Fatal Feng Shui Read Online Free

hesitated. Then he said: “Mom’s worried.”
    “What does this job have to do with Emily?” I wasn’t comfortable calling her “Mom” we’d agreed upon my calling her by her first name.
    “Mom heard about that ratings war between your landlady and Rebecca. She figures you and your landlady are such close buddies, you’re going to let that mess up your own career.”
    “How could Audrey’s and Rebecca’s conflicts interfere with
my
work?”
    “Mom says that Rebecca talked on her show about the battle between Pate’s and Shannon’s houses. That Shannon started using ancient Chinese…fungy shoe stuff to tick off Pate.”
    “It’s pronounced
fung shway
, Taylor. And Shannon says
Pate
was the instigator.”
    “Whatever. Mom figured you and me should stick together and watch out for one another.”
    I was more than a little skeptical of that. Taylor was not the most trustworthy of sources. Besides, if Emily had told my brother that he and I should “watch out” for each other, she would have told me the same thing. Yet she hadn’t even seen fit to mention that Taylor was working on the construction site of the very same job I was overseeing. Maybe he was trying to tell me, without bruising his male ego, that
he
was worried.
    He went on, “According to what Mom said, Shannon and Pate are using their houses like two businesses in China did, ten or twenty years back. They were, like, sending out these negative funk sway vibes to hurt the competitor’s business and get more customers for themselves.”
    “Well, I guess if it’s good enough for businesses in China, it’s good enough for two houses in Crestview, Colorado.”
    “Yeah. But I’ll bet nobody was making death threats back in China.”
    “Death threats?” I cried.
    He shrugged. “Not literally. But everyone around this joint sure seems mad enough to kill me. David says: ‘Make it eight feet.’ Then what’s-his-name, Chang Chunk…that crazy Italian guy who thinks he’s Chinese, comes along and says: ‘Make it nine feet.’ Then Shannon yells: ‘Why isn’t this seven feet?’ These clowns all think they’re top dog.”
    “Things will calm down soon. Sullivan and I will get everyone on the same page. We just finished another job. Now we can spend more time here.”
    “Well, I’m just saying, Erin, you’d better hurry. Chang Chunk and my boss are doing their best to make me the fall guy while
they
screw up.”
    “His name is
Ang Chung,
Taylor. If you want to get along with him better, you should learn the man’s name.”
    “Yeah, sure. Blame it all on me,” he grumbled. “That’s what everyone
else
always does.” The back door creaked open. Taylor stared past my shoulder and muttered, “Speak of the devil.”
    Ang Chung was striding toward us. Although his brow was creased in anger, his every movement was characteristically self-aware. It was as if the man envisioned himself in a never-ending tai chi session. I hoped a swarm of bees would swoop toward him one of these days. My hunch was he’d drop that phony measured glide of his and run as awkwardly as an overweight businessman trying to chase down a bus.
    Ang seemed to own just two outfits. Today it was his white karate
gi
underneath his unbuttoned camel hair wool coat. On warmer days he would wear black satin pants and a matching robe with a red dragon embroidered on the back. In spite of his name, Ang did indeed have the olive complexion, dark brown eyes, and the dark curly hair of someone with Italian ancestry, as Taylor had noted.
    At the edge of Shannon’s rock garden, Ang gave us a slight bow. With his typical careful diction, he said, “Please come with me, Mr. Duncan and Miss Gilbert.”
    I headed toward him. “Is something—”
    “What’s your problem
now
?” Taylor interrupted, staying put.
    “I would say it is more your problem than mine, Mr. Duncan,” Ang replied.
    “Come on, Taylor,” I said with a sigh. “Let’s get this handled.”
    Taylor waited