Mantrap (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series) (18 page)

Mordechai Dale in the throes of passion was a sight I hoped never to see. The very thought of it gave me hives. Laird Foster was another matter. In a slick, senior way, he had a certain charm.

“Don’t worry,” Anika said. “Persus is at the spa, and she took Paloma with her. It’s in Chatham, so she’ll be gone awhile. Facial, manicure . . . you know the drill. Krister drove them.”

Deming sniffed dismissively at feminine vanity and focused on his father. “Okay, Dad, let’s hear it. Eja and I have some news as well.”

“I asked about the usual—property values, taxes, and commercial development. It wasn’t difficult at all. Your mother and I had actually talked about buying a place here now that Pert’s on her own.”

Laird Foster must have been orgasmic with Bolin Swann, captain of industry at his side. Oh, to be a fly on that high-end wall as the elegant Mr. Swann picked their pockets.

“You know how smooth your father is,” Anika said. “They never stood a chance.”

Another smile from Bolin. “When I mentioned the casino, Moredechai went ballistic. He assured me that the town council would crush any plans to build hotels or increase traffic in Bayview. Besides, as he pointed out, the Wampanoag interests are in the Mashpee area, nowhere near Bayview.”

Deming tensed and began his knuckle cracking routine. “I don’t suppose you discussed Dario, or Brokind. Both those guys probably know as much as we do about Aunt Pert’s will. Foster’s always nosing around here.”

“The topic did arise. Laird already knew most of it, but Morde was quite persistent. He said Dario had agreed to compromise but Persus refused. ‘Charmingly obdurate,’ he called her.” A fetching cleft, identical to his son’s, appeared in Bolin’s chin. “I got the sense that a consortium with some very deep pockets had already been formed, and they weren’t happy when the plan folded.”

Anika moved closer to her husband. “You mean one of them might have murdered Dario? Oh Bolin! Maybe we should bring Pert back to Boston with us.”

At first blush it sounded absurd, an outlandish conspiracy theory. Upon reflection, I wondered if Anika’s fears might be justified. They say the first murder is the most difficult. After that it gets easier. Snuffing out an old woman’s life might be easiest of all.

Deming must have read my mind. He leapt up and poured himself a sherry. “We might as well brief you on our adventures,” he grumped, “if I don’t starve to death first.”

“Poor baby. Here. Krister left some soup and sandwiches on the sideboard.” Anika passed her spoiled son some sustenance and fussed over him.

After refreshing himself, Deming summarized our conversations with Cheech, Meeka, and Merlot. I could tell immediately that his parents were impressed. Anika clapped her hands, and Bolin gave an executive thumbs up to us both.

“You two are amazing,” he said. “Like real detectives.”

Their praise was gratifying but unwarranted. When I analyzed results I felt much less sanguine. True, we’d established motives for almost everyone and verified once again that Dario was a sleeze. Despite that, we were no closer to solving his murder. According to Chief Smith there was no real evidence of murder. Plenty of people loathed Dario, but did their dislike morph into homicidal rage? We’d found traces of the Gitanes smoker everywhere, but no clues to his or her identity. In other words, Deming and I were rank amateurs poking at a hornet’s nest and waiting for the swarm.

“I think Dario was a wife beater,” Anika mused. “Despicable. But it doesn’t surprise me. I’m sure Persus had no idea what was going on.”

“It wasn’t a big secret,” I said. “Cheech Saenz knew, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Raylan Smith did too. Not much escapes the top cop.”

“Bottom line, Dario’s big plan to change Bayview was stymied by Lars.” Deming chuckled. “That tough Swede would get a kick out of it, wouldn’t he? Dead five years and still calling the shots.”

Anika closed her eyes, resting her head on Bolin’s shoulder. I’d never seen a couple more in sync with each other like two halves of one very harmonious whole.

“You look tired, Leda,” Bolin said to his wife. “Nap time, I think.”

Before they left, Anika dropped a bombshell. “Persus mentioned your wedding might be at Brokind. What a wonderful idea. It would mean so much to her.”

“Now wait a minute!” Deming sputtered himself into total silence. By the time he recovered, his parents had vanished.

PERSUS DECREED THAT dinner would be a formal affair, a celebration of life and family. That required stern action on my part to subdue my curls and gird my girlish loins for battle. A restorative nap was also in order.

I smiled at the gifts Anika had left on my bed: hair, face, and body products plus several evening dresses suitable for a princess. Life was good in the Swann ménage, especially with a fairy godmother nearby.

An hour later I banished my insecurities and chose a slinky black number that channeled a French chanteuse. I shut my door and headed down the hallway, drawn by the sultry sound of music wafting from Deming’s room. I stood in the doorway, beguiled by Chris Botti’s moaning trumpet, inhaling the scent of Deming’s cologne. Royal Oud—leave it to him to wear that precious blend. Subtle notes of lemon and hints of sandalwood lingered in the air, teasing my nostrils, melting my heart. When he emerged, splendid in his dinner jacket, I turned away, consumed by lust. No man should quake my soul that way, not even one who loved me.

Deming took my hand, gently kissing each finger. “You’re beautiful, Eja. So lovely.”

I stood there, trembling at his touch, melting in his arms. Eja Kane, wordsmith extraordinaire, was mute, unable to say a damn thing.

“More of this later,” he whispered. “Come along. They’re waiting for us.”

Chapter Fifteen

WE ENTERED THE living room, the last to arrive for the feast. I lagged behind, suddenly feeling shy in front of company. It was foolish, unnecessary but unavoidable. For just a moment I was again that scholarship girl, the charity case once more. I took a deep breath and reclaimed my accomplished thirty-three-year-old self.

The first face I saw was Raylan Smith’s, a surprise addition to the family circle. He had traded the uniform and weapon for a well-cut navy suit that flattered his toned body. As a keen though disinterested observer I applauded his choice.

“Eja,” Raylan said. “Wow! You look great.” His smile showcased exceptionally white teeth against tanned skin. He nodded to Deming and shook his hand. “You’re one lucky man, Mr. Swann.”

“How right you are!” Bolin glided over and handed each of us a flute of champagne. “So many lovely ladies in one place. It’s overwhelming.”

While the boys played their games, my eyes scanned the room, searching for company. Anika, a vision in peach silk, waved from the corner loveseat. Persus and Paloma, clad in vivid shades of red, stood behind her smiling broadly. Had the soothing spa waters caused amnesia or forged a temporary bond between two women who had loved and mourned Dario Peters?

When Deming and Bolin stepped into the foyer, I acted. “You weren’t honest with me,” I told Raylan.

He folded his arms and faced me, impassive as the Sphinx. “How so?”

“Dario was a monster! That can’t be news to you, yet you never mentioned one thing.”

Raylan lowered his voice. “I’m paid to enforce the law, not pass judgment, Ms. Kane. Speculation can be dangerous.”

My blood pressure soared with every word he uttered. “Domestic violence is against the law in this Commonwealth. What about that?”

He moistened his lips before speaking. “Not without a complaint or solid proof. Paloma refused to cooperate. Hell, she denied that anything happened. I was . . . well, I was going to say impotent, but that’s not the case.” Raylan’s lips turned up at the corners. “Powerless. That’s more accurate.”

“What about extortion? Do you let that slide in Bayview?”

That question earned me a massive frown. I’d clearly caught the good lawman off guard and uninformed. Score one for amateurs!

“I’ve had no complaints about that either,” he said. “I believe you mean blackmail anyway unless you think a public official’s behind it. Check out your Massachusetts criminal code. Chapter 265.”

That sneer on his face was almost unbearable. Supercilious bastard! I considered the penalties for assaulting an officer of the law. Bad odds.

“Dario was a vile creature,” I said. “Ask Merlot if you don’t believe me. Anyone could have knocked him off.”

He grinned. “Nice talk! They teach that at Brown these days?”

I checked the room for Deming. All clear. “I think it had something to do with this land deal.”

Once again his face was bland, imperturbable. Raylan Smith nailed the “lean and hungry look” that spelled danger and possibly deception. He’d perfected sexual magnetism too. Even a betrothed woman could feel the pull.

“Land deal?” He was smiling, laughing at me, dammit!

This was not working. I tried a different tack, hoping that Raylan’s curiosity and sense of fair play would assert itself before I launched an armed assault.

“I promise to share everything I’ve found if you reciprocate. What do you say?”

Raylan bent down, leveraging the twelve-inch difference in our heights. “You don’t get it. You’re bound by law to turn over every scrap of evidence or supposition relating to a crime. Check that out with Mr. Swann. He’s a lawyer after all.”

“What about your obligations?” I knew the answer but made him say it anyway.

“Nonexistent. We’ve covered this before. I am a law enforcement professional, and you, Ms. Kane, are a private citizen. Never the twain shall meet.”

In times of stress, I lower my body temperature like a two-toed sloth. Control. Helps me win every argument even with a man as cold-blooded as a cobra.

“You’re right, Chief.” I gave an elaborate shrug. “Million dollar deals don’t mean much anyway. When Persus dies, things might change.”

That did it! Raylan snorted like a bull and flexed his fingers. I had a quick mental image of them squeezing my throat. “What’s this about Mrs. Cantor?”

“She’s in danger. I’m positive of that. I’ll bet that fall and her stomach problems weren’t accidental either. Why, even . . .”

A sinewy arm snaked around my waist. “What’s this about my aunt?”

Raylan took a step back and regained his poise. “You’ve got quite a detective here, Mr. Swann. Soon she’ll want my job too. Maybe she already does.”

Deming gave me the stare that traumatized his adversaries and led to juicy settlements. I shrugged it off without a second thought.

“You have to understand, Chief. Eja thinks like a mystery writer. To her, everything’s suspicious, and any one of us is fair game.”

Just then, Krister appeared in the doorway and announced dinner.

Deming winked, spun me around, and led me toward the door.

BOTH OUR MEAL and conversation that evening were forgettably bland. Paloma, encouraged by Persus, thrilled us with a point-by-point recitation of her spa experience and massage choices. Just when I thought we’d heard it all, she launched into a heated defense of artificial nails.

When Raylan’s phone vibrated, he escaped the room with a half-hearted apology that deceived no one. Deming and Bolin bolted after him, making their own bid for freedom by claiming the need for a postprandial brandy.

“Those boys,” Persus said. “So clever. Sneaking out for a smoke just like old times. Lars always used his study. He denied it, but of course I knew.”

Five minutes later, Bolin returned. “There’s been a break-in,” he said. “Meeka Kyle’s house.”

“Is she okay?” I leapt to my feet, ready to join the men. Instead of answering me, Bolin vanished.

Anika sped over to her aunt’s chair and clasped her hand. The announcement sucked all the gaiety from the room, and Persus suddenly looked her age. Only Paloma seemed untouched by the crime.

“Go with them, Eja,” Anika said. “Paloma and I will stay with Pert.”

I rushed through the winding hallway unable to find a jacket or purse. If I didn’t get a move on, those men would abandon me without a second thought, especially Deming. He was constantly trying to shield me from anything he perceived to be dangerous. Anything that might resolve the murder.

The massive front door, portal to the world beyond, was ajar. Ibsen and Cato took full advantage of it by milling around the entryway, clamoring for attention. Cato was a feckless sentry, and Ibsen wasn’t much better despite his size. I ignored the canine crew and ran up the drive toward Raylan’s cruiser.

“Looking for something?” Deming appeared from the shadows, dangling my shawl and purse. “I knew you’d do something like this.” He held out my shawl. “Here, come along, Sherlock, you’re shivering. If you don’t watch it you’ll catch pneumonia. Plus you always feel naked without your purse.”

I snuggled into the shawl’s cashmere folds and hugged his waist. “You’ll make someone a wonderful husband, Mr. Swann”—I shrugged—“or a great nanny.”

“Either job will do.” He grinned and tugged me toward the Porsche. Bolin had already joined Raylan in leading the procession to Meeka’s home.

“Why doesn’t he put on the siren or flash the lights?” I grumbled. “This counts as major crime in Bayview.”

“Relax,” Deming said. “Haven’t you figured him out yet? Subtlety is his middle name. Stealth not flash. Raylan Smith has no need to cause a commotion. Plus, Meeka was more frightened than hurt according to the dispatcher.”

I paused to assess his comment. It was right on target and even qualified as a compliment to Raylan. Deming had little respect for grandstanding or braggadocio. In his world of corporate derring-do, more cases were won through steely reserve than flash.

Our excursion didn’t take long; nothing in Bayview was more than five miles away. Ironically, Meeka lived on Serenity Street, in a sprawling, deceptively understated Cape that abutted the ocean. Despite its size, the house had the staid, comfortable look of a well-preserved dowager with connections. This evening, however, flashing lights and prowl cars spoiled the bucolic charm.

Raylan and Bolin waltzed past two officers and I trotted right behind them. Deming stayed in the Porsche hunched over the seat, glued to his iPhone.