Mantrap (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series)

by Arlene Kay

  “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.

  “Didn’t know you’d joined us, Ms. Kane.” Raylan’s expression had more scowl than smile. “We don’t need a delegation.”

  “Anika insisted. A woman’s touch, you know.” I flashed him my Miss America smile and stepped across the threshold into Meeka’s home. His reaction told me that I wouldn’t get his vote.

  I’d expected a traditional look reflecting the long tenure of the Kyle family, but Meeka surprised me once more. The space had undergone a facelift, a tasteful renovation that gently ushered it into the new millennium. Cove ceilings, granite counters, and an open floor plan were balanced by beautiful pumpkin pine floors with wide planks. Antique Georgian finds were juxtaposed with striking contemporary pieces and the occasional African textile. The effect was seamless and stunning. Hats off to Ms. Kyle.

  An officer pointed to the great room where the lady of the house lay on the couch, looking more like an empress than a crime victim.

  “Feel up to talking, Ms. Kyle?” Raylan kept that strong but sensitive vibe alive and well. “The Swanns came with me in case you needed anything.”

  Meeka swung her feet on the floor and slowly roused herself into a sitting position. Despite the ordeal, her hair and makeup were pitch perfect.

  “I’m fine, Chief. Just a bit shaken.”

  “What happened?” The words jumped out before I could stop myself. Bolin sighed, and Raylan shot me a venomous look that would spook a rattler.

  “That’s just it,” Meeka said, rubbing her forehead. “I heard a noise down here. It never occurred to me that I was in danger. I thought the alarm was turned on.” She shrugged helplessly. “My study is a mess! Papers strewn about, drawers askew. I reached for the lamp to dial the telephone and wham! Someone struck me from behind and it was lights out.”

  “Mind if I look around?” Raylan asked. “The boys already dusted for prints, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope of identifying anyone. Whoever did this was probably smart enough to wear gloves.”

  She shook her head and waved us on. “Do whatever. The study is off the parlor.” Her voice shook. “I just feel so stupid. After all, I have a weapon and know how to use it.”

  That bit of news didn’t surprise me at all. Apparently, I’m the only woman in Massachusetts who abhors firearms. Bolin glided over to Meeka and gave her a kind, appraising look. “My aunt and wife insist that you come home to Brokind with us. There’s plenty of room, and you’ll be safe there.”

  “Not a bad idea, Meeka. We found no signs of forced entry. That means someone has a key to this place and knows the alarm code.” Raylan’s obsidian eyes were brittle and scalpel-sharp, impossible to read. “He may not have found whatever he was looking for. Is anything missing? Cash, jewelry, or the like?”

  Meeka shook her head. “I keep most of my valuables in the bank and almost no cash on hand. Incidentally, what makes you think it was a man? Bayview has women criminals as well.” Her face was perfectly composed as she spoke. I’m no telepath, but I knew that Merlot Brownne was on her mind.

  “Thank you, Bolin, for the kind offer, but I won’t be forced from my home. I’ll be prepared for an intruder now.” Meeka folded her arms over her stomach in a gesture more detached than defiant.

  When Deming entered the room with long, lithe strides, Meeka perked right up. She preened a bit, checked her lipstick, and carefully fluffed her hair. “Goodness! I really got the royal treatment. An embarrassment of riches—three handsome men to guard me.”

  “At your service, my lady.” Deming gave her a low bow, moved to my side, and put his hand on my shoulder. “By the way, the paramedics just arrived.”

  For a woman who craved attention, Meeka seemed out of sorts. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Raylan. I told you not to fuss.”

  Raylan did his tough cop number. “Enough! That’s routine procedure when an injury is involved, and you will let them check you out.”

  Meeka raised her arms in mock surrender. “Yes, sir!”

  While the medics examined her I joined Bolin and Deming in Meeka’s study. The beautiful wood paneled room looked like a hazmat area instead of the tranquil space I’d imagined. It had been thoroughly ransacked with drawers askew, lamps destroyed, and papers strewn about. An impressive collection of leather-bound books had been ravaged.

  “Oh, no,” I said. “These look like first editions. I hope they’re salvageable.”

  Bolin carefully paged through several volumes. “Such desecration! Someone was looking for something very important. I wonder what it was?”

  I could tell by the way Deming narrowed his eyes that he had a theory. It just so happened that I did too.

  “Do you see a safe or strongbox?” I asked. “M
aybe behind one of these paintings.”

  Meeka’s taste in art was eclectic. It ran from portraits of stern progenitors and astounding African bronzes to several valuable looking seascapes. I’m no connoisseur, but Bolin and Deming were well schooled in fine art. The Swann manse had almost as many masterpieces as the Gardner Museum.

  “Hmm,” Bolin said. “Looks like a Winslow Homer, wouldn’t you say, son?”

  Deming moved closer and examined the painting. “Sure does.” He pointed to another work, a small gem that featured two children playing on the beach. “Damn! That looks like a Cassatt. Couldn’t be, of course, but it’s an excellent copy.”

  “It’s genuine enough,” Meeka said. She leaned against the doorjamb as if she needed support. “My great-grandfather met Cassatt in Paris. They remained friends until she passed. He was proud of that, but he never denied his African heritage either.”

  Nothing made sense. Why would a sneak thief rifle a shelf of books and leave priceless paintings untouched?

  Meeka eased onto a wing chair and kicked off her pumps. “I know what you’re thinking, all of you! If I knew what this criminal wanted, believe me I’d tell you. Right now, I’m too rattled to even think straight.”

  “You can’t stay here alone,” I said. “Right, Chief?”

  Raylan shrugged and cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice rang with studied neutrality. “It’s certainly advisable, but I can’t force a citizen to protect herself.”

  I had an ulterior motive, one that Deming seemed to sense. He leveled that Byronic frown at me and folded his arms, as if the discussion had ended.

  “Come along, Eja. It’s getting late.” Deming nudged me toward the door.

  Some primitive survival instinct suddenly surfaced in Meeka Kyle. Before we left, she held out her hand, more supplicant than hostess. “Wait! Please . . . I may have been too hasty. Eja can stay with me. That way, we can watch out for each other.”