Fatal Feng Shui (14 page)

chapter 15

T
he next day, a few minutes after noon, a client
called the office and rescheduled her one o’clock appointment; we suddenly found ourselves with a long lunch break. I grabbed my coat and told Sullivan that I’d see him at two.

“You heading home for lunch?” he asked.

“No, I’m going to pay an unscheduled visit to Shannon’s.”

“But didn’t they say they’d be gone all afternoon?”

“Exactly. And David’s crew will be on their lunch break right now. This is the perfect chance for me to snoop around for clues into Taylor’s murder.”

He grabbed his navy blue pea coat. “I’m coming with you.”

“Jeez! Someone took the plywood down!” Sullivan was
staring at the house as I pulled into the Youngs’ driveway.

Indeed, someone had removed the covering over the framed-out window, yet there were no cars or trucks in the driveway. I caught a glimpse of someone with white hair ducking out of sight. “I think Pate’s inside.”

Sullivan cursed under his breath and bolted out of the car before I’d barely come to a full stop. As I trotted after him, he shouted, “Pate! What the hell are you doing here?”

Pate leaned through the window opening. His cheeks were pink. He looked like the proverbial kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Uh, borrowing some nails.”

“Cut the crap!”

He sighed. “I’m undoing a harmless but stupid prank I pulled a couple weeks ago.”

“What ‘prank’?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

Sullivan vaulted through the opening for the window to investigate matters for himself. “Let me see that,” he demanded. He snatched a brown paper bag from Pate and rifled through its contents. “Nails and screws,” he muttered. He shoved the bag back into Pate’s chest, who grudgingly accepted it, still looking deeply embarrassed. “You’ve been swapping their supplies with ones that are wrong for the job!”

“’Fraid so. Like I said. It was just a dumb prank.”

Sullivan uttered a few choice curse words. He turned toward me. “Erin. Call Officer Delgardio. We need to report this to the police.”

“There’s no need for that,” Pate said. “It was no big deal. And I’m trying to fix things now.”

“You’re trying to cover your tracks, you mean,” Sullivan snarled. “So you broke into Shannon’s house.”

He shook his head. “I’m undoing the damage. Replacing everything I took.” He peered over my shoulder. “Where’s your van, Erin? Are you driving a rental car all of a sudden?”

I had no intention of answering. “What in God’s name were you thinking, Pate? Were you forcing our carpenters to use smaller nails and screws so that the construction would fall apart?”

“No! I was just having a little fun. Playing a stupid practical joke. Switching hex screws for flat-heads…that kind of thing. After Taylor’s accident, I realized how idiotic my stunt had been. Not to mention badly timed. I’ve been watching for the chance to remedy things ever since. This was my first opportunity.”

“Wait a second!” I exclaimed. “Did you change the size of the nails that Taylor had been using?”

Maybe his death
was
an accident after all. Albeit caused by Pate’s “little fun.”

“Good Lord, no, Erin! That could have caused a hideous—” He stopped. He held the bag open so I could see. “Look! I only swapped boxes of individual nails, not the strips for nail guns. This has nothing whatsoever to do with your brother’s death.”

Gravel crunched from the driveway behind me. I glanced back. David Lewis had returned with two members of his crew. He was gaping at us as he parked his truck.

“How are we supposed to believe you?” Sullivan demanded. “We caught you red-handed!”

“What’s going on?” David strode across the lawn, his hands fisted.

“Not much,” Pate replied. “I’d had a few too many beers one night and messed with your building materials.”

“You what?!”

“Erin and Steve here caught me trying to make it right again. Like they say, no good deed goes unpunished.”

“You call this a
good deed
?” Sullivan retorted.

Ignoring him, Pate said, “Erin, I’m…sorry. Tell Shannon I’m giving her a check for ten thousand as compensation for my stupidity. Made out to No Big Boxes.”

“You’re trying to buy a clear conscience?” Steve fired back.

“No, man. I’m just trying to compensate for a stupid but harmless act.” He reached into his back pocket and removed a folded sheet of paper. “Here.” He held it out to me. “I figured there was a chance I’d get caught in the act, so I made this out already.”

I took it from him and opened the paper while he pivoted and walked away. It was the ten-thousand-dollar check, folded inside a note that read:

I, Pate Hamlin, in compensation for an act of mischief that involved exchanging two boxes of nails and three boxes of screws for dissimilar products, am hereby making a donation to No Big Boxes. In no way is this to be taken as an admission of liability for any problems whatsoever that ensued on the property at 1580 Jay Hawk Road, belonging to Shannon Dupree Young and Michael Young.

I thrust the note at Sullivan and charged after Pate. I was so angry that I could barely see straight. “Wait!” He stopped on the sidewalk across the street, and I ran up to him, ready and willing to attack him physically. “Did you kill my brother?”

“No. Erin, I swear to you on my own life, I did
not
kill your brother. I liked Taylor. I would never kill anyone. And I didn’t start the fire, either. Yes, I’ve been having some fun with Shannon…designing motifs that drive her crazy with all her feng shui nonsense…swapping carpentry supplies…But that’s all.”

“Feng shui is really
not
nonsense, Mr. Hamlin. There’s a reason it’s endured for six thousand years.”

“Maybe so. But then, so have chopsticks. You don’t see Western culture finding enlightenment in
those
old-culture ways, now do you?”

“Comparing feng shui and chopsticks is hardly fair.”

“True.” He grinned at me. “At least it made you think long enough to stop yelling at me.”

“If our positions were reversed, I’d imagine you’d yell, too.”

“Hell. I’d do more than yell at you. I’d have wrung your neck.” He gazed at my neck for a moment. I felt my cheeks warm. He lowered his voice. “You know who I think is guilty?”

I said nothing, not wanting to allow him to assume that he was off the hook.

“Shannon’s pseudo-Asian friend.”

“Ang Chung? Why?”

“He had the most to gain. From the fire. And from your brother’s death. He’s been bilking Shannon and Michael for months with all his phony compasses and charts and yin-yangs. Plus Shannon had a thing for your brother.”

“She did?” Taylor had told me about Rebecca Berringer. He’d never mentioned Shannon.

“That’s right. I saw them making out through the window. That one.” I looked where he pointed. The window was in the spare bedroom.

If Shannon had been involved with Taylor, it could only have been the shallowest possible of relationships; two more different people were difficult to imagine. Could that have given Michael a motive to murder Taylor? Even though Michael had been fooling around himself?

Pate continued, “Happened a couple of days before Taylor died. Ang Chung was standing in front of my house, drawing some silly map. He had to have seen them, too.”

“Even if Ang
did
see the two kissing, why would he have cared? Are you saying he and Shannon were lovers?”

“Uh, no. Rebecca told me that Ang’s gay. But Taylor was a threat. He knew Ang was a phony. Taylor was gaining influence over Shannon, so Ang was afraid Taylor’d be taking away the goose that kept laying his golden eggs.”

I gave him no reply. I glanced over my shoulder. Steve was glaring at us. I waved the check at Pate. “Thanks for your donation. It’s very generous. If contrary to your own interests.”

He chuckled. “Ah, my lawyer suggested it. Besides, I already told Shannon I’m knocking another twenty K off my bid on her property. So I don’t deserve any Boy Scout badges.”

“You’re still trying to buy her home?”

He shrugged. “’Course I am. It’s good business. Meantime, property values here are sinking every day. She can sell to me now, or for a lot less later.”

“You’re right, Pate. You’re no Boy Scout. Quite the opposite.”

“I’m a businessman. And this is business.” He said gently, “But I would never do anything to hurt you or your family, Erin.”

“Not unless it was good for your business.”

“You misjudge my intentions, Erin.” He reached out, and for a moment I thought he was going to take back his check, but he merely touched my hand, then turned and headed toward his house.

Once again, Audrey was pacing anxiously when I got
home at the end of the day. “Everything was exactly as I suspected,” she announced without preamble. “Chef Michael canceled his appearance tomorrow. Claims he has a head cold, but he didn’t even have the decency to fake a case of the sniffles. He’s
leaving
my show.”

Hildi trotted up to me, and I swept her into my arms. She purred appreciatively. “He was
that
upset over his combo salad tongs/pepper mill?”

“No. As I suspected all along, that nonsensical invention of his was a setup. He already had his irons in another fire. A friend of mine from the studio caught him shooting an ad with Rebecca Berringer. She was announcing the newest addition to her cast. The ‘incomparable Chef Michael.’”

“He’s switching to Rebecca’s show? Seems strange she’d hire him, considering she claims to have recently dumped the guy.”

“She’s supposedly happy as a clam about it. Apparently, she was so bubbly during the filming of the ad, she was a human Alka-Seltzer. Which is ironic, because she’s so nauseating.”

“I wonder when he was planning to tell you he was breaking his contract with you.”

“The answer is tomorrow morning, although it may come as a surprise to him.”

I stifled a “Yikes,” thinking that Sullivan and I were meeting with Michael—and Shannon—tomorrow morning. Earlier this evening, Shannon reported Pate’s “robbery, break-in, and criminal mischief” to the police, despite his “cheap-ploy donation” to her cause. (Sullivan and I had been working clear across town by then, but Shannon had gotten us up to speed over the phone.) Apparently Pate was filing countercharges against her for attacking him: She’d insisted that she deserved more than ten grand, so he’d offered to name the BaseMart repair garage “Shannon’s Feng Shui Fix ’em Good Car Shop.”

“You’re going to call Michael in the morning?” I asked Audrey hopefully. “Or talk to him at the studio?”

“No, I’m planning on confronting him at his house. With any luck, Erin, you’ll be there to back me up.”

After breakfast the next morning, while I milked an already
cold cup of mint tea, Audrey peered over her newspaper and asked what my schedule for the day was. I gave her a deliberately vague, “Various appointments with clients.” My hope was that she’d take off immediately for Michael’s house, so their confrontation would be over and done with by the time I arrived.

“And are any of your various client appointments with Michael Young?” she persisted.

“Yes.”

“What time?”

“Nine-thirty. Give or take. The Youngs will be coming from their hotel.”

“Are you and Steve going together?”

“No, he’s meeting me there.”

“Wonderful! I’ll follow you. I’m not actually all that sure where they live.”

She paid no attention when I tried to give her directions. I resorted to telling her directly that I didn’t want her business with Michael to coincide with mine—that it would strain my relationship with him. Audrey ignored me. She had long ago mastered the art of selective hearing.

We arrived in our separate vehicles, despite my attempts to lose her at a couple of traffic lights. I asked Audrey if she could please either go first and allow me to wait a couple of minutes before going up to the house, or vice versa. She merely shrugged off the request with a curt “We’re both going to the door now. Don’t worry. He isn’t going to think the worse of you for accompanying me.”

“How do you know that? It’s going to look like we planned this as a show of strength, both of us arriving at his door to confront him about his contract with your show. Yet he and I are involved in a completely different business relationship.”

“I’ll be tactful, Erin. Everything will be fine.”

No doubt General Custer had made similar assurances to his troops. She all but glued herself to my shoulder as we walked up the path to the house. She gestured for me to knock, and I obliged.

Michael swept open the door, his smile fading when he saw Audrey beside me. “Morning,” he said to me, talking loudly over the carpenters’ sawing and hammering in the background. He shifted his gaze to Audrey. “This is a surprise.”

“I thought I’d bring you some chicken soup for your cold,” she announced, extracting a store-brand soup can from her bulgy leather purse and holding it out to him. “You seem to have made a remarkable recovery.”

He sighed. Then he spread his arms and said, “You caught me. I didn’t really have a cold. I’m switching to Rebecca’s show. It was just business, Audrey. Her show is higher rated than yours.”

She dropped the can back into her purse. “It won’t be for long, Mr. Young. I plan on using every possible
ethical
method at my disposal to boost my ratings.”

“Like what? Short of replacing yourself with a younger hostess, that is.”

I winced and took a step back. Audrey merely replied, “You’ll be hearing from my lawyers, Mr. Young.”

“About
what
? You plan on forcing me to appear on your show till my contract expires, fine. Just be prepared for a surly guest chef who spends all his time demonstrating his combo salad tongs/pepper mill.”

Audrey retorted, “I suggest you reread your contract first. Especially the clause about advertising and self-promotion.” She turned on a heel and tossed a cheery, “Have a good day,” over her shoulder. She brushed past me without saying a word, her head held high. I watched her leave, wishing I could applaud without offending my client.