The Feng Shui Detective's Casebook by Nury Vittachi

be pleasantly profitable.
    Joyce, delighted to be left on her own, met up with Jimmy who told her about a former fitness teacher called Stan Eknath, who apparently had a similar story to his. Now knowing that young male gym instructors were more interesting in the flesh than on telephones, she asked Jimmy to track Stan down.
    An hour later, the three young people met at Stan’s father’s restaurant, The Perth Indian Balti House.
    ‘Yeah,’ said Stan, over a rogan josh. ‘The instructions I got on that fateful bloody day clearly said that she needed a great deal of exercise and had to be walked at a six per cent gradient for at least ten minutes at eight kilometres an hour.’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Jimmy. ‘That’s like what the report I got said about my guy.’
    ‘And she had to cycle for twelve minutes.’
    ‘Mine had to cycle for fifteen.’
    ‘And she had to get her heart rate up to ninety-two per cent of maximum. I thought that was way dangerous at the time, but that’s what the report for the day said. I had to do what it said. I would get in trouble if I didn’t. Once she’d keeled over and the ambulance had taken her away—well, I went back to the website a couple of hours later, and the special instructions had disappeared. Just the usual ones were left.’
    Jimmy shook his head slowly in wonder. ‘This is what happened to me. Exactly what happened to me.’
    Joyce, recalling what she had learned from previous cases, turned to Jimmy with a question. ‘Who benefits from this? Like, who did the old geezer who died leave his money to?’
    ‘I don’t know, but I think it was his doctor. That’s what I heard. There was a lot of gossip about the whole thing among the staff at the club.’
    She turned to the other trainer.
    He said: ‘I don’t know who the dead old bird at my place left her money to. But I remember her saying that she joined the health programme because her doctor told her to.’
    ‘Why did your guy join the club?’ she asked Jimmy.
    ‘I think he joined for medical reasons, too.’
    Stan bit into a poppadum thoughtfully, crumbs exploding over his chin. ‘Just supposing both were sent by their doctors—and both left their money to their doctors. That would mean —’
    ‘A motive!’ the young woman said.
    Jimmy asked: ‘What was the name of the doctor at your gym?’
    Stan’s brow wrinkled. ‘I don’t remember. I don’t think we ever got individual names of doctors. The reports were on a website. The company paid some money and we got access to it. It was called Executive something.’
    Joyce interrupted. ‘Hang on a minute. Lemme think. Er— what was it? Was it—Executive Doctors on Call?’
    Stan nodded. ‘Yeah—I think—yeah, that was it. You got it.’
    ‘I think maybe we really have got it,’ she replied, her mind racing.

    Dominique Alegre dropped Wong off at her mother-in-law’s residence at precisely 6:30 pm.
    The 72-year-old woman lived in an apartment block three storeys high on a steep slope on the outskirts of town. It was called The Regalia and had become a popular haunt for the elderly, since it was not far from a hospital specialising in outpatient services with a Senior Citizen Clinic.
    ‘I don’t sink ma belle-mère wants you to feng shui her place tonight,’ Ms Alegre said as she punched a four-digit code into a panel at the main door.
    ‘Just have a look-see,’ Wong agreed.
    ‘ Oui. She wants you to meet a few friends, too. Zey’re all interested in feng shui these days.’
    ‘Ah.’ Wong felt like rubbing his hands together. The stars were in his favour and his luck was in. He visualised two or three little old ladies, all of whom would hire him to poke around their apartments for a couple of hours each at his usual outrageous fee.
    Arriving at flat 3B, Dominique Alegre introduced him to a tiny, wrinkled woman named Eleanor Mittel. She jabbed a quick kiss onto her mother-in-law’s cheek and fled. ‘ Au revoir , Eleanor. Look after Monsieur