Death by Inferior Design Read Online Free

the two men carried out armloads of paperbacks, I removed the corner bead from the aspen paneling on the accent wall. The sensation of ripping out boards has always greatly appealed to me. For one thing, it marks the no-turning-back-now portion of the journey, just like breaking a bottle of champagne on a ship’s bow. For another thing, the nails as they’re wrenched free make a really cool noise.
    This paneling, which the Hendersons faced from their bed, was on a short wall that they had to round in order to reach their dressing area and bathroom. The floor plan necessitated that the large chest remain against this south wall, but placing wood furniture against a wood wall in nearly identical tones is a mistake. My remedy was yummy wallpaper with an elegant pattern that had a light burgundy—claret—background and champagne gold as the accent color.
    I began my demolition on one side of wall, Carl and Taylor on the other. They were making short work of the task and had about half of the boards removed when Taylor asked, “Hey, Carl? Mind if I keep these boards and use ’em in my trailer? I’ll burn the cracked ones in the fireplace ’n’ install one of those kinds of decorating thingamajigs where the paneling comes halfway up the wall.”
    “Wainscoting,” I couldn’t help but interject, alarmed that a supposed first-rate carpenter wouldn’t immediately know that term.
    “You may as well, Taylor,” Carl answered. “Might make Debbie feel better to know someone was getting some use out of it. This paneling was her favorite thing in the room.”
    “Wait a minute, Carl!” I cried. “Why didn’t you tell me that when I was asking you what your wife might want?”
    He shrugged. “You’re the designer. I didn’t want to cramp your style. ’Specially not when there’s a Super Bowl ticket riding on it.”
    “But this is your and your wife’s room! I’d have been happy to forgo the wallpaper and work the paneling into my design.” Horrified, I looked at the pile of thin tongue-and-groove boards we’d made. Most were cracked and dented. “Now it’s too late. . . .”
    “Then there’s no sense sweating about it now, Gilbert,” Taylor said with a sneer.
    I glared at him and almost sniped, Thanks for the advice, Einstein, but for once kept my mouth shut, realizing it wasn’t in my best interest to antagonize my time-share carpenter. “Please call me Erin, not Gilbert.”
    I went back to ripping out boards with a vengeance. One short board suddenly fell off the wall before I’d even touched it.
    “Uh-oh,” I said. “This had better not be a dry-rot problem.” I knelt to take a close look.
    “What’s that?” Taylor asked, leaning down to look over my shoulder.
    “Looks like a secret compartment,” Carl replied.
    “Weird,” Taylor muttered.
    I reached inside the small cubbyhole, which looked as though someone had punched through the drywall and then chipped at its edges. The opening was roughly eighteen inches above the floor and was large enough for me to reach my arm through past the elbow and touch the floorboards. The first thing my fingertips brushed against felt like a delicate chain, and I managed to pinch it between my fingers and lift it out. It was a necklace— a lovely onyx cameo on an old-fashioned chain of gold links. The intricate carving of a woman’s face in profile against a pink coral background was stunning. With the delicacy of Belgian lace, the gold setting framed the petite carving beautifully. This cameo appeared to be a family heirloom, as opposed to a priceless possession. Why would someone hide such a beautiful personal item inside a wall?
    “Is this Debbie’s?” I asked Carl.
    He shook his head, but his cheeks had gone crimson and his jaw looked tight enough to crack his teeth. I reached inside again and pulled out a sheaf of folded papers. They were tied with a red satin ribbon. Love letters, no doubt. I set the stack on the floor near my feet and reached one