Free Design on a Crime by Ginny Aiken Page B

brisk beat.
    Where did this sleazoid get off demanding answers, anyway? I was innocent. Well, innocent of everything except for maybe a wee bit of trespassing and eavesdropping. But what
was his deal?

    "So now that we're on our way to freedom, Dutch, how
about you tell me what you were doing in Marge's trash
shed?"
    "I found you there, and I asked first. How about an
answer?"
    Thank goodness the strip mall was only about a block
away. I'd had enough of Dutch. "I told you I came to pay my
condolences-"
    "Uh-huh. And the moon is made of marshmallows, and
Mars of ketchup and beets."
    "Gross!" I'd take a diversion any day. "Good thing you
didn't go into cooking, even if you're a less than excellent
builder-"
    "You don't know a thing about me, so don't condemn me
until you do. If you recall the stories you seem familiar with,
I won that suit."
    "That means nothing. Lawyers come in all stripes, and they
twist the truth every which way but up."
    "Not in my case."
    I stopped in my tracks. "The house slid down the hill."
    He got in my face. "Because my subcontractor cut corners
when he drilled into the hill to install the support beams for
the house. Instead of going twenty feet down, he only went
ten. He also used cheap cement to anchor them. It was full
of sand and practically melted in that monsoon we had. He
made a killing off not just me, but a bunch of other contractors and then skipped to Rio. I proved it, and it's a matter of
public record."

    I gaped. Then I scoffed. "If that's the case, then why
does your name still reek of old fish in the Seattle business
community?"
    He ground his teeth. I saw his cheek muscles flex.
    "I'm the one who uncovered the subcontractor's rip-off."
His voice came out as tight as those muscles. "I pulled the
plug on a scam that took in some of the area's major players. They hate to look gullible, so they resent me for naming
them as fellow dupes. That kind of thing puts a damper on
referrals."
    He could be telling the truth. Then again, this could be the
smoke screen he and his lawyer had cooked up. "I reserve
the right to doubt you, if you don't mind."
    "That's what the masses in Seattle decided to do."
    I'd hit the nail on the head. He felt he'd been treated unfairly
because of what someone else had done. Hmm ... sounded
familiar. I could wind up paying for someone else's crime if
things didn't go my way.
    "You have a valid point." I resumed my walk toward
my car. "But you still haven't said what you were doing at
Marge's house."
    He gave me a sideways look. "You still see it as Marge's
house?"
    "Of course it's Marge's house. Whose would it be? Steve
can't even pay taxes on the place with his teacher's salary."
    "Has it occurred to you that, as Marge's heir, the house will
be yours as soon as it clears probate?" Green eyes raked me.
"Either you're really, really good, or you're innocent."
    My ears buzzed. I felt dizzy. I swayed, then fought to regain
control. I couldn't let him see how he'd affected me. "That house hasn't crossed my mind, not for one single moment.
So that makes me really good at what?"

    "At deflecting suspicion."
    "So we're back to your stupid accusation. Maybe it's obsession. I told you once, and I'll tell you again: I didn't kill
Marge."
    I didn't know whether his eyes were icy or fiery green, but
I did know they gave me the willies.
    He finally said, "You could be telling the truth, but as I
said, you could also be a very, very good actress."
    "Okay. This chat's over."
    I ran to my Honda and started it up.
    To my right, Dutch got into a dented blue pickup. Then he
just sat, his green eyes boring holes in me. To get away from
that stare, I pulled out of my parking spot and into traffic.
    He followed.
    I hurried home. The eau de ripe refuse was getting to me.
The thought of a long, sudsy shower exerted a powerful pull.
But no matter how fast I drove or how many off-the-wall
turns I took, Dutch stuck to my rear bumper like lint to