Fatal Feng Shui (8 page)

chapter 8

S
ullivan and I joined the Youngs at their house the
following morning—to be supportive if nothing else—while the fire investigator went to work. Every creaking floorboard above our heads made me flinch, half expecting him to come crashing down. My eyes stung from the lingering odors of yesterday’s fire and Shannon’s cigarette smoke. There was considerable water damage to the drywall in the hallway and the den, but that could easily be replaced. Otherwise, except for the odor, the main level was in remarkably good shape.

We sat in the kitchen and silently nursed cups of take-out coffee, which Sullivan and I had supplied. This was currently my second-favorite room in the house (after the art studio). The stainless-steel appliances and elegant appointments throughout were top of the line. Walnut cabinetry warmed the black granite countertops and backsplashes. The walls were a lovely sage, and the cream-colored ceramic tiles lent this space a timeless, classic character. The built-in kitchen table was hand-planed to look antique, with surprisingly comfortable solid pine benches; the kitchen was relatively small, and by eliminating seatbacks, the owners garnered precious inches from the pathway into the formal dining room.

Yesterday, Sullivan and I had completed the reworked design for Shannon and Michael’s remodel, which was going to bring the entire house up to the graceful beauty of the kitchen and studio. But the Youngs were too tense and distracted with the fire investigator in the house for any kind of meaningful design discussion right now.

At length, the investigator—a heavyset man with a slight limp and beady eyes—came into the kitchen. Michael rose and offered him a cup of coffee, which he declined. “I determined the cause of the blaze,” he announced. “Faulty wiring.”

“But what
caused
the faulty wiring?” Michael asked, still standing, his hands jammed into the back pockets of his black chinos. “Was it one of our workmen?”

The investigator peered at him. “Why? Did you have an electrician out here recently?”

“No. But how else could our wiring just suddenly go bad?”

“You’ve obviously had some trouble with critters up there. One of ’em could have gnawed through the shielding on your wires, causing a short.”

“
Or
it could have been someone deliberately tampering with our wires,” Shannon interjected.

The inspector frowned at her. “No accelerant was used, ma’am. It’s many times more likely that this was an accident.”

Which meant he wasn’t ruling out arson completely.

“That’s a relief,” Michael said.

“We’ll need to get a time estimate on the repairs,” I said, glancing at Sullivan.
Plus I need to look for clues about who might have been up there recently
. “Is it safe to go into the attic? As long as we only step on the joists?”

“S’pose so. You won’t want to trust the pull-down ladder. Otherwise, the floor is structurally sound. Most of the damage was along the east wall where the blaze started. And the roof itself.”

“Getting back to my point about the wires,” Shannon persisted, “wouldn’t tampering with them
without
a tell-tale accelerant be the smart way to start a fire and not get caught?”

“You’d have to have a solid base of knowledge about electricity and electrical fires. Ma’am, I can tell for a fact there was a short between a hot wire and a ground wire, which can only happen when the shielding between ’em is missing. That eventually created a hot spot and a fire.”

“So that’s the end of that,” Michael stated, casting a stern glance in his wife’s direction. Shannon curled her lip and grumbled unintelligibly into her coffee cup. After thanking him again, Michael ushered the investigator to the door.

In a low voice, Shannon informed me, “The police made the same noises about your brother’s death…that it was most likely an accident. But the shielding could have been deliberately stripped off. I can’t buy that we coincidentally had two freak accidents within three days of each other. Obviously, someone out there will stop at nothing to drive me out of my home. And I just know it’s that damned Pate Hamlin!”

I said gently, “Maybe so, but I’ve got to say that Pate made a good point when he told the police about his having too much to lose.”

“Erin!” She banged her fist on the table. “Pate’s a ruthless son of a bitch who doesn’t care about anybody but himself! As far as he’s concerned, we either get out of his way or he’ll run right over us!”

I held my tongue and felt the heat of both her and Sullivan’s glares. I couldn’t argue with her statement—especially not after experiencing Pate’s veiled threats at the council meeting last night—but I was certain that the man wasn’t just a heartless, egocentric jerk. And yet, among my mental list of people with the opportunity to have taken my brother’s life, Pate Hamlin was the wealthiest and had the most public exposure. That surely meant he would fall the hardest if Taylor had somehow collected evidence that could ruin him.

No sooner had Michael reclaimed his seat than someone knocked on the door. He promptly went to answer and, a moment later, brought David Lewis into the kitchen. Michael was saying to him, “The arson investigator was just here. The fire was an accident. Bad wiring.”

“Thank God. So there’s no chance one of my men loused up the wiring and started the fire?”

“The investigator seemed to think it was an animal gnawing on the wires.”

“Good.”

“Why were you worried it was one of your men?” Shannon wanted to know.

David looked at her, then cast a guilty glance in my direction. “Well, um, Taylor went up there a couple days back. Must’ve been Friday morning. Said a fuse had blown, and he wanted to double-check everything.”

“This is the first time you’ve mentioned that.” Michael’s tone was skeptical.

“Yeah, I know. But…if the expert thinks it was accidental, it must be. I don’t see how fiddling with wires on a Friday could’ve started a fire on Tuesday.”

Nor would my poor, hapless brother have had the slightest motive to start one.

Sullivan said, “We brought the updated plans for the remodel, David. After we develop an action plan for repairing the roof and the attic, let’s go over them.”

“Sure thing.”

Sullivan left to fetch the designs. I rose and threw out my styrofoam cup. “I need to take a look at your attic. To see how much work needs to be done. Can I borrow a ladder?”

Shannon got to her feet. “There’s one in the garage. Michael can get it for you.” Michael had only just now reclaimed his seat and took a slurp of coffee. Shannon clicked her tongue, then said, “Hon? Did you hear me?”

“Oh, right. I’ll go get the ladder.” He started to rise.

“Nah. Stay put, Michael,” David said, heading for the door. “I’ll just get mine off my truck. That’ll be faster.”

“Thanks, but let me come give you a hand.”

Shannon winced as the door banged shut behind the men.

A split second later, Michael called, “Sorry, sweetie.” My hunch was that his door slams were a pet peeve of hers.

“I’m sure our Christmas decorations and old clothes upstairs are history,” Shannon told me glumly.

“Probably so,” I muttered, distracted. With David and Michael fetching a ladder, they’d be intent upon climbing into the attic immediately. That would prevent me from searching up there first.

All three men returned and quickly set up the ladder.

“I’m the lightest and should inspect the area first,” I interposed hastily.

David dismissed my suggestion with the groaner “Age before beauty,” and climbed the rungs.

“Go ahead,” Sullivan said to me with a mischievous wink.

Luckily, I’d anticipated having to climb a ladder today and was wearing slacks. Even so, I said, “No, you go first. We might as well stick with our macho-before-magnificent battle plan.”

Michael chuckled. Sullivan merely smirked. I gave him a quick signal with my eyes and hoped he understood that he should hurry up there and keep an eye on David while I made a search. Sullivan climbed the ladder. I went up last. As I gingerly stepped off the ladder, I spotted something nestled among the ashes and soot: a black, silk-covered button.

Ang Chung was apparently missing a button from his favorite robe.

We already knew that two rooms’ worth of Sheetrock
needed to be replaced. The attic would need to be gutted and rebuilt. The roof would also need to be razed and rebuilt. The triangular roof supports had to be replaced, which would be the most time-consuming part of the process. Several boxes along the opposite wall had survived the blaze, though Shannon and Michael were going to have to inspect their contents to see if they’d been irreparably damaged even so.

Both David and Steve got busy on the phones trying to tap into their substantial connections in the construction world to find a means to get Shannon’s roof repaired as quickly as possible. They soon hit pay dirt: A local roofing subcontractor that David frequently used had been stiffed on a multiple-house job. As a result, he already had the major support structures in stock that Shannon’s house needed. Despite his previous record of foot-dragging, David was now apparently going to more than make amends. He estimated that he could install a whole new roof in less than two weeks. A time frame like that was utterly unheard of for such a big job, especially when insurance companies were involved.

As we left the Youngs’ house and got into the van, Sullivan grinned at me. “We finally caught a break on Shannon’s house. It’s amazing that David’s going to be able to fix the place that quick.”

“Yes, it is. Although I’m less convinced than ever before that the fire was a mere accident. Take a look at this.” I pulled the button from my pocket. “I found that in the attic, right next to the ladder.”

“Gotta be Ang’s.”

“Right. And why would a feng shui consultant be climbing around in a storage attic?”

“Other than to set fire to the house, you mean?” He handed me back the button and started the engine. “Thing is, that’d be real incriminating, if we were talking about a reputable consultant. But this is Ang Chung. He’ll say anything to explain this away. The guy churns out more pure fiction than Stephen King.” He backed out of the driveway and onto the road.

I sighed. “True. All the button really proves is that Ang was recently in that attic. And he’ll claim he went up there to get a reading on the
ba-gua
s or something.” (
Ba-gua
s are the octagonal shapes that determine the optimal locations for various types of activities in a building.)

“Even so, you should give it to the police.”

“Oh, jeez! I’m such an idiot! Chain of evidence! I removed the evidence from the scene of the crime! Now it really
is
worthless!”

“Ouch,” Sullivan muttered quietly. He patted my thigh—to be reassuring, I’m sure, though I was a little startled by the gesture.

Discouraged, I vowed to give Linda Delgardio the silk-covered button as soon as I could.

Sullivan and I went our separate ways during lunch. I grabbed a salad and joined a couple of girlfriends at the gym for a yoga class. Far from being able to relax, my brain was filled with images of Ang creeping around in Shannon’s attic and messing with the wiring. Reportedly, the
ba-gua
could be used to predict the future of a home and its occupants. If only we’d been working with an authentic master instead of with Ang Chung, perhaps that ancient art could somehow reveal the home’s secrets. Such as who had murdered my brother within its walls and had set fire to its roof.

chapter 9

R
emembering Taylor’s funeral was in a mere two
hours, my mood was decidedly low when I returned to the office. Sullivan was there, hard at work at his desk. Unexpectedly, I suddenly found myself wishing he and I were better friends. In the past three years, my adoptive mother had died, my biological father had died, and now so had my half brother. I was starting to feel like the last remaining duck at a shooting gallery. I would have loved to find reassurance and comfort in Sullivan’s arms, I thought as I hung up my coat.

“How come you didn’t tell me about your speech at the city council meeting last night?” Sullivan snarled at me in lieu of a greeting. He didn’t even look up.

That statement was about as far from what I needed to hear from him at that moment as imaginable. Then again, “Drop dead” would have been worse—a realization that cheered me somewhat.

I’d been in no hurry to bring up the subject of the council board meeting. Pate was the second man I’d considered an archrival, yet found myself strongly attracted to nevertheless. Sullivan had been the first. No doubt a good psychotherapist would have a field day with that. It probably had something to do with my father deserting my mother—my adoptive mother, that is—and me. But if so, I detested discovering that my behavior was predictable.

“Erin?” His hazel eyes challenged mine.

“I should have mentioned it. Sorry. Though it wasn’t exactly a speech. Just thirty seconds of my opinions.”

Sullivan scowled at me.

“Did they cover the council meeting in today’s paper?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I dropped my subscription and haven’t read it. Got my info over the phone in this case. Pate’s on the warpath.”

“Uh-oh.” I sat down. We’d arranged our desks in an L-shape with our backs to adjacent walls. Pate was likely going to
figuratively
put our backs to the wall, now that I’d publicly blasted his BaseMart empire. “He kind of warned me last night that he wasn’t thrilled. Did he call during lunch, wanting to curse me out, or something?”

He nodded. “About twenty minutes ago. Though he wasn’t cursing. Just said that you wasted your breath last night.”

“He’s probably right. All that happened is the city council voted to recommend to the county officials that they deny BaseMart’s building permits. That’s really the extent of the city’s power over the county.”

“Well, Pate claims he’s got enough influence with government officials to get the go-ahead to build.”

“Let’s hope he’s bluffing.”

“No kidding.” Sullivan’s eyes flashed with anger. “Pate claims that the most the
city
officials can do to him is force him to put the entrance to BaseMart on the opposite side of that huge land parcel he owns behind his house. Which will tick off the homeowners in both Creekside Estates and Wellshire Manors.
And
he says that the word’s already out among those homeowners that it was partly
your
fault that he had to redesign the access to his store.”

My heart sank. Sullivan had just named two of the ritziest neighborhoods in all of Crestview County, which also meant they were two of the most lucrative locales for interior design jobs. He continued, “He’s threatening to begin a door-to-door campaign, letting everyone in Wellshire and Creekside know that he’ll surround BaseMart with tree-filled parks to hide their view of the store. But only—”

I groaned and held up a hand. “Don’t tell me. But only if he can put the main entrance—and the BaseMart Auto Repair Shop—on
Shannon’s
property.”

“Correct. Give that little lady a cigar.”

I sighed. “We can always spin it that I was merely being loyal to my client’s needs by speaking up to prevent her home from getting flattened. Surely the homeowners in Wellshire and Creekside will appreciate my dedication to our clients?”

“On an intellectual level, sure. But when they’re dealing with traffic noise and lowered property values, they—”

Rebecca Berringer barged through the door. She smiled sweetly at Sullivan. “Good afternoon, Steve. I’m afraid I have something
personal
to discuss with your business partner.” She indicated me with a flick of her wrist, but her blue eyes remained fixed on him.

“No problem,” he replied graciously. “I was just about to head out for a latte, anyway. Can I get you ladies anything?”

“No, thanks,” we replied simultaneously. “But you don’t have to be the one to leave, Steve,” I said, rising. “I’ll just step outside with Rebecca for a minute.”

“That’s okay. I’ll be right back. Call my cell if you change your mind about wanting something.”

“Thanks so much,” Rebecca cooed to him, stroking his arm as he walked past her.
Gag me! Rebecca was beautiful, and she knew it. She was making my client’s life miserable, my beloved landlady miserable, and I didn’t want her within fifty yards of my business partner!

She watched him leave, then leveled a glare at me the instant the door shut behind him. “I just had an upsetting conversation with two police officers, thanks to you.”

Uh-oh. The photographs.
“What about?”

“They told me that ‘an anonymous source’ gave them some suggestive pictures that they’re certain were taken by Taylor Duncan.”

“I don’t follow.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t play games with me, Erin. You know full well what I’m talking about. Yes, I was having an affair with Michael Young, but I ended it
weeks
ago. It was a dead-end relationship. Michael will never leave Shannon. Besides which, I told him the truth…that I’ve fallen for somebody else.”

“That really isn’t any of my business.”
Although she was lying. “Weeks” ago, Taylor had still been in jail, unable to photograph their tryst with his Polaroid.

“No, it
isn’t
your business,” she said sharply. “Which is exactly my point. It wasn’t hard to figure out who the ‘anonymous source’ was who gave pictures to the police that Taylor shot of me and Michael. Considering Taylor was
your
brother.”

“We all have a civic duty to give any possible evidence from a crime to the police—”

“Oh, please, Erin,” she cut in. “Civic duty was hardly your motive.”

“Of course it was! I want the police to arrest whoever killed my brother!”

“My
private affair,
which, again, had already
ended,
has
nothing
to do with your stupid brother accidentally or intentionally shooting a nail into his skull.”

“Taylor did no such thing. But he
might
have tried to blackmail you or Michael with those pictures. And
that
could have been a motive for killing him.”

“Give me a break! In this day and age? Blackmailing a two-bit chef for having an affair with a
single
woman? No way! But you go right ahead, Erin. Tell yourself you were just being a good citizen.
I
, for one, am very aware how badly you want to get me out of the picture.”

“What are you talking about?”

She gave a haughty toss of her head. “I’m your biggest rival for Steve Sullivan’s heart. You want him all for yourself.”

I felt a pang that I hoped wasn’t a stab of recognition at being so bluntly confronted with what I feared was the truth. “Sullivan can make his own decisions about his personal life,” I fired back. “But I’m not about to sit back and watch you fawn all over him, while you’re fooling around with my client’s husband. Sullivan’s a friend. He deserves better than you.”

She looked angry enough to hit me. I half wanted her to, so I could hit her back. “Erin, I’d focus first on my own behavior, if I were you.”

“
I
haven’t done anything to be ashamed of.”

“Oh, no? A police officer told me he saw you blatantly flirting with
my
client after the fire yesterday! Pate’s a married man, too, you know. He and his wife have separated, but they’re not divorced.”

“That police officer was spouting nonsense…probably to get
you
rattled enough to say something incriminating! I
haven’t
been flirting with Pate. And
we
certainly haven’t been having an affair. We’ve barely exchanged two sentences. And those weren’t even friendly, let alone flirtatious.”

“Bull!” she snorted. “Get with the program, Erin! Just who do you think you’re dealing with here? You can’t treat me like this, you know!” She wagged a finger in my face. “I wield a lot more power than
you
do in this town. Guess who is now in charge of Crestview’s branch of the I.D.A.?”

I.D.A. stood for Interior Designers Association. “Oooo,” I said in mock fright. “Heaven save me from Crestview’s designers. They’re almost as powerful as the N.R.A.”

“When things get ugly, Erin, just remember: You started this. You turned those embarrassing photos into the police. If you’d had any decency, you’d have given them to me.”

“The photos were
evidence
! In a
murder!
”

“The only thing those pictures revealed was that your brother was a peeping Tom. Before I’m through with you you’re going to find yourself struggling to get jobs designing
outhouses
!” She whirled and headed for the door, but then stopped. Slowly, she turned and grinned at me while reaching into her coat pocket. She snatched up her cell phone and dialed. With infuriating casualness, she leaned back against the wall.

After a moment, she straightened and cooed into her phone, “Hi, Steve? It’s Rebecca. I’ve changed my mind about having you get me a latte. In fact, I have something important to talk to you about. I’ll be right there.” She cast a triumphant smile over her shoulder at me as she trotted out the door.

The phone rang an instant later, and I was so distracted I growled “Gilbert and Sullivan” by mistake.

“Erin? It’s Shannon,” our client sobbed. “I’ve got to talk to you. Now!”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Pate. He’s running a smear campaign against us! He’s talking to all my neighbors! And all this pounding on my roof is killing me! It sounds like they’re dropping pianos up there, every few seconds!”

He was
already
lobbying his neighbors against us?!
“Why don’t you go back to your hotel and try to—”

“I
can’t!
Somebody has to keep an eye on my artwork! And it sure as hell isn’t going to be Michael!”

“Fine. I’ll…be right there.”

I weighed calling Sullivan, but figured he had his hands full with Rebecca Berringer at the moment. (I could only hope not literally.) So I tore out of the office, leaving it unlocked, and raced to Shannon’s house.

The gist of Shannon’s lamentations was exactly as
Sullivan had forewarned. Pate was taking his case to the homeowners on the opposite side of the enormous land parcel he’d purchased for BaseMart. Those neighborhoods would be adversely affected by BaseMart if Shannon’s property remained unscathed. Yet, there also was some conflicting information floating around. As best we could gather, Pate was now pitching an either-or ultimatum: He was threatening to develop
either
a BaseMart—which he’d surround with mature landscaping—
or
high-density housing, meaning condos or apartment complexes, with no parklike buffer zones.

Shannon was in a frenzy, saying we should “just give up and burn my house to the ground! Let the bad guy win!”

Nothing I did or said could calm her. Finally I vowed to discuss the matter with Pate and headed alone across the street. As I made the short journey, I bypassed my usual confidence-and-optimism mantra and repeated to myself:
He’s not all
that
handsome….

By the time I rang his doorbell, I’d convinced myself that he was a conniving, heartless, money-grubbing S.O.B. The door opened. My jaw dropped. It wasn’t Pate. It was Tracy Osgood—the woman Audrey and Shannon had trusted to manage the finances for the No Big Boxes campaign.

“Tracy?” I said, stunned.

“Hi, Erin.” She came outside and shut the door behind her. She was wearing a snug-fitting angora sweater and black slacks tucked into her knee-high black cowboy boots embossed with silver lassoes. “This is really unfortunate timing. I’m hardly ever here. This is only the third or fourth time I’ve been inside this house in my entire life.”

“And yet you’re here now, because…? Oh, my God. Are
you
Pate’s wife?”

Even beneath all that makeup, her cheeks grew rosier. “We’re legally separated…and our divorce will be finalized very soon.”

“Is he here now?”

“Pate’s on the phone?” She seemed to be flustered; her Texas accent was ratcheted up a notch, and she’d turned her statement into a question. She glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. “He’ll probably come out any second to check up on me.”

“Why are you working for No Big Boxes? To get back at your estranged husband?”

She shook her head. “I wanted to stop Pate from destroying the neighborhood. I’m fixin’ to take ownership of this house, so as I can live in Crestview permanently. I like it much better than my current home in Denver. The bastard built a BaseMart right behind it.
After
he’d moved out himself. When I found out he was fixin’ to do the same thing here, I was fit to be tied. Figured I’d best pitch in at No Big Boxes to—”

She broke off and whirled around as the door opened. Ignoring her, Pate said, “Hello, Erin. Are you here to see my ex-wife?” He was dressed casually—leather sandals, gray slacks, and a bright sea-foam–colored long-sleeve shirt. I’d obviously caught him at a bad time; his face was flushed, and his tone chill. “I saw you two conferring at the meeting last night.” He seemed to have deliberately angled himself so that he wouldn’t have to face Tracy.

“No. I didn’t even know that she…was here.” My cheeks were blazing. I hoped he didn’t realize how shocked I was at Tracy’s decision not to tell me or, apparently, her fellow members of No Big Boxes that she just happened to be married to their archnemesis.

“I see. In that case, you must have come over because Shannon told you my latest plans. I’m giving our neighbors the choice between BaseMart and a huge condo development.”