Free Fatal Feng Shui by Leslie Caine Page B

brother.” He gave my hand a gentle squeeze, then released it. “Taylor had a terrific sense of humor and a refreshing openness. His death at such a young age is tragic.”
    “Thank you.” As I studied his handsome features, I realized that the white hair had fooled me. Pate was probably only in his early forties. Maybe even his late thirties.
    “Taylor spoke highly of you,” Pate continued. “He told me how much he was looking forward to getting to know you better. I’m sorry the Fates robbed you both of that opportunity.”
    Now I had to avert my gaze from his or risk tearing up. I didn’t dare look at Shannon; my brief, civil exchange with Pate Hamlin had no doubt already painted me with the same “traitor” brush she’d applied to her husband. (Although she was correct where
he
was concerned.) I turned toward Sullivan instead, only to discover that
he
was glaring at me. I glared back, willing him to telepathically hear me retort:
What!?
You
can cozy up to the designer who’s sleeping with our client’s husband, but
I
can’t accept the condolences of the homeowner the slut works for?
And then I noticed Pate Hamlin was staring at me intently, looking sincerely concerned. Impulsively, I found myself giving him an appreciative smile.
    The firefighters emerged from the house. “Everything’s under control. The fire’s out.”
    Michael sighed with relief. “Thank God for that much.”
    “How bad’s the damage from smoke and water?” Shannon asked.
    “Hard to say. Your insurance agent can probably judge that better’n I could.”
    “I should head home,” Pate said abruptly. “Good to see you again, Mr. Sullivan.” He nodded at me. “And to meet you, Miss Gilbert. Though I’m sorry about the circumstances. If your family needs any help with funeral arrangements, I’m friends with the best mortician in Crestview. I’d be happy to pull some strings for you.”
    “Um, thanks, but…that’s not necessary.”
    He searched my eyes, nodded, then turned and walked to his house with a confident stride.
    “So we can go back inside now, right?” Michael was asking the fireman who appeared to be in charge.
    He rubbed his craggy chin, then frowned. “You can go in and pack up some things, sure. But it’s probably going to be a long time till you can live there again.”
    “What!?” Shannon shrieked.
    “You need a new roof. ’Fraid you’ll have to move into a hotel. Your homeowner’s insurance should cover it. There’s a place this side of town that has full kitchens and two-bedroom suites. Won’t be home sweet home, but it’ll be better than nothing. And it’s only a matter of time till your place is good as new.”
    “But I have to be allowed to work in my studio during the day! Ask my designers. Erin? Steve? Tell them how I
have
to be here in my workspace! Everyone who’s ever met me knows that much about me!”
    “You’ve already got a contractor and his team working here,” Sullivan reassured her. “That’s the one good thing. It’ll cut your repair time in half. At least.”
    “It doesn’t look like there’s any damage to the roof over her studio,” I said to the fireman. “So surely she can continue to occupy that space during the day, right?”
    “Absolutely.” He turned to face Shannon. “In fact, after the fire marshal’s checked things out, you can have free rein of the place. So long as it passes the safety inspection. And provided you can make do without heat or electricity.”
    “Fine,” Shannon sniffed. “I can work in the cold during the day.” She was so flustered she kept dragging her fingers through her windblown hair and getting them stuck in the process. “And…and we’ll just…survive this somehow. What choice do we have?”
    Michael shrugged. “It could be worse.”
    “Don’t say that, Michael! Whenever anyone puts those kinds of vibrations out into the universe…well, it’s like you’re issuing a
challenge
. Next thing you know, things
do
get