Fatal Feng Shui (7 page)

“Well…they all had leaves on them, but this one’s yellow.”

“My favorite!” she groaned. “Perfect. Emblematic for what’s happening to my life.”

“I’m sorry, hon.”

Sullivan caught my eye. He tapped his watch. I winced; we were late for an appointment to discuss a kitchen remodel with a prospective customer. “Unfortunately, we’ve got no choice but to get going,” he said to the Youngs. “We’ll keep in touch on your cell phone. And we’ll come out here tomorrow to discuss the roof construction with David.”

Shannon gave us a vacant stare. “Fine,” she said flatly. “We’ll see you tomorrow then. Meanwhile, we can hope that the earth doesn’t crack open and fill our home with poisonous snakes.”

Audrey phoned as we drove to our appointment to ask
what time I’d be home. When I told her five, she said, “Excellent. I’ll see you promptly at five.”

Her “promptly” seemed odd, but I chose not to explain that “five” had been a rough estimate.

To my enormous surprise, when I walked into my house a few minutes after five, there sat Shannon Young, chatting in the parlor with Audrey Munroe. “Hi, Erin,” Audrey said. “We’re holding our meeting of the No Big Boxes cochairs here tonight.”

“My hosting it suddenly didn’t seem appropriate.” Shannon mustered a smile.

Hildi meowed at me as she trotted into the room.

“Are you settled in at the hotel, Shannon?” I asked.

“Yes. Me, my husband, and my two remaining heir-looms.” She drained the contents of her wineglass and commented to Audrey, “My husband found an appalling time to suddenly become clumsy with plates.”

Audrey clucked sympathetically. “On top of getting burned out of your house and home. You really should have allowed Tracy and me to handle this thing ourselves.”

Who’s Tracy
?
Handle
what
thing, exactly?

“This is hardly an act of martyrdom,” Shannon replied, sounding exactly like a martyr as she refilled her glass from a half-empty bottle of Chianti on the coffee table. “
I
have more at stake than anyone on the planet…as it turns out.” She grimaced. “Apparently, Pate figured if he couldn’t buy me out, he’d burn me down.”

“A new meaning for the term ‘Fire Sale,’” Audrey cracked. Being sympathetic for any length of time has never been one of my landlady’s strong points.

“Just you two are meeting tonight?” I asked.

They exchanged glances. “Actually, it’s not really a meeting,” Audrey replied.

Uh-oh. Audrey was up to something. Whenever she acted mysterious like this, she was usually gearing up to ask a favor that would put me on the spot.

“And there are three of us,” she continued. Another woman entered the room, from the direction of the nearest bathroom. “Here she is now. Erin, I’d like you to meet Tracy Osgood. Tracy, this is Erin Gilbert.”

The thirtyish woman was pretty, although she was wearing a lot of makeup and too much gardenia-scented perfume. Her smile, however, was warming. “Hi, Erin. We were just talking about you.” She spoke with a Texas twang.

“Oh?”

“Did y’all ask her yet?” Tracy perched on the far end of the sofa.

“I was just about to,” Audrey replied.

“I have a feeling I should sit down before I hear this,” I muttered, as I slipped onto the Queen Anne settee beside me.

“Shannon and I have hatched a plan that involves you, Erin,” Audrey began.

“Do tell.”

“We’d like you to speak at the Crestview City Council meeting tonight. It starts in two hours. And I’ve already got dinner for the four of us in the oven.”

Shannon said, “Yes, Erin. It would help us all out if you’d plead our case to the board. After all, if BaseMart really does put a megastore in the field behind my neighborhood, it’s going to be terrible for Crestview. And you already know what a disaster it is for me personally. At the hotel after you left, Michael was urging me to sell so he could get a new restaurant going.”

“He
was?
”

Audrey sighed. “He misses having his own restaurant. He’s told me that before…how much he dreams of seeing ‘Michael Young’s’ on the marquee once more.”

“I have dreams, too, you know,” Shannon snapped. “And none of them involve keeping my husband’s business afloat by selling my home and moving into a trailer park. We have a wonderful life that we built for ourselves. I want to be able to enjoy the rewards.”

The image of Rebecca in Michael’s arms appeared front and center in my mind’s eye. Shannon’s husband was seemingly far less invested in their “wonderful life” together than she was.

“So are you willing to help us out, Erin?” Shannon wanted to know.

I grimaced at the thought of public speaking. Tracy was nervously fidgeting with her nails. When our eyes met, she gave me a smile. “The rest of us have already spoken out against BaseMart,” she told me. “And you’re in a profession where you travel to people’s homes, all throughout Crestview. The town board will really respect the opinion of someone with your unique perspective.”

I sighed. “I’ll give it my best shot. I’d feel terrible if I sat back and did nothing. And I do side strongly with you all on this issue.”

“Thank you, Erin.” Audrey was beaming at me. “I
knew
you wouldn’t let us down.”

Which brought to mind the possibility that I could very well make a blathering idiot of myself and “let down” the entire town of Crestview.

Two hours later, my stomach was doing flip-flops.
There were at least a hundred people in the small auditorium at the city building. Worse yet, I would be forced to use a microphone. My every little quaver was going to be amplified. I was going to sound like a sick warbler!

The nine council members were seated in front, facing the rows and rows of arena-style seats. The microphone stand was at the front of the center aisle, just five or six feet away from the council president. The good thing about the seating arrangement was that the members of the audience, including Audrey, Shannon, and Michael, would be behind my back. To keep my nerves at bay, I decided to engage myself in some heavy-duty denial. I would pretend that there was no audience, and that I was merely making an appeal for a design job to a family of nine. All of whom happened to be middle-aged and seated in a straight row like judges. And that a couple of them had short-term memory loss, so they were simply
recording
my voice, and hence the need for a microphone. And this family had such a short attention span that my presentation had to take sixty seconds or less…. Yep. Just one big, bizarre, dysfunctional family.

When Audrey rose and announced that I, as a “highly regarded interior designer,” would be speaking on behalf of the group, I took a couple of gulps of water and made my way to the microphone. I wished I’d forgone the water; I felt the sudden need to run to the bathroom. A quick confidence-and-optimism mantra did the trick. Introducing myself, I said, “It’s easy enough to discover what’s happened in the towns that BaseMart has moved into in the last ten years since the chain’s inception. A few minutes of research on the Internet will paint a dismal story for you.” I was speaking too rapidly, I realized, and scolded myself to slow down. My knees were trembling so badly that I was afraid I’d set my whole body in motion—clatter my way right out the door like a windup toy. “When BaseMart moves into a town, all of the momand-pop stores are driven out. BaseMart employees are paid minimum wage, and often as part-timers, so the corporation doesn’t have to pay their fair share of benefits.

“What happened to every single one of those towns will happen to our beloved Crestview. In exchange for our thirty pieces of silver—or rather, for our tax-base incentives—Crestview’s identity will be destroyed, including the quaint charm that’s made it a tourist spot. When we say ‘No Big Boxes,’ the ultimate ‘big box’ is the coffin that Crestview will be building for itself.”

I took what felt like my first breath of air since I’d started talking, and returned to my seat, between Audrey and Michael Young. Audrey whispered, “That was very good, Erin. Well done.”

“Thanks.”

Michael whispered into my ear, “I think you convinced the majority of holdouts on the board.” He patted my hand, which made me cringe.

“Oh, come now,” Pate cried, rising. He didn’t go to the microphone and was clearly speaking out of turn. “If BaseMart was such a terrible thing for Colorado, why would I be putting the store in
my own backyard
? I know better than anyone else the congestion and decrease in property value that the store will cause. That’s why I’ve offered to buy out my neighbor’s property.”

He’d fallen for my trap!
I sprang to my feet. “Is that so, Mr. Hamlin? Maybe, then, you can explain why it is that this is the
fifth
house that you’ve owned, which borders on the property line of the
fifth
upcoming store. In each case, you bought the house a year or two before the proposed store site was announced. Then, three of those four previous times, you
bulldozed
your own house!”

Pate’s jaw dropped. He stammered, “I don’t intend to do that this time. Those places were different. Crestview is my
home
.”

The audience mumbled and stirred in their seats as if with collective skepticism.

The president pounded his gavel and told us to take our seats. I felt too giddy to listen as a dozen other citizens rose to speak against BaseMart; nobody spoke in its favor. After several minutes of deliberation, the council voted to give the county officials “our strongest recommendation” that BaseMart not be allowed to erect a store in Crestview. Tracy Osgood shrieked with joy, hugged each of us, then all but skipped ahead of us and out the double doors. Pate, all the while, sat glowering at her. I avoided his gaze and tried to leave quietly while the board meeting continued to other matters.

I sensed a man’s forceful strides catching up to me as I crossed the lobby. Before I could reach the door, a deep voice said, “Congratulations, Erin.” I stopped and turned. Pate’s handsome features were stony. “Quite the effective speech you gave just now. How did you get your information?”

I squared my shoulders. “Power of the Internet. I looked up the street addresses of the neighborhoods where you’ve built your stores and compared them to phone directories. Then I placed a couple of phone calls. Local residents were all too happy to tell me precisely what went on in their neighborhoods.”

“You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes, Miss Gilbert.”

“I doubt Holmes would have cared much for Internet research. Too easy.” Our gazes locked. It was unfortunate that he was such a dynamic, attractive man. It made the struggle of being on opposite sides that much harder. “In any case, I was simply reporting the truth.”

“The ‘truth’ can look very different according to the beholder, Miss Gilbert. You’ve won the first round tonight, but I was expecting that to happen. I haven’t even brought in my corporate-lawyer big guns.”

“When all else fails, throw legalese at ’em.”

He sighed. “There’s always somebody like you, in every town. Somebody who thinks they can play the little Dutch boy and plug the hole in the dike. But you can’t stop us, and you shouldn’t try. BaseMart
isn’t
a flood, Erin. Nor a hurricane. There’s no feng shui involved. There’s only the march of progress, and the future of American commerce.”

“I can’t tell you how strongly I hope you’re wrong about this country’s future. But good for you to finally have learned how to pronounce feng shui.”
If none of its lessons.

With startling intensity, he held my gaze and said calmly, “Like it or not, Miss Gilbert, I always win in the end.”

It isn’t healthy to take one’s diet so seriously as to be made miserable. Chocolate comes from beans, which are vegetables, and wine comes from grapes. That’s two servings of vegetables and fruit right there!

—Audrey Munroe

DOMESTIC BLISS

Though I felt physically exhausted, I lay awake for well over an hour after we’d returned home from the city council meeting. Below me I could hear Audrey rattling around. It sounded as though she might be moving some furniture. Hildi, who was curled on the pillow beside me, looked at me as I propped myself up on my elbows. We shared a common thought. “Time for some warm milk, isn’t it, sweetie?”

She purred her agreement. I rose and donned my dusty-rose robe and tan slippers. She raced me down the stairs.

Audrey was indeed moving furniture—putting a blockade of the kitchen stools in front of the refrigerator. “Oh, I’m sorry, Erin. Did I wake you?” she asked when she spotted me in the doorway.

“No, my brain seems to be wide awake when the rest of me is exhausted. Which makes you kind of wonder where one’s common sense is supposed to reside.”

She angled a fourth barstool on its side atop the other three stools as I spoke. Audrey was perfectly proportioned, but must have gained a couple of pounds lately. Once or twice a year, Chef Michael made one too many rich entrees on her show, “Domestic Bliss with Audrey Munroe,” and she insisted she either had to lose weight or risk being replaced by someone thinner. “Going on a diet?”

“Yes. And I read in one of your feng shui books that putting furniture in your path to the refrigerator gives your will power a chance to kick into gear.”

“That’s true, but your choice of furniture and placement needs adjusting. Now we have no place to sit at the island, plus Hildi and I need access to the milk.” My kitty, to her credit, had curled up on the moon-and-star patterned rug by the back door and was licking her paws patiently. We’d recently installed a small cat door there, which Hildi had taken to sitting next to, at least, although she almost never actually used the thing.

Audrey examined her arrangement of stools and sighed. “Too extreme?”

“By a factor of four.” I walked to the far side of the kitchen table. “All we need to do is move the table over by two feet and swing it around by a quarter turn. Then we’ll have to round the table every time we want to reach the refrigerator.”

She frowned. “When we’re coming from the main entrance, that’s true. But not when I’m coming home and entering through the back door.”

“We’re moving the captain’s chair to handle that, as well. Grab the other side of the table.”

She hesitated and her frown grew deeper. “But it’ll take no time at all to walk around the table.”

“Moving a piece of furniture into your path isn’t intended to form an obstacle course, Audrey. It’s simply a psychological trick—a mental memory jog. This way, you walk into the kitchen, and you see the table. That gives your will power an extra second to kick in, which is all you need to do the trick, if you really want it to. Better yet, you’ll see the nice, inviting table, and you’ll pull out a chair, sit down, and read the newspaper.”

“I prefer to sit at the kitchen island when I read the paper.”

I gestured at the barstools. “Your seats are currently forming a blockade.”

She sighed, unconvinced.

“Audrey, the point is that we all tend to be drawn to the first thing that we see when we walk into a room. That’s why, when you walk into your office, for example, you want your desk to be the first thing you see, so that you go right over to it and get straight to work.”

I lifted my end of the table. Audrey was still not budging. Hildi released a plaintive meow. I winked at her to silently signal that it wouldn’t be much longer.

“If we move the table, the pendant light will be off-kilter,” she whined.

“We can attach a ceiling hook temporarily and lengthen the chain. And it beats stacking the barstools. Seriously, Audrey. If this were a segment on your show, would that be the solution you’d recommend?”

“No,” she said forlornly. “But I like the table where it is. And having the captain’s chair in the corner, as well.”

“Audrey. You’re creating more fictitious obstacles than four barstools and all the furniture in this room combined. Plus, I already promised Hildi some milk.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Well, I can’t remove the stools, or I’ll be standing at the refrigerator, with full access!”

I took a moment to stay calm, then returned the four barstools to their logical places.

As I moved the last stool, Audrey clicked her tongue. “Honestly, Erin. You’re a wizard when it comes to dreaming up creative solutions for your difficult clients. You’re not giving up on me this easily, are you? What about a big potted plant in front of the fridge?”

“There was an article in last month’s ‘Arts and Living’ section of the Sentinel that said red wine was being tested for its powers for negating calories. Remember?”

“Oh, that’s right! I do remember that article. See? Now you’re talking.” She gleefully crossed the room and flicked on the light to head downstairs to her wonderful wine cellar. As she descended the stairs, she called after her, “Oh, Erin? Since you’re getting the milk out anyway, would you please get me the brie? And a box of crackers?”