Death by Inferior Design Read Online Free PDF

my bong or anything. That sucker’s still missing.”
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Taylor! You promised your mother you were off the drugs!”
    “I am! I was just kidding! Jeez, it’s like nobody can take a joke anymore!”
    “Not about you and drugs, no, we can’t. Not just three months after you got out of jail.”
    I clicked my tongue. So Taylor had a problem with drugs—or he had once had a problem. That was all well and good, but couldn’t they get back to discussing the hidden compartment? I wasn’t eavesdropping to give my ears a workout; I wanted to learn the who and why behind my baby picture having been stored in the wall of people I barely knew!
    “Tell me the truth, Taylor. It doesn’t matter now, either way. Did you put that hole in my wall?”
    “Thank you,” I whispered, craning my neck toward the stairwell.
    The doorbell rang, and I jumped in my seat and pricked my finger with a pin. The conversation upstairs became unintelligible murmurings. The doorbell rang again. Carl called down, “Erin? Can you get that?”
    I called back, “Sure thing,” then stuck my bleeding finger in my mouth. This was what I got for eavesdropping. Later, I would just come right out and ask Carl if he’d figured out who put the hole in the wall. Not that he’d tell me the truth. Or that, without revealing my own vulnerability, I’d be able to offer a reasonable explanation for why it mattered so much to me who owned the love letters I’d discovered there. Oh, well, you see, Mr. Henderson, I’m simply dying to know whether or not your wife is cheating on you, and your voices just weren’t projecting over the doorbell. Speak up, man!
    Kevin McBride was at the door. He gave me his usual lascivious once-over as I invited him inside. With his eyes riveted to my breasts, he said, “Sullivan asked me to come over here and fetch Taylor. As a matter of fact, he insisted that I tell you to—quote, unquote—‘quit hogging the carpenter.’ We’ve got an entertainment center for him to build.”
    Typical of Sullivan, to try to sabotage my progress by grabbing Taylor. “How do you like Steve’s room design so far?”
    “It’s great. Though I gotta admit, all I really care about is the new, top-of-the-line Barcalounger.”
    “Steve Sullivan is putting a Barcalounger into your den?” I all but shrieked. Sullivan’s designs were usually so sleek and clean-lined—something of an Americanized Asian style. It was not like him to choose a chair with that much bulk and curvature. “Was that at your request?”
    “You bet. And it’s going to be fantastic! Leather, built-in footrest, and storage places under the armrests for a couple of beers and the remote control. Steve says it’ll be delivered tomorrow. I can’t wait.” Grinning, Kevin added in a conspiratorial voice, “Sorry to tell you this, sweetie pie, but Steve described the chair to Randy, and it’s all over for you. The guy’s ten shades of green. Randy practically started drooling on the spot!”
    “Maybe his weak heart was acting up,” I snapped. Damn it! If I was going to lose this competition to Steve Sullivan, it had better not be on the basis of one testosterone-soaked recliner! “Those chairs are really expensive. I’m surprised he had enough money in the budget for materials for an entertainment center.”
    Still grinning, Kevin said, “I know. But he said somebody owed him a favor and sold it to him at cost. He said it was a real steal.”
    I ground my teeth. It’s a truism in this business that a designer is only as good as his or her sources. Trust Sullivan to suck up to exactly the right one.
    “Just wait till I rub this in Carl’s face!”
    “Congratulations, Kevin. I’m sure your wife will love her new chair.”
    “My wife?” The compact, muscular man froze on the staircase and pivoted to face me. “But it’s my chair! It’s . . . leather. You know. Leather. Cattle hide.” He made a motion as though he were cracking an