sight of the blue uniform. A police officer entered the studio, followed by a second officer.
"Morning," the first man said with a solemn nod. "I'm
Officer Dantley. This is Officer Riggs."
Steve rose and shook their hands. "Steve Sullivan.
And this is my partner, Erin Gilbert." His features were
drawn, and I knew he had every bit as bad a feeling about
this visit as I did.
Officer Riggs nodded at me. "We met last year, Ms.
Gilbert."
"That's right. At the benefit." I had a good friend,
Linda Delgardio, who was on the Crestview police force.
"We've been told you both were in a class at CU last
night taught by Richard Thayers. True?"
"Yes," Steve managed, his voice uncharacteristically
low. "He was a mentor of mine. He taught some of my
classes at the Art Institute of Colorado when he was living
in Denver."
"We've got some bad news for you," the second officer
said. "Richard Thayers died early this morning."
c h a p t e r 4
Oh, no," I moaned. Steve just gaped at the officers.
"He was poisoned," Officer Dantley said. "At least according to the preliminary tox screens. He drank something that he apparently didn't realize was extremely
poisonous."
The color drained from Steve's face. I rounded my
desk and grabbed his arm. He appeared to be too
shocked to say anything. I resisted the urge to embrace
him and instead asked the policemen, "You mean the
gold paint from last night's class?"
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 43
"That's what it appears to be," Dantley replied. "The
autopsy won't be ready for another day or two."
"According to our information," Riggs interjected,
"he's done that drinking-paint act more than once. This
time it caught up with him."
"That's what a former client of mine in his class said
last night," I muttered.
"Margot Troy?" Officer Riggs asked.
I nodded.
"Professor Thayers had her name circled on his class
roster," Riggs explained. "We spoke with her earlier this
morning. She told us about your being there."
Sullivan pulled away from my grasp and leaned back
onto his desk, gripping the edge so firmly that his knuckles turned white. I wished that the policemen could give
him a minute or two to collect himself.
"Mr. Thayers was obviously feeling ill after drinking
the paint yesterday," I said. "Did he get himself to a doctor?"
Riggs shook his head. "That's where we think he was
heading last night. But he pulled over. Apparently too
sick to keep driving. Unfortunately, he pulled into a
small side street. Nobody saw him there. Or if they did,
they didn't realize he was in distress."
"He died in his car?" I asked.
" 'Bout halfway between the campus and the hospital," he answered with a grim nod. "A jogger found him
in the early hours of the morning."
"He was murdered," Steve insisted. "Someone must
have switched labels on the can . . . fooled him into thinking it was his own nontoxic paint, when he was actually
drinking a toxic product from some other manufacturer.
That's the only reasonable explanation."
44 L e s l i e C a i n e
"We're investigating that possibility, Mr. Sullivan,"
Dantley said sternly. "Although it could also have been a
careless accident, made in the production line. Or
maybe a deliberate act on his own part."
"Suicide, you mean? No way!" Sullivan fired back.
"Mr. Thayers had a half dozen of his environmentally
friendly products in his book bag," Officer Riggs explained, "which he apparently brought to class with him.
First thing the lab did was test all six cans, and they all
had exactly what the label said. 'Cept the gold paint."
"He always drinks that one product," Sullivan said.
"It's the most impressive, because it's metallic. Yet he says
it also thins out with water the best."
There was a pause as both policemen peered at Steve.
"So . . . you knew he added water," Officer Dantley stated.
"Did you share that information with anyone else?"
"No. Not counting Erin. And I only heard about it after the fact. When Richard told me."
familiar with Mr. Thayers's routines," Riggs said.
"We need to interview you two separately," Dantley
said, giving his partner a piercing glare. He had a more
authoritative manner than Riggs, which led me to believe he was his superior officer. "Miss Gilbert, would
you mind coming with me?"
"Uh, no, that's fine." I cast a longing glance at
Sullivan, hating to leave him reeling from the news, as I
followed the policeman through the inner door that led
to the lobby and stairs.
The main entrance to our three-story office building
had a rarely used alcove--rarely used because it was
poorly lit, stark, and unappealing. Dantley and I took
seats on the marble slab of a bench as I recounted for him
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 45
the short history of my dealings with Richard Thayers.
That led to a lengthy discussion about what little I knew
of Richard's relationship with Burke Stratton.
Eventually, we returned to the matter of who could
have been highly familiar with Richard's lesson plans.
"Margot Troy told me she'd taken the class two other
times," I said. "I don't know if anyone else in the class was
a repeat."
He made a notation in his pad. "Anyone in the class
strike you as acting suspicious?"
"A local furniture maker named Matthew Hayes was
heckling Thayers, as I'm sure Margot already told you."
"Yeah. She did." Dantley held my gaze for an uncomfortably long time. "She also said the two of you came in
together last night."
I was surprised and a little offended. How had Margot
even noticed our entrance directly behind her? And why
had she reported such trivia to the police so quickly? "We
weren't together. He held the door for me. We just happened to arrive at the same time. That's all."
"So you didn't talk to him, other than maybe to thank
him for getting the door?"
"Not exactly, no." My seat on the marble bench felt intolerably uncomfortable, so I tried to reposition myself,
then noticed Dantley raise an eyebrow and scribble
something in his pad. "I chatted with him after class. I
was curious about the statements he'd made to Richard."
"Can you recall the exact conversation?"
I took a calming breath and tried to quell the feeling
that I was being investigated as a murder suspect. Nobody
was pointing a finger at me. Officer Dantley was merely
being thorough. Margot, too, must have felt this anxious
during her sudden early-morning police interrogation. I re-46 L e s l i e C a i n e
peated what Matthew and I had said to each other last
night as best I could, omitting Sullivan's and my brief quarrel in Matthew's presence. Afterward, Dantley flipped
back through his notes.
"What's your personal take on Burke Stratto
n?"
"I'm not sure what you mean by 'personal take.' He's
been our client at Sullivan and Gilbert Designs for
around six months. He's trying to win the Earth Love
green home contest. He's a nice guy. Thanks to this contest, he's on the verge of getting major recognition for his
house, and we're helping him."
"Who's 'we'?"
"Steve Sullivan and myself."
"Got any idea what caused the rift between Thayers
and Stratton?"
"All I know is that Burke said he'd hired Richard four
years ago and fired him because he felt his work was
shoddy."
"Had to have been pretty bad, right? Their parting of
the ways, I mean. You said that Thayers warned you he
might damage your professional lives."
"Yes."
He studied my features, waiting, but I had nothing to
add.
"Your partner might be able to fill us in a little better."
Dantley shut his notepad and tucked it into a jacket
pocket. "Wait here, please." He returned to my office,
and I promptly rose. No way would I stay seated on this
uncomfortable bench like a disobedient child waiting for
the principal's punishment; I wanted to know what was
happening in my own office.
After a minute or two, both officers emerged, and
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 47
Riggs said, "Thank you, Ms. Gilbert. Please call the station house if you think of anything important you'd like
to add. We'll be in touch."
Dantley tipped his cap, and they left.
I rushed back into my office, deeply concerned about
Steve. He was staring at the drawing I'd been working on
for Burke. To my dismay, he tore the drawing off my easel
and crumpled it.
"Steve? Do you want to talk about it?"
"It?" he snapped.
"About Richard." I couldn't keep my discouragement
from my voice. Was this how it was always going to be between us? One door opens a crack only to have another one
slam shut in my face? My rose-shaped grape was still sitting in its little cup on the corner of my desk. It seemed to
be shriveling before my very eyes.
"No. Talking won't help. Only getting the bastard who
did this to him will. Seeing him get locked up with the
key thrown away. That's all I care about at this point."
"So when you crumpled Burke's plans for the solarium just now . . . you think he did it?"
"Yeah, actually, I do. I think he hated Richard. I think
it was the last straw for Burke when he found out Richard
was cutting him out of the competition. And I think he
killed him."
"Burke wasn't there last night. And the two of them
have been estranged since before Richard started teaching that class. So, even if he had learned somehow about
Richard's drinking his products, he couldn't have realized that it was always gold paint."
"You don't know that." His hazel eyes were once again
burning with anger. I had to turn away. I slunk toward my
desk. Some defeatist part of my brain whined that this
48 L e s l i e C a i n e
thing between Sullivan and me was just too hard. Not
meant to be. Not worth it. "They were probably friendly
at one time," he said.
"True."
"This is my fault," he muttered, staring at the red and
black oil painting against the exposed brick wall behind
his desk.
"No, it isn't!" I leaned forward on my desk. "Steve.
Please. Don't bludgeon yourself like this!"
"I should have insisted on taking him to the hospital.
I knew something was wrong." His fists were clenched.
He tossed the mangled floor plan into the steel trash
can.
"But he told you he was feeling better. And that appeared to be the truth."
"I should've seen through that. My god, the man
drank poisonous paint right in front of me! And I let him
walk out and try to make his own way to the hospital. All
because I was so wrapped up in you and that Matthew
Hayes joker."
"Oh, Steve! You can't seriously be blaming yourself for
not reading Richard's mind, can you?"
He was grinding his teeth, avoiding my eyes. "I know
in my gut that Burke's guilty."
"But . . . Burke's a successful M.D. He's well respected
in the community. All this green design stuff he does is
just a sideline for him. He doesn't need the winnings.
And he's already won community service awards, so he's
got whatever respect and status he could want."
He sighed. "Maybe that was the problem, Erin." He
was finally calming down a little, thank goodness.
"Maybe he couldn't stand to lose his lofty status. His rep-P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 49
utation was going to get damaged, thanks to Richard.
He's got his pride on the line."
"So you think he decided to murder the contest judge?
Seriously?"
"Image is everything for some people. He loses his
self-image, he's dead. He killed to protect it."
"I guess there have been worse reasons to take someone's life. But . . . he might be innocent." My heart ached
for poor Steve. I felt strongly that he was being much too
hasty to condemn Burke, but at the moment, he needed
my support, not my critique. "We have to honor our contract with Burke, but I think it's best if I handle all our interactions myself, for the time being," I suggested gently.
"Okay?"
Sullivan sighed again, his shoulders sagging. "Why
the hell didn't I insist on taking Richard to a doctor?
What was I thinking?"
He'd already answered that question. He'd been thinking that I was flirting with Matthew Hayes. "I know this is
harsh, but the fact is, Richard was the only person who
could have known for sure how sick he was feeling. His
pride got in the way of asking for help, even when his life
depended on it."
Steve gave me an anguished gaze. "I've got to get out
of here for a while. Clear my head." He grabbed his coat
and headed out the door without a backward glance.
I sank miserably into my chair. Why had I argued with
him? Just once, couldn't I have said what I'd really been
feeling? Thrown my arms around him and told him how
much I cared?
Even as I asked myself those questions, an answer niggled at me. I'd been afraid to test his reaction. It would
have been unbearably painful for me if Sullivan had
50 L e s l i e C a i n e
pushed me away and blamed me for distracting him from
Richard's plight last night.
A minute or two later, the door opened, and I whirled
around, hoping Steve had already returned. Instead it
was Burke Stratton. I remembered we had an appointment this morning and as usual, he was right on time.
His face looked ashen, though his complexion was always quite pale. He was a bookish man in his early forties
with Nordic coloring--blond with gentle blue eyes behind his thick wire-framed oval lenses.
With no preamble and without removing his parka,
Burke asked, "Did you hear what happened to Richard
Thayers?" He winced immediately and held up a palm.
"Never mind. You must have." He dropped into
the
Sheraton chair in front of my desk. "I bumped into Steve
just now. He wouldn't talk to me. He barely even looked
at me."
"He's upset."
"The two of them were friends?"
"Yes. Thayers used to be his favorite professor, and
they'd kept in touch over the years." I peered at him,
thinking how ironic it would have been if Richard had
made it to the emergency room last night, and if Burke--
his arch enemy--had been there. "How did you hear
about his death so quickly? Were you at the hospital
when they found him?"
He shook his head. "I phoned Earth Love first thing
this morning, trying to get a handle on when they're going to hold my hearing. The receptionist was in tears."
"I wonder how they found out."
"The police. Richard probably had a business card in
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 51
his wallet." He searched my eyes. "Is this going to be a
problem?"
"Pardon?"
"Steve Sullivan. And his friendship with Richard
Thayers. The way he looked at me . . . the glare on his
face . . . it was as if he thought I had killed the guy."
"I'm sure that's not true," I lied. "He glares all the time
when he's thinking. It's one of his standard facial expressions."
Burke stared at the maple flooring by his feet. "If
somebody actually murdered Richard, it wasn't me, Erin.
I'm a doctor, for God's sake. I save lives. Or at least, I used
to, and will again. I've been doing medical research the
past few years."
"You have? I thought you worked at the hospital."
"I do. But in the lab. I used to be a pediatrician, but
when my son died, I needed to take a break from patient
care."
"Your son died? Oh, how horrible! I'm so sorry to hear
that!"
He nodded. "Almost four years ago. Before I moved
here from Denver. Childhood leukemia. I thought I'd
mentioned that when you were looking at the pictures in
my house."
"No. You'd just said it was your ex-wife and your son. I
assumed your wife had full custody." It had been a reasonable conclusion; I'd seen for myself already that he
had no boy's bedroom or toys in his home, just a Raggedy
Andy doll in the corner of the master bedroom.
"I wish that was all there was to it. Then Caleb would
still be alive." He was battling such sorrow that my heart
ached for the poor man. "But in any case, Erin, I swear. I
52 L e s l i e C a i n e