Fatal Feng Shui (19 page)

“Oh, my gosh.” I dropped back into my seat and flipped to the last page. I stared at the two signatures on the bottom—David’s and Taylor’s—and at the date that each man had printed. “This was just the day before Taylor died! Does the signature look like Taylor’s?”

She gave me a grim nod. “It’s his handwriting. I’m sure of it.”

“Strange timing,” I muttered and started reading the terms of the contract.

“It’s all pretty clear-cut,” Emily said in a sad voice. “Taylor agreed to receive two thousand dollars for the idea itself. He’d get bonuses as well…but only if a ton of the units were sold.”

“Oh, jeez. That’s pathetic! He sold his big idea for peanuts.”

“Yeah. And to his
boss.
” Emily added bitterly.

I was holding the contract with clenched fists. “This is just…” I let my voice fade as I took stock of Emily’s expression. She was clearly both livid and heartbroken about her son having been duped. It would be best for me to wait till I’d talked to David yet again before telling her that Pate claimed to have paid him ten grand last year for “his” idea.

Could Taylor have learned about David’s deception and gotten into a fight to the death with him? And maybe Shannon had uncovered David’s murderous role, so he killed her too.

“Emily, back before his final stint in jail, did Taylor ever mention the name David Lewis to you?”

“No. They’d just met for the first time when Taylor interviewed for the job. Not even two weeks before he was killed.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Positive.”

I nodded, then skimmed through the rest of the document, looking for a reference to Pate. I found none. “Is Pate Hamlin’s name in this contract? Or BaseMart?”

“No. And I’ve read every word.”

“What about Pied Piper? That’s the brand name for the BaseMart product line.”

“No. The contract is a personal agreement between Taylor and David. It says David’s buying all rights to the All-Position Workstation. That’s all. No one else is involved. Why?”

I looked at the date again and sighed. “The thing is, Taylor’s design is already being marketed at BaseMart stores.” Emily’s eyes widened. “BaseMart must’ve had the design in the works for at least a year now.”

“But…that could only be possible if somebody stole the idea back when Taylor was first building the prototype. Before he was put in jail.”

“Are you
sure
he got a patent…in his name?”

Emily furrowed her brow. “I
assumed
so. He was all excited about the initial feedback. But then we had that falling-out, and he went to jail, and I never actually saw the physical documentation for his patent.”

I gestured at the contract. “Can I keep this for a while?”

“Of course. Are you going to take it to the police?”

“Yes.” Soon. “And I’m going to get to the bottom of it myself, as well.”

She mustered a weak smile. “Thank you, Erin. Thank God I have at least one person on my side. And on Taylor’s.”

David Lewis was hunched over some blueprints on his
desk when I arrived. We exchanged a few words of chitchat, then I asked, “Where are those patents for the workstation you said you’d show me?”

“I’ll have my secretary fax you the information about the contract with Pate in another day or two,” he snapped. “What’s the rush? It won’t bring him back to life.”

“I am well aware of that. Tell you what…you can just have her send everything straight to the Crestview police. We’ll let them untangle the whole thing.”

“Jesus God! Give it a rest, Erin! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“That’s impossible for me to believe.” I reached for my cell phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“The police.”

“Wait. There’s…no need to get them involved. Okay. I’ll…tell you the whole story.”

“Go ahead, David, but I’m warning you, I’m convinced this is a matter for the police, and my patience is at an end.” I dropped into a chair.

He hesitated, then released a gusty sigh of resignation. “About a year ago, Duncan comes stumbling into my office, high as a kite. He claims he wants a job, but he’s obviously doing everything he can to sabotage the interview. This was right at the end of the day, a Friday, and I’d just been given a six-pack for winning a little bet. I figure, what the hell. I offer him a beer, and we wind up shooting the breeze. He tells me about this design for a computer workstation he’s putting together in his basement. I didn’t think the guy should be driving, so I do the responsible thing and give him a ride home. All the way to Lafayette. He shows me his model, gives me the blueprints, asks if I want to be partners.”

David spread his arms energetically, trying, too late, to be appealing. “Thing is, it’s not half bad, you know? I’m thinking, with a little work and revision, who knows? Maybe this idea could be worth a couple grand. So I figure, I’ll help the guy out, maybe find out how to go about getting a product out on the market. He gives me a copy of his blueprints. I give him my business card, tell him to stop by my office next week some time.” He snorted. “I never hear from the guy again. Meantime, I’ve been working with this connection…well, with Pate Hamlin, as you know, and things are happening. I knew Taylor’s name and where he lived, but that’s all. So, three or four months later, I went back to his place. Nobody’s home. I left my business card again, but he never called. Then, a couple weeks ago, he strolls into my office for the second time. The guy obviously has no recollection of our ever having met….”

I was seething. I believed his story this time, but it was also painfully easy to read between the lines. All he had to do was glance inside Emily’s mailbox and he’d have learned her last name. “E. Blaire” was listed in the phone book, along with her address. With a minimal effort, he could have located Taylor. He hadn’t
wanted
to find him. “So you stole his design.”

“Not true. I’d made so many changes by then that it was
my
design.”

I rose and rounded my chair—a pathetic piece of furniture, a flimsy, mud-colored, metal folding chair, which this pathetic man felt was adequate for potential clients. I gripped its backrest, wishing I were the sort of person who could bash him over the head with it. Just as
he
very well might have done to
me
the other night. “We’re going to have to let the courts decide that.”

“Get real!” He threw up his hands as if I were guilty of exasperating
him
. “I’ve made all of two thousand dollars on the design! Pate says he’ll be lucky to break even. We gave it a shot, but it didn’t sell.”

I wasn’t about to reveal that Pate had told me he’d paid five times that amount, and that I had a copy of David’s and Taylor’s contract, signed well after David had already fraudulently sold the design. The man was a swindler and we both knew it. “Maybe an icky BaseMart store was the wrong market for my brother’s design.”

“Before you get all high and mighty on me, remember that
I
was the one who gave your no-account brother a good job, when nobody would hire the guy to clean their gutters. He made more working for me, and doing a lousy job, too, by the way, than I did on his input for the design.”

“Let me tell you something, Mr. Lewis. My mother told me that somebody denigrated his idea and his prototype, and that it broke his spirit. She was talking about
you.
You deliberately lied to him about his invention’s viability, so you could get it from him for a pittance.
Then
my brother died, with a nail in his head, at the work site where
you
hired him to work!”
I was taking the contract straight to the police.

David’s face was now crimson. He spat out, “I’m sorry about that, but I didn’t kill him. Our computer desk design has
nothing
to do with his death.”

I started to lift the folding chair, still longing to hurl it at his face. I set it back down. Resorting to physical violence was stupid. I pivoted and said over my shoulder, “My advice for you is to get a lawyer.”

chapter 21

Y
ou’ve been distracted all evening,” Audrey re-
marked as I picked at my beef stew that night.

My argument with David Lewis was still too raw, so I decided to spare us both from relating that sad story. “Detective O’Reilly told me today that there were financial records in Shannon’s files that made it look like Shannon had stolen five thousand dollars worth of No Big Boxes donations. But
Tracy
was doing your bookkeeping, right?”

“After taking over for Shannon. Who was impossibly disorganized when it came to any kind of paperwork. But there is absolutely no
way
Shannon would have embezzled funds. She’d have lost something like fifty times that amount if BaseMart succeeded in building by her house. She donated ten K herself!”

“At some point could she have decided she wanted a partial refund?”

Audrey shook her head. “She made the donation months ago, when BaseMart was trying to move into city limits. If she wanted to take half of it back, she’d have discussed it with me first. And I’d have made up the difference.”

Maybe she’d been too embarrassed to do so, I thought, but kept the remark to myself. Instead, I told her about Pate’s handgun being the one that wound up in my coat pocket, and my certainty that my empty file folder had been planted in his office. “My hunch is that Pate’s records were planted in Shannon’s cabinet and doctored to make it look like she was embezzling funds.”

“Why?”

“To frame
me
for her murder.”

“The police think
you
would kill Shannon because you found out she’d supposedly embezzled a measly five thousand dollars? Out of a campaign you were barely even part of?”

“Well, more importantly because Shannon’s fingerprints were on Taylor’s nail gun. Which I’m thinking got there when she happened to pick it up at some point.”

“What nonsense! Considering you as a suspect is preposterous! Wasn’t Steve with you the whole time?”

“For all but a minute or so.” I sighed, not able to muster any righteous indignation at the moment. “Is it possible that
Tracy
was acting as an amateur double agent? That she was working for Pate all along, and not for No Big Boxes?”

“You think Tracy Osgood was planting incriminating evidence against you? You two have barely met!”

“I know.”
But if she thought I was after her husband, she could have despised me even so.
“It’s just something I’d like to rule out.”

“I doubt Tracy was sabotaging us. I sincerely think she’s been working hard to undermine Pate. Though I guess it
is
possible, considering she deliberately didn’t tell us about their relationship.” Audrey dabbed at her lips with her cloth napkin and scooted back her chair. “I know how we might be able to find out. When it was clear that Shannon wasn’t the right person to be in charge of the books, I asked her to give the records to me. I had a copy made for me before I handed everything over to Tracy.”

“That could be a big help.”

She rifled through her desk for quite a while, but eventually she returned, clutching an inch-thick stack of papers. “I’ll bet this will vindicate Shannon. If anything was changed in the records that the police now have, maybe it’ll help them find the culprit.”

“I’ll get them to Linda. Thanks.”

She held them out to me, but didn’t relinquish her grasp. “Erin, I know you want to help your clients. And I know that you want to help your mother to get some closure in your brother’s death. That’s all very admirable. Just don’t act like an undercover officer. Please.”

“All I’m doing is keeping my eyes and ears open.”

“That’s fine.” She finally let me take the No Big Boxes reports from her. “But don’t do anything stupid, like dating that awful Pate Hamlin. Please.”

My jaw dropped. “Audrey! Did Steve Sullivan put you up to saying that?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course not. I was watching the way Mr. Hamlin was looking at you at the city council meeting last week. It was quite obvious that he’s attracted to you.” She frowned. “You’re not seriously thinking of dating him, are you?”

Not wanting to lie or tell her the truth, I stalled. “Why would you even suggest such a thing?”

“He seems like your type. The brooding, handsome, self-possessed kind. And judging by your reaction just now, you obviously
have
been thinking about dating him. Somebody shot out your window. And conked you over the head. Not to mention that you’re being framed for murder. Don’t you think you’ve got enough on your plate as it is? Do you
have
to add dating a prime suspect to your to-do list?”

She was right. What was I thinking? That my going to dinner with him would encourage him to confess? I had to get out of this date. Here I was suspecting either him or his wife of perhaps murdering my brother and my client. And how did I even know he was being truthful about his divorce being finalized? Plus, he was currently Audrey’s adversary.

At the earliest opportunity, I sneaked upstairs and called him. Unfortunately, he answered; it would have been easier to leave a message. Before he had the chance to put his salesmanship skills to work on me, I said, “I’m having second thoughts about our date. I think it’d be best if I declined, at least until everything gets resolved with Shannon’s murder.”

“Her death is tragic, but we still need to eat. Why should that stop us from going to dinner?”

“It feels like a big conflict of interest, if nothing else. I’m working for Michael, after all, and the two of you still have unresolved issues…and the police still have an unsolved murder investigation going on.”

“You think
I
murdered Shannon?”

“Pate. You’re asking me if I think you
murdered
someone. Do you
seriously
want to argue that this is the right time for us to go on a first date?”

“You have a point.” There was a pause. “Then again,” he added with a chuckle, “we’ll never be at a loss for conversation topics during dinner.”

I fought not to laugh. The last thing I wanted was to discover that the man had a good sense of humor. That invariably led me to disaster. “I’m sure you’ll find other ways to celebrate your freedom.”

“Yes, I’m sure I will, too.”

There was a pause. I was tempted to tell him about my argument with David and ask if I could see a copy of their contract. O’Reilly had told me to keep the matter quiet when I’d given him the contract Emily had discovered among Taylor’s papers, however.

Pate said, “As long as we’re on the phone anyway, there’s a second matter to discuss. You need to talk to your client.”

He could only mean Michael, but I asked, “Which one?”

“Michael Young. He’s installed a miniature gallows on his front yard. I’m being hung in effigy.”

That was appallingly juvenile of Michael, but I wasn’t about to criticize my client to a third party. “Did you talk to him about it?”

“Of course. I asked him nicely to take it down. He insists that Shannon had created it. He claims that since it’s on his property, he has a right to display his dead wife’s artwork. I’d like to get this resolved peacefully before we both have to call our lawyers. Michael’s trying to goad me into destroying it so he can level criminal charges.”

I was sure that was his motive as well, but again held my tongue out of client loyalty.

“I’ll talk to him, but I doubt I’ll have a lot of sway in what he wants to have on his lawn.”

“I can try asking Rebecca, too. She might be able to talk Ang Chung into telling him to take it down.”

The remark startled and confused me. “Why would you want Ang to get involved with this?”

Pate hesitated. “Come to think of it, that’s a good question. He wielded plenty of influence with Shannon. I suppose Michael can’t stand the guy.”

“And why would Rebecca carry weight with Ang?”

“No reason. I was just talking through my hat. Sorry you’re canceling out on dinner. Maybe some other time.”

The following morning, thanks in no small part to me,
Sullivan and Gilbert Designs would now be massively behind schedule unless we handled as many appointments separately as possible. Even so, I headed out to Michael’s neighborhood to see how bad his new lawn ornament really was.

It was very bad—about four feet high, ugly, and artless. I didn’t for an instant believe that Shannon had created it, unless she’d had a psychotic break. Pate’s “likeness” was a Raggedy Andy doll with a head shot of Pate trimmed from a newspaper and glued over the doll’s face. The supporting structure was built from two-by-fours and looked like a real gallows, with a length of twine serving as the rope.

Roberto—a thirtyish, competent member of David’s crew—happened to be unloading supplies from his pickup when I emerged from my rental car, and I asked him if he knew if Michael had built the thing himself.

“Nah. That guy doesn’t know which end of a hammer to use. He brought us the doll just before our lunch break yesterday and gave each of us a twenty. Asked us to slap the thing together for him. Said he wanted to install it himself, though.” He pointed at the gallows with his chin. “Pretty lame, huh?”

I held my tongue but couldn’t refrain from nodding.

Michael came outside while Roberto returned to work. “Did Pate call you about my art piece?” he asked.

“Yes. He’s assuming you’re trying to provoke him into destroying it.”

“Could be. It’s not like I’m out of line here. Either he or Ang killed my wife.
One
of them deserves to be hung till they’re dead!” He glared at Pate’s house for a moment, then smirked at me. “Or maybe I’m just into…what do you call that kind of tacky stuff that looks like someone’s kids did it? Primitive art?”

“Michael, aren’t you cutting off your nose to spite your face here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you want to put your house on the market as soon as possible? How impressed are prospective buyers going to be by the likeness of your closest neighbor being hung in effigy on their new lawn?”

His eyes widened. “You have a point. That won’t be good. Frankly, I thought the contraption would disappear overnight. I’ll for sure take it down before the For Sale sign goes up.”

“You shouldn’t wait that long. You’re lucky you haven’t drawn photographers from the
Sentinel
out here so far. Buyers are
already
going to be aware that two people have died in this house. Now you’re publicly airing your ongoing squabbles with your neighbor. Buyers want homes where they’re going to
like
their neighbors, not want to hang them in effigy. Not to mention that you’ll be hammering home the fact that your neighborhood’s getting ruined by Pate’s development plans.”

More color drained from Michael’s face. “Oh, God. I didn’t think of that. The press was already here. I’ll call the
Crestview Sentinel
now and threaten to sue if they run the photographs. Can you get rid of that thing in the meantime? Please?” He dashed back inside his house.

Easier said than done, as it turned out. I untied Raggedy-Andy-cum-Pate, but the gallows were well constructed. The post had been sunk deep into the ground, and a supportive base prevented me from simply jiggling it back and forth till it came loose. I hoped I wouldn’t have to pull Roberto away from his work. While I struggled with the ugly contraption, I heard a car pull into Pate’s driveway. I turned. Rebecca Berringer. Gag me.

She gave me a smug grin as she emerged from her car. Her stiletto heels were soon clicking on the concrete as she approached. “Well, Erin. I see you’re now expanding your business to include
exterior
design. Can’t say that I think much of your taste, however.”

“I’m helping Michael remove this, as you undoubtedly already realized.”

“Good decision. It just didn’t have the overall panache that your
partner,
at least, achieves with his designs.”

Too irked to hold my tongue, I snapped, “I haven’t heard Steve mention your name lately. I take it things haven’t worked out between you two.”

“Oh, on the contrary, we’re just choosing not to jinx our relationship by advertising it. We have a date on Friday night, as a matter of fact. At the Overlook.”

Damn it! What the hell was Sullivan thinking? My cheeks were burning. I turned my back on Rebecca, pretending to be absorbed in removing the pseudo gallows once more. “Have a nice time,” I said over my shoulder.

“At the Overlook? That’s a given. Yummy food…yummy companion.”

My anger at Rebecca and Sullivan gave me new strength. I yanked the hideous thing up and out of the ground. Just then, Rebecca said, “Oh. Here he comes now!”

Startled, I turned and indeed spotted Sullivan’s van heading this way. I let the gallows crash onto the lawn while he parked. Rebecca immediately yammered to him about how much she was looking forward to their date. I kept my back turned the whole time, pretending to be transfixed by kicking dirt into the hole. At length, she cooed, “See you soon,” and I heard a kissing sound just prior to her clacking footfalls as she made her way back toward Pate’s home.

“Hey, Gilbert.”

Don’t mention his date!
I silently commanded myself as I turned and forced a smile.

“Hi, Sullivan. I didn’t realize you’d be stopping by here.”

“Likewise. Actually, I wasn’t planning on coming out, but a reporter called our office. Wanted to know if we had any comment on what our client had put in his front lawn. Thought I’d better see what was going on.”

“That’s why I’m here, too. Pate told me about it.”

“Ah. So you rushed right out and took it down. That must’ve pleased Pate to no end. Having you at his beck and call.”

I clenched my fists. “If you were planning on spying on us at the Overlook Friday night, you’ll be disappointed. I canceled.”

“You were going to the Overlook?”

I rolled my eyes. “As if you didn’t already know that.”

“Huh. That must be how Rebecca suddenly wound up with dinner reservations there on the busiest night of the week. He must have let her take them when you canceled. Must have figured he didn’t want to keep them if you weren’t joining him.”