The Feng Shui Detective's Casebook (11 page)

‘The second door,’ she muttered. ‘They’re in here.’

Keeping a tight grip on him, she kicked the door open and swung Wong into the room. ‘I got ’im,’ she crowed.

The
feng shui
master was aghast to see there were fifteen women in the room, aged from about forty-five to well over Mrs Mittel’s age.

‘Oh!’ he said. ‘You are having party. Very sorry. Maybe I come back tomorrow.’

‘Oh no-no-no,’ said his hostess. ‘You don’t escape that easily. I’ve invited the entire membership of the North Perth Handbag Society to meet you and we’ve got a forty per cent turnout, despite the fact that I only started making the calls mid-afternoon.’

‘You’re a very persuasive woman, El,’ one of the women called out, and the others laughed.

‘Harry would have said so,’ said another, triggering a louder laugh.

‘Behave yourselves girls,’ said Mrs Mittel, tightening her grip on Wong’s arm. ‘We don’t want to scare him off.’

The geomancer was forcibly placed in a dining chair in a position where all the women could see him. Sixteen pairs of eyes stared at him and gave instant feedback.

‘He’s kinda cute.’

‘Skinny though.’

‘Needs one of Bessie’s two-ton Lamingtons.’

‘Yeah, then I don’t have to eat them.’

‘Does he speak English?’

‘Prob’ly better’n you, Milly.’

Mrs Mittel clapped her hands sharply together to get her audience’s attention. ‘Come now, ladies, we need a bit of quiet here. Mr Wong has kindly agreed to give the North Perth Handbag Society a talk on
feng shooeee.
As you know, from the talk that Mrs Nimmo gave us last year, this is the ancient Oriental art of placement. Mrs Nimmo, God bless her, was just reading out of a book, but this Mr Wong is your genuine article. A real
feng shui
master who just happens to be in town and is a friend of my daughter-in-law.’

‘I don’t think —’ said Wong, trying to rise to his feet.

Mrs Mittel put a hand on each shoulder and pressed him down. ‘Come now, Mr Wong, no need to be shy. We don’t bite.’

‘Julia does,’ said a cheerful woman with a red, blotchy face.

This inexplicable remark caused hoots of laughter from the other side of the room, and one elderly woman had a coughing fit and had to be helped out of the room to recover.

‘Maybe she does, but we are not gonna let her bite you, don’t you worry,’ Eleanor Mittel told Wong. ‘Now how about you give us a five or ten minute talk, and then we do Q and A and general discussion?’

So saying, she spun herself round and squeezed herself, with a wriggle of her bottom, into a tiny space left on one of the three sofas in the room. ‘There. We’re ready.’

The geomancer loathed speaking in public—and was generally mistrustful of
gwaipoh
, an aversion that his time spent with Joyce had only reinforced. So the idea of addressing a whole roomful of them—well, it was one of the most hideous ways he could imagine spending an evening. He tried to calm himself by imagining that it was possible that several of the women in this room would hire him at exorbitant rates over the next few days to look at their houses or apartments.

But in the meantime, what was he going to say? Maybe he could do a basic introduction to
feng shui
, as he did when he occasionally found himself with a client who knew nothing about it.

‘Feng shui
man use a compass first. This is to find out which direction.’

The blotchy-faced woman shouted out: ‘Show us your tool.’

‘Yeah, get yer tool out,’ her neighbour added.

This caused a riot of laughter, and a stern admonition from Eleanor Mittel. ‘Behave yourselves girls.’

A woman of about eighty with white hair cackled. ‘Hands, off girls, Eleanor wants him for herself.’

Wong’s lack of experience in making speeches in English proved to be no disadvantage at all. Whatever he said sparked off spontaneous and quite unintelligible comments that baffled him but greatly entertained his audience.

After five painful stop-start minutes, in which he had explained almost nothing about his science, it occurred to him that some of the women in this group were roughly the age of the people who had died at the fitness clubs.

‘In
feng shui
, health associated with yellow colour,’ he said. ‘Anybody here is healthy?’

The blotchy-faced woman, who was the quickest comedienne in the group, said: ‘I have a healthy appetite, but that’s all!’

Eleanor Mittel sniggered back: ‘The healthier your appetite the less healthy your fat gut.’

‘Oooh,’ murmured the other women at this personal attack.

Wong pressed on: ‘Anybody here use health club?’

‘I do,’ said a woman of about seventy. ‘Do I need to get them to paint my club yellow?’

‘You never belong to a health club, Bee,’ said a woman with grey hair.

‘I do. I did three K on the cycle yesterday.’

A fifty-something woman in a long, green, earth-mother dress raised her hand. ‘I’m doing a course with a personal trainer. I’ve only been once and it nearly killed me.’

There was general laughter at this, but Wong raised his eyebrows. ‘He make you work hard?’

‘It’s a she. And hard is not the word for it. I think she’s trying to polish me off.’

‘The lamingtons will get you first,’ said the blotchy-faced woman.

Two hours later, Mrs Eleanor Mittel placed CF Wong in a taxi.

‘Thank you, Mr Wong. You were a star.’

‘Ah. Okay. What time I do your flat tomorrow?’

‘Early. Nine-ish would be good.’

The Swan taxi pulled off into the road, leaving Wong with a welcome moment of peace.

It had been a stressful and strenuous evening, but it had worked out fine in the end. Four of the women had hired him to visit their apartments over the next two days.

During his talk and the general discussion over snacks later, he had learned that three of the women present were active members of a health club. One of them, an attractive woman in her mid-fifties introduced to him as Mrs Lavender, had recently embarked upon a course with a personal trainer that was proving to be extremely strenuous. ‘Getting healthy is going to be the death of me,’ she laughed.

Of course, it was possible that she was just out of shape, Wong realised. Perhaps there was no connection at all with the incidents at the Millennium Health Centre and The Players, but it would be intriguing to check it out.

‘You have doctor?’

‘Yeah—and he specialises in sports and fitness.’

‘A good man?’

‘Very good. He does a lot of work for kids’ charities and stuff. If you haven’t written your will yet, Mr Wong, you could do a lot worse than write a bequest for him, as I’ve done.’

At 11:45 am the following morning, the juice bar of the Stretch Yoga Centre was occupied by six people—five of whom were women, the sixth being Wong. The
feng shui
master had long been proud of his traditional Asian misogyny and was irritated to find himself constantly in the company of females during this particular mission. Was it Perth that was at fault? Did Australian men all move to Sydney, leaving this side of the country over-supplied with the pestilent sex? Or was it something to do with health clubs? Maybe only women in Australia were healthy?

‘Are you married, Mr Wong?’

Mrs Lavender’s question brought him abruptly out of his reverie.

‘I know you’re not wearing a ring, but I didn’t know whether people in your country had the tradition of wearing rings.’

The geomancer shook his head. ‘Not married. No rings, no, no, don’t like it, Mrs Lavender.’

‘Call me Jackie.’

‘Yes, Mrs Lavender Jackie.’

‘Just Jackie.’

‘Mrs Jess Jackie.’

She reached over the table and took hold of his hand. ‘I can do a bit of palm reading, you know. I was taught by my aunt, who had a bit of Romany blood.’

She ran her fingertip over his palm, tickling him.

‘There are seven different categories of hand, you know,’ she said. ‘You have what is called a philosophical hand, gnarled with pronounced knuckles. This type of palm indicates —’ The geomancer snatched his hand back. ‘I think maybe we do this later.’

Jackie Lavender leaned back in her chair, still supremely calm and confident, despite his nervous, hostile manner. ‘Okay, you tell me, what is it you’re after? Why are you here? It obviously isn’t my body.’

Wong wasn’t sure what she was talking about. He thought for a moment before replying. ‘I have a feeling about your training course. Sometimes people die from training too much. I am a bit worried, that’s all.’

She looked at him. ‘Did your compass tell you I was at risk? How did you work out that I was in danger?’

Again, he found himself baffled as to how to reply. He didn’t want to go into detail about the deaths at the other health clubs. The chances were that this had no connection. He decided to take the simplest option. ‘Yes, my compass needle point at you. It show me you have danger. Need to check your training program.’

She rose to her feet. ‘Come. I’ll show you.’

She led him down a white corridor to an office containing an untidy desk and two computers. ‘Ashanti’s not here, but I’m sure she won’t mind. Ashanti’s my personal trainer.’

‘Is this computer link —’

He stopped as a small, wiry young woman with brown skin stepped into the room.

Jackie Lavender gave a small cry of pleasure and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Hello dear,’ she said. ‘I want you to meet Mr Wong, a friend of mine. He’s very interested in my training regime. Mr Wong, this is Ashanti Carle, my trainer, and managing partner of the Stretch Yoga Centre.’

Ashanti Carle gave Wong just enough of a smile to be minimally polite, but no more. ‘Can I help you, Mr Wong? What is it exactly that you need to know?’

‘Ah. Er,’ Wong stammered. ‘I, er, want to know what is the doctor connection for your health programme.’

‘Are you a salesman from some sort of consultancy?’

‘No, no, nothing like that. I am
feng shui
master. I am interested in health of Mrs Jackie Lavender.’

‘Oh. Well, I am also interested in her health, and since I am paid a considerable sum of money to improve it, I hope you don’t mind if I get on with that job.’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’

‘So goodbye, nice to have met you.’ Ashanti Carle spoke dismissively.

‘Ah. Goodbye, yes, goodbye.’ Wong did not move. ‘Just one question. You use group called Executive Doctors on Call?’

‘No, we don’t,’ said Ashanti. ‘We have our own doctor, retained by our group. Goodbye.’

The personal trainer slipped her arm into Jackie Lavender’s and whisked her to the aerobics room where something called Hi Lo & Sculpt was about to begin. He turned away but managed to catch Ashanti’s comment to Mrs Lavender.

‘He’s either after your body, or Dr Brackish’s consultancy contract. Either way, he gives me a bad feeling.’

‘I think he’s rather cute,’ Jackie replied.

Wong froze. Where had he heard that name before? He recalled the name being spoken with a French accent. Dominique Alegre must have mentioned it. He was somehow connected with Executive Doctors on Call. That meant that all the same factors were in place: a young trainer, an aging client, an over-strenuous programme, a connection with Executive Doctors on Call—it might just be all coincidence. Or perhaps it wasn’t—in which case, Mrs Lavender’s life was in danger.

The
feng shui
master turned around and marched into the gymnasium. ‘Ms Jackie Lavender,’ he said. ‘I think you should not to do this program. Maybe not safe.’

Ashanti Carle, tiny though she was, tensed her muscles and suddenly looked very dangerous indeed. She grabbed Wong, spun him round and picked him off the floor with pincer-like grips on his upper arms. She marched with him to the entrance of the room. ‘I’ve had quite enough of you, Mr Wong. I know exactly what you’re after. Kindly don’t darken our doorstep again.’

She carried him protesting all the way to the front door of the Stretch Yoga Centre and unceremoniously heaved him outside. He landed heavily on the pavement.

She theatrically dusted her hands. ‘Goodbye and good riddance.’

It was very bad
feng shui
to sit in the dust, so Wong quickly picked himself up and brushed himself down. His bony bottom hurt. Then he sneaked around to the front of the building and peered through the window.

He saw Jackie Lavender on a treadmill. She was running very fast, and her face was bright red. Even from this distance, he could see a throbbing vein standing out from her left temple.

Ashanti Carle was watching the woman run with her lips down-turned and a puzzled look on her face.

Wong wanted to march in and turn the machine off. But he was frankly terrified that if he as much as showed his face near the door again, the tiny woman would grab him and beat him to a pulp.