Gilt Trip (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series Book 3) (15 page)

“A party! What a surprise.” Anika strolled up to Fleur and hugged her. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”

Anika’s poise in the face of danger gave me courage. I resisted the urge to bolt, stared straight at Deming, and plastered a smile on my face. Cato proved his allegiance by baring his fangs and lunging at Fleur.

“He’s not good with strangers,” I said. “Such a protective little cuss.”

Bolin, ever the gentleman, greeted us and offered refreshments. His eyes twinkled with a bemused expression that said nothing surprised him anymore. Unfortunately, Deming was less understanding. He grunted, sipped his scotch, and hunkered down, never moving a muscle.

“Fleur called Dem after you went out today,” Bolin said. “It seemed like a good idea to get together and catch up on things, particularly since, as usual, you ladies are way ahead of the rest of us.”

Deming eased into the conversation like a hungry shark on the prowl. “What else is new,” he fumed. “I thought you were a writer, Eja, not an investor. Imagine my surprise when Fleur mentioned your new interest.”

“She’s my partner,” Anika said. “Lots of people diversify. It makes financial sense.”

“Besides,” I said with all the sweetness I could muster, “we’re exploring options. Everything is tentative, and we assumed our dealings with Fleur were confidential.”

Even the most brazen hussy can feel shame. Fleur’s fair Irish skin turned beet red as she absorbed our scorn. “I felt obliged to read Dem in on everything. After all, his client is involved.”

“Really? We discussed a business proposition, nothing that concerned the Exley family. Their name never even came up in conversation.” Rage boiled up within me the more I considered her treachery. “I’m very disappointed in you, Fleur.”

Anika chimed in, polite but pointed. “Me too. As it turns out, you don’t have to worry. Eja and I have made other arrangements. That probably is best for us all.” She stood, indicating in the classiest way possible that the discussion was over, and Fleur was no longer welcome in her home.

Bolin shook Fleur’s hand and thanked her for her concern. “Nice to see you again, Fleur. Good luck with your future plans.” He nodded to Deming and walked over to join his wife. “Dem will see you home.”

Once again, I felt like an alien in the splendid realm of Swannland. Between Fleur’s treachery and Deming’s arrogance, there was no place for a midlist mystery writer with an inquiring mind and an independent streak.

Deming stalked out the door without even turning my way. I almost wept, but pride and a compulsion to avoid pity kept my eyes dry. I patted Cato’s head and put on my great big Brownie smile. “It’s getting late. I’d better head on home.”

“Wait, Eja.” Anika sensed my pain. “Why not stay for dinner. I’m sure Dem will be back soon.”

“No, thanks. I’ll go home and do some writing. It’s my therapy when I need to think.”

“We’ll speak tomorrow,” Anika said. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

I wasn’t so sure, but good manners demanded an upbeat response. After flashing a plucky grin, I prepared to leave.

“Oh, Eja, one more thing. Will you be at our exercise session tomorrow?” Anika bit her lip. “I’m not sure. Maybe . . .”

“I’ll be there,” I said. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. But if you’re busy, don’t worry. I’ll tackle the group class instead.”

Bolin walked to my side and squeezed my hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the car.”

His presence was comforting, even when he said nothing. Bolin Swann projected warmth, self-assurance, and strength, just the prescription I needed at that moment.

“Forgive him, Eja. Ever since Cecilia died, Deming has been terrified that he’ll lose someone else. He feels helpless, and that overwhelms him. If Dem had his way, he’d wrap up you and his mother and never let you go.”

I took a deep breath. “He’s angry all the time, Bolin, and I can’t live that way.”

“Not angry, just vulnerable. A control freak. I know my son, Eja, and he loves you more than you could ever realize. Always has, even as a kid.”

“Maybe we’re not right for each other. I’ll never be a compliant wife.”

Bolin chuckled. “I know all about that. Anika has an independent streak a mile wide. It took some time for me to accept it. Swann men are hardheaded.”

I shrugged and reached for my iPhone. “More time, huh? I promise to try.”

“You don’t need a cab,” Bolin said. “Let Po drive you. I insist.” Anger was easy to rebuff, but kindness broke me down. He nodded to Po, opened the passenger side door, and patted my shoulder.

“Give him another chance, Eja. Please.” Bolin’s dark eyes gleamed. “Anika depends on you so much, and I already think of you as my daughter.”

The cool wind brushed my face, making me shiver. I stood on tiptoe and kissed Bolin’s cheek. “You’ve both been wonderful to me.” I paused. “But Deming has to come to terms with things before it’s too late.”

Chapter Fourteen

DEMING DIDN’T CALL that night. Perhaps he was snuggled in Fleur’s arms, granting that harridan’s every wish. I thought of the parallels between Anika’s Jaguar XKE and her own son, both sexy, fractious beasts meting out pleasure with pain. That described Deming as much as a slinky auto. Should I keep agonizing every time our relationship broke down or make a clean break? The conundrum weighed me down, banishing all hope of restful sleep.

I loved Deming and accepted him with all his foibles. Unfortunately, he viewed me as a work in progress, fresh clay to mold and manipulate to his specifications. We had battled since childhood about our differences. At one time I considered them strengths, but now I wasn’t so sure.

Cato had no patience with my struggles. He prescribed exercise and vigorous ball tosses as the answer to almost everything. Come to think of it, the little devil had a point. After tramping about the Common with him, I felt invigorated and curiously optimistic. When my telephone rang, I answered it without even checking caller ID.

“Eja? Sorry I missed you yesterday.” Ames Exley’s distinctive Brahmin voice enunciated every syllable as if his life depended on it.

“Oh, yes. Just a temporary health scare. How are you?”

He paused. “Hungry. How about joining me for lunch at the Seaport Hotel? At Tamo, the restaurant. I guess I should have made that clear, although . . .”

“Today?” Last minute invitations were always chancy propositions. I wondered how many women before me had turned him down. On the other hand, memories of the restaurant’s tuna sliders and chicken fingers made me salivate. I ignored the part about the hotel.

Ames laughed. “You got me. I’m playing hooky. Escaped my big brother’s clutches just a minute ago and wanted to have some fun. C’mon. My treat. Are you game?”

“Sure. I can be there by noon, if that works.”

“See you then.”

Ames rang off, leaving me with mixed emotions and a faint glow of triumph. A date with an attractive man might be just the tonic I needed. Deming Swann could sulk in silence as far as I was concerned.

When the phone rang again, I saw his name and chose the better part of valor. I simply stiffened my spine and ignored Deming’s call. He never left messages, no need to. My heart and brain were attuned to the special ring tone that he had. Besides, I had some prep work to do. No time for platitudes and angst-laced conversations. Eja Kane was on a mission.

I chose conservative garb in case Ames actually had designs on my virtue. No one could fault the cashmere sheath, snappy red jacket, and Ferragamos that I wore. They were prim, with subtle well-bred Brit touches. Stylish but austere, just like my mindset.

Nightmarish lunch hour traffic kept my cab driver swearing and me wondering. I arrived at Tamo on the stroke of noon, rather like Cinderella fleeing the ball. Despite the crowd, Ames had already snagged a seat. He waved merrily, beckoning me to join his front row table.

“How nice you look,” Ames said, kissing my hand. “Already dressing for success, I see.”

“Since when do you kiss hands?” I asked. “On overload from some Parisian jaunt?”

He gave me that measured Exley sneer before remembering our purpose. “Alas, no. My excursions are confined to this fair city until the mess with the foundation is sorted out.”

“Oh?” Being coy is a stretch for me. I’m no coquette.

“I’m sure Deming told you all about it.” Ames watched my reaction like a cat at a mouse hole.

“You obviously don’t know Deming. He’s tighter than a vault when a client’s concerned. Horton mentioned the bullion scam himself.”

Ames shook his head as he scanned the menu. “Foolishness. My brother threw away millions just to play house with that slut. I could have gotten her for free.”

My jaw dropped, making me gape like the village idiot. “Phaedra came on to you?”

“Is that so unbelievable?” He sounded rather testy, as if I’d questioned his charm. Ames sipped a martini as we placed our order. “Sure you don’t want something stronger? Wine or maybe a cosmo?”

“No, thanks.”

He leaned forward, simulating a leer. “Not pregnant, are you, Eja?”

I glared at him. “What’s wrong with you? Maybe you should discuss it with Deming if you’re so intrigued by our sex life.”

Ames threw up his hands. “Whoa. No harm, no foul. I’m in a mood. The Exleys are prisoners of primogeniture, thanks to my father’s will. I’m a thirty-five-year-old man who’s beholden to his older brother for money, while Horton blows five mil on a hooker, and that idiot wife of his drags our family’s name through the mud.” He took a healthy slug of liquor and continued. “He thought he was so clever. Like no one else was smart enough to find that vault he rented. Fool’s gold for a rich fool. How appropriate.”

My patience with young Mr. Exley was wearing thin. “So get a job. Make your own way. That’s what Deming did.”

He snorted. “Deming Swann, the paragon. How many women did he have along the way, Ms. Kane?”

I yawned. “Ancient history.”

The gleam in his eyes bordered on evil. “Are you so sure? Some habits die hard.”

He wanted a reaction, hoped to wound me by mentioning the very thing I feared most. It gnawed at the edges of my mind, forcing me to confront a painful question. Was I pretty enough to satisfy Deming, or merely safe and comfortable like an old shoe?

I shrugged. “Who knows? Anyhow, Horton repaid the foundation with interest. That should satisfy the cops if they check it out.”

Luckily, the arrival of our lunch forestalled further conflict. I tucked into those tuna sliders, giving every succulent morsel the attention it deserved. Ames seemed more interested in a liquid lunch. He toyed with his salad, pushing spinach leaves around the plate.

“He probably killed her, you know.” He spoke in that too loud, boozy tone.

I narrowed my eyes. “Lower your voice. Do you know what you’re saying?”

He made no attempt to be civil. “Exleys are used to getting what they want. We always have, just like the Swanns. You wouldn’t understand that, Eja.”

I put on my party smile and remained silent.

Ames squeezed my hand. “No offense intended.”

“None taken. Have you any proof that Horton murdered Phaedra?”

He shook his head. “Not take-it-into-court proof, but I know my brother. He was wild about that woman. In love. The day he found out about the gold scam, he aged ten years.”

“Euphemia Bates is a bottom-line cop. She demands proof. Besides, Heather had motive too. Plenty of it. Take it from me, sharing a man is a recipe for disaster.” I banished an image in my mind’s eye of Fleur Pixley, Pamela Schwartz, and Deming—a frolicking ménage à trois.

As Ames signaled for another drink, he balled his hands into tight fists. His anger was raw and palpable, quite unlike the polished frat boy I used to know. Had we been alone, I might have been frightened. Instead, I decided to test something Bolin had mentioned.

“You’d be the winner if Horton was arrested,” I said. “Isn’t there some type of morality clause in the foundation’s charter?”

His skin turned fushia from either drink or rage. I voted for door number one.

“You always were a know-it-all,” Ames hissed, “writing your turgid prose and predictable plots.”

“Guilty on both counts.” My smile was sweetness personified. “Now answer my question, unless you’re afraid to.”

He took a deep breath and sputtered a response. “Yes, I would take control of the foundation. Why not? Horton is a figurehead who doesn’t do anything except control the purse strings. Portia and I do all the real work without a word of thanks from him. Heather won’t even answer the phones. They’re both worthless, and that goes double for my bratty nephews.”

Sometimes I forget just how vulnerable I would be in a physical confrontation. I forged ahead, determined to milk Ames Exley for every drop of information. “I’ve heard nothing but supposition and whining from a jealous younger brother. Why would either Heather or Horton kill Phaedra? Convince me.”

Ames jabbed his finger in my face. “I’ll tell you why. Horton planned to divorce his wife and marry that harlot. I heard them screaming at each other the night before the murder. Heather threw a vase at him too—a valuable Ming dynasty piece.”

He sank back in the chair, sipping his liquid lunch. That outburst had deflated him as surely as a punctured tire. I was no longer frightened. He disgusted me.

“Thanks for lunch, Ames,” I said, sliding from my seat. “Take care of yourself.”

“Eja, wait.” He stared at me with bloodshot eyes. “I’m so sorry. Don’t tell Dem. Please.”

I shook my head. “Relax. He’ll never hear it from me.”