahead, then.”

We went downstairs, and he shut the basement door softly behind us. I muttered, “I don’t know diddly-squat about wiring.”

“That was all I could come up with off the top of my head. If they ask, the problem’s caused by a carpenter’s staple through the phone wire. That’s actually the truth.” He led me through an unfinished room into an enormous partially finished workshop. Wall-length shelving was filled with gadgets and jars of various sizes and contents. “I was down here an hour ago, and it’s like a miniature science lab. I decided to check the labels on all these bottles, just in case. I found one that’ll interest you.”

We were obviously looking for a container of arsenic, but just as I’d started to read the labels, I heard someone enter the room behind us. Kevin had somehow managed to follow us down the stairs, unheard.

“Hey, Steve,” Kevin McBride asked. “What’s this about some sort of trouble with our wiring?”

“It’s nothing major.” Sullivan replied, “The phone jack in the den doesn’t work. I wanted to trace it down . . . see if I could fix it.” Man, he was a smooth liar!

“I’m more than capable of doing that by myself.”

Kevin was glaring at us, and I was absolutely certain he’d caught us scanning his shelves and not the wiring along the floor joists above our heads. “This is quite a workshop you’ve got here, Kevin,” I said, surveying the area and trying to send icy thoughts to my cheeks, which were nevertheless growing warm. “Your wife said you’re an electrical engineer, right?”

He drummed his fingers on his crossed arms and replied sourly, “That’s right.”

I headed across the room to feign interest in a schematic that was spread across the top of a large oak table. “Wow. This is impressive. You even design your own circuit boards?”

“Yeah. I’m trying to start up my own company.” His roving eyes focused on my breasts again. Considering that we’d been caught snooping, for once I appreciated his ogling me as a much-needed distraction to him. “It’s been a lifelong dream of mine. I think I’ve hit upon a new invention that could sell like hotcakes. Once I get some more financial backers to help with the production, that is.”

While scanning the wiring along the ceiling, Sullivan asked, “What is it? Your invention, I mean.”

Kevin gave him a jab in the shoulder. “Can’t tell you that, man. Loose lips sink ships and all of that.”

“Hey, I understand.” Sullivan held up his palms. “Not that you have to worry about me, in any case. All I know is fabrics and color palettes. Wouldn’t know how to wire up a circuit if my life depended on it. That’s why I had to trust Gilbert here when I wanted to know if it was okay to drive a big staple right through a phone wire like that.” He pointed at something above his head, hopefully the carpenter’s staple.

“Which I told him it isn’t,” I replied firmly.

“I see.” Kevin looked at me, then at Sullivan, and rocked on his heels. “So why were you looking at my bottles?”

“I’m a collector of rare old bottles,” I lied instantly. “There are a couple of bottles on your shelf that happened to catch my eye.”

None of those bottles appeared, at a glance, to be more than ten years old. Still scrutinizing the ceiling, Sullivan hastily interjected, “Someone must have been a bit careless with the staple gun.”

Kevin followed his gaze and replied, “Taylor, I guess.” He looked at me with a raised eyebrow and, for some reason, winked. “Jill hired him do some odd jobs around the house last week. I didn’t connect Taylor’s recent handiwork with the fact that the phone in the den hasn’t been working.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Sullivan promised.

“That’s okay. Really. I’ll fix it myself later. As you can surmise, we hardly ever use the phone in that room anyway. My wife prefers the cordless from the kitchen.”

“Even so. I’ll get some phone cord and redo this for you,” Sullivan said. “I like to make sure my rooms are perfect.”

“That’s really not necessary.” Kevin paused, rocked on his heels again, and regarded us coolly. “So. How long are you two going to keep this up?”

“Keep
what
up?” Sullivan asked, innocence personified.

“This crap about both of you coming down here to look at the one staple in the cord. Do you really think you’re fooling me?”

“Pardon?” I asked, affecting the same look of innocent ignorance that Sullivan had donned.

Kevin ignored me. He said to Sullivan, “Jill assumes you’re gay, but I’ve seen the way you look at Erin when her back is turned. You two have a thing going, don’t you?”

“He caught us, Erin,” Sullivan said.

He strode over to me and rested his arm around my shoulders, and I played along and flung my arm around his waist. He was every bit as well toned as he appeared to be.

My cheeks were growing ever warmer, and I babbled to Kevin, “It helps Steve’s business sometimes when his female customers think that he’s gay. They’re more willing to listen to his ideas about fabrics and colors.”

“Hence the ruse,” Sullivan added.

Kevin gave me another of his patented lascivious grins, still undressing me with his eyes. “Can’t say as I blame you one bit, dude.”

“What did you think?” Sullivan asked as we left the
McBrides’ home several minutes later. An icy breeze greeted us the moment that we stepped away from the ell of their house.

“You did a terrific job. I liked everything about your room.” I couldn’t help but tease him: “Especially the mounted fish. That was a really nice touch.”

“I
meant
about the arsenic in the basement, and don’t push my buttons, Gilbert. There was nothing I could do about the stupid fish and you know it.”

We stopped by the door of Sullivan’s van, parked next to mine in front of the McBrides’ garage. “I never actually saw that arsenic bottle.”

“It was on the second shelf,” Sullivan replied, “half-hidden behind other bottles. No way is their having arsenic a coincidence. Kevin or Jill must have killed Randy. I should go to the police, don’t you think?”

“You might only succeed in turning yourself into their new chief suspect. Which is about all
I
accomplished by going to them about the cyanide.”

“Yeah, but . . . it’s so suspicious, that bottle of poison in Kevin’s workshop.”

“Which is why it’s so weird that Kevin or Jill would have simply left it out in the open, if they knew about its being there. Someone else could have sneaked into the McBrides’ house at some point and stashed the bottle there to frame them.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think anyone framed them. I think that’s why Kevin was so anxious not to leave us alone in his workshop. He had no way to know anyone would be looking around there before he had the chance to get rid of the bottle. The guy’s a lech, and I wouldn’t trust him as far as you could throw him.”

My attention wandered to a blue sedan on the street that had slowed as it drew closer to the house. It seemed to me that the neighborhood was overdue for another police visit, and I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if this turned out to be an unmarked police vehicle. The driver backed up and parked on the street, then a stocky man with a dark complexion climbed out of his vehicle and headed toward us. My heart sank. A police officer. He was in a suit and tie, but the casual attire of Crestview made this almost as obvious a police uniform as the standard blues.