Gilt Trip (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series Book 3)

by Arlene Kay

  I puzzled over that while walking up Newbury Street. Thus far, my quest for improvement had hit some major snags. Most of them were attributable to my own sloth and inertia. On the other hand, material for my next novel was plentiful. Lust, love, and jealousy combined with exertion and sweat—a virtual Pandora’s Box lay open at Shaolin City.

  Several blocks from home, he cornered me. As I passed an alcove, a pair of strong arms encircled my waist and pulled me close. I didn’t scream or even panic. Those arms were very familiar as was the faint scent of Creed’s Royal-Oud.

  “Okay, Mystery Minx, what’s the story?” Deming used a stern courtroom voice, an outgrowth of his youthful obsession with Perry Mason.

  “Alert the media. I’m taking a walk.” I wiggled free and trotted up the street with Deming at my heels.

  “Not so fast, missy. You’re up to something.”

  Here’s a tip for confounding a lawyer. Go on the offensive and admit nothing.

  As we waited for the stoplight to change, I whirled around, hands on hips, and faced him. “I thought you were working tonight. You owe me an explanation.”

  Deming showed the advantages of multi-culteralism by sputtering outraged comments in three languages. “Don’t get mad. I finished early and came over to find you.” He raised his finely chiseled chin and glared. “You weren’t home so I decided to take a walk too. That’s it.”

  I shivered as a brisk wind ravaged my hair. “I’m hungry, but I need to freshen up and walk Cato.”

  “Ugh! That little brute gets more attention than I do.” Deming is adorable when he pouts.

  We entered the lobby of my building under the watchful eye of the concierge. The Tudor ranked among Boston’s most august structures. It had everything I lusted for and aspired to in a sanctuary: privacy and pristine surroundings. Who could argue with beautiful dentil moldings, high ceilings, and location, location, location? The corridors were whisper-quiet, ultra-thick walls redolent with fifty years of glitz and glory. Each floor contained only two spacious flats, or residences as they were called.

  Much to Deming’s delight, the Medeco lock gave me fits. “Here. Let me handle that,” he said with an unmistakable note of triumph in his voice. “You’re hiding something. Come on. Out with it.”

  Fortunately, the door swung open, and Cato charged, giving me some thinking time. He made a beeline for one of Deming’s pant legs and held fast to the cuff.

  “Stop it, you little bastard! That suit is brand new.” Deming prided himself on sartorial splendor and was especially fond of anything made by Kiton. The suit was pricy, and teeth marks were not an approved accessory.

  I lured Cato away with a treat and faced the accusing stare of my fiancé. It was hard to ignore those hazel eyes, particularly when they blazed with passion.

  “You were saying . . .” I folded my arms.

  Deming assumed his bland courtroom face and eyed me. “You hate exercise.”

  “You’re always nagging me to improve. Some thanks I get for listening.”

  He put his arms around me and squeezed. “You never listen to me, Ms. Kane. I still think you’re up to something.”

  “How about a drink?” I asked. “You’re terribly cranky.”

  Deming sighed and pointed toward the scotch. Personally, I loathe the nasty stuff, but he considers Johnnie Walker Blue mead from the gods.

  “We can order out if you want to relax,” I said. “Let me loosen your tie.” I spent some time playing with the silken fabric, slowly unfastening the buttons on his shirt. By the time I brushed my lips over his collarbone, he was half asleep, and I was awash with sensation.

  “I’ll go freshen up,” I whispered, covering him with the cashmere throw. “Won’t take long.”

  I soothed my aching muscles in the steam shower and loaded up on French honey gel. My feeble efforts at the dojo had antagonized body parts I didn’t even know I had. Master Moore’s homily echoed in my brain: discipline and practice. Tomorrow was another session, this time a private one under the gimlet eye of Justin Ming. His wary look this evening told me that he hadn’t bought my act one bit. Perhaps with Anika’s help, I could pass the second Shaolin Law and keep in step. Diligence and practice—my new watchwords.

  Chapter Four

  DEMING WAS WIDE awake, clutching his iPhone when I entered the living room. After issuing a series of terse commands, he ended the conversation and looked me up and down.

  “Hmm. Nice cleanup job, Ms. Kane. Why waste that beauty by staying indoors?” He jumped up and held out his arm. “Come on. We can make No. 9 Park if you’re quick about it. It’s only two blocks away.”

  “But we don’t have reservations,” I protested.

  Deming gave me a pitying look reserved for the uninitiated. I’d forgotten. Swanns never need reservations. “Chop, chop. Can you walk in those heels, or shall I carry you?” The gleam in his eyes said he would do just that.

  I gave Cato a quick hug and sped out the door. “Bet I beat you there,” I said. “This is a challenge.”

  Deming laughed all the way to the elegant townhouse that was No. 9 Park. He was no stranger to the hostess, who beamed like a searchlight and immediately seated us. I should be used to it by now, but it doesn’t seem fair. The queue of diners waiting patiently in the bar probably agreed with me.

  I chose a tuna appetizer and asparagus, but Deming went whole hog. Kind of. He avoided pork but chowed down on halibut and a potato so large it needed its own dinner plate. When he finished chewing and swallowing, I made my move.

  “Why so upset? You usually blow off whiny clients.”

  Deming sighed. “It’s not that simple in this case. Sometimes you just can’t save them.”

  If a client went down for the count, Deming took it very personally. Since he specialized in uber-rich, overly-indulged juveniles, it wasn’t surprising. He couldn’t tell me much without violating his attorney/client relationship. Just as well. I never disguised my contempt for spoiled brats insulated from the facts of life.

  Deming suddenly snapped his fingers. “Hey! Don’t you have a friend who’s a big deal in the FTC?”

  “The Federal Trade Commission?” I surfed a wave of temporary amnesia and drew a blank. Very few graduates of Brown University choose a government career. Fewer still cross over to the dark side and join the Feds.

  “You know. The redhead. Always popping up when you least expect her.”

  “Fleur Pixley? You’ve got to be kidding. I haven’t talked to her since CeCe’s funeral. Besides, you know her too. She shadowed you for three years.” I patted his cheek. “You scraped her off your shoes like chewing gum, as I recall. Quite brutal.”

  “Come on. I need your help. Give her a call and set something up.”

  “What? She’ll ask, you know. Fleur’s a bright woman. Got her CPA and graduated from Georgetown Law.”

  Deming grunted with the disdain a Harvard man felt for lesser institutions. “My client has a problem with the IRS, but it involves the FTC as well. A friend at court would help.”

  I felt my heartbeat quicken. “A criminal? You’re talking about Horton Exley, I bet. Tell me more.”

  He gulped a slug of scotch. “He’s no criminal, unless stupidity is a felony. Look, forget I said anything.”

  I know Deming’s game. He’s accustomed to women falling over themselves to do his bidding. I refuse to play. Indifference is an effective weapon against him when wielded judiciously.

  “Okay. Sorry.”

  He leaned forward and clasped my wrist. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely. I can give you her phone number though. She’s right over at the JFK Building. Something to do with consumer protection.” This time I pinched his cheek. “That’s all I know, unless you read me in on more details, of course.”

 
Swanns are notoriously poor sports. Losing at anything makes them peevish.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, that will have to do. I can’t divulge confidential information, and you know it. Give me her number when we get home.” Deming retrieved his platinum card from the tray, added the gratuity, and watched as the waiter noiselessly whisked it away.

  He was seething, that was obvious. I ignored his behavior and waited as he gathered my things and helped me out the door. Tenderness is a secret side of Deming Swann that few people see. His outward demeanor is crusty, but he is devoted to those he loves. Whenever I can, I prod him to loosen up and relax. He never listens.

  My mind replayed long ago college scenes when Fleur Pixley made a grab for Deming. She wasn’t alone in that of course, but CeCe and I found the whole situation hilarious. Just thinking of it made me smile. “Better wear your chastity belt, big boy. Fleur probably still has designs on your virtue. Always did.”

  Deming huffed at the very thought of it. “I assure you this is a professional matter. No danger of anything happening.” He squeezed my hand. “You know I’m not interested in other women, Eja. Only you.”

  Nice words, but I judge people on actions. Deming had a well-deserved reputation in Boston social circles as a rake. He’d earned it by breaking hearts and dodging at least one paternity suit and several angry husbands. That happened long ago, but it was worth considering. Something about a leopard and his spots.

  “Don’t blame me if you hear gossip,” Deming said with a faint sneer. “I’ll offer to take my old classmate out to dinner. Soften her up.”

  “Not a problem,” I said with a sweet smile. “Your mom and I have stuff to do tomorrow.”

  “Oh?” I could almost see his antennae rising. “You two are magnets for trouble. Remember, I won’t be there to save you if you get involved in some harebrained scheme.”

  “I thought wedding plans made you crazy,” I said. “If you insist on being involved, we can postpone our trip until you’re available.”

  The alarm on his face was comical. “No, no. You handle it. I’ll swing by after dinner.”

  I looked up at him and sighed: smooth golden skin, sculpted features framed by clouds of raven hair, and seventy-four inches of muscle. Star quality for sure.

  “Oh, I forgot. I met Heather Exley the other day when I was with Anika. She’s breathtaking. Heather, I mean, although your mother is too.”

  “Eh. Heather’s been brain-dead for years. Their sons aren’t much brighter, so I hear.” He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. “Not like you, my love. Our sons will have it all—looks and intellect.”

  That kind of talk made me flush, with either pleasure or alarm, I wasn’t sure which. I’d never envisioned myself as anyone’s mother, but Deming had definite ideas to the contrary.

  “Are you spending the night?” I asked. “Cato will miss you.”

  “Don’t get me started. I’ll wait until you walk the little bastard and then leave. Tomorrow’s an early day for me.”

  I DID MY BEST to practice the next morning by studying the YouTube video featuring Sifu Ming. Progress was slow, almost non-existent, but I kept at it, awarding myself points for pluck and sheer stubbornness. When two thirty rolled around, I met Anika at Starbucks with a clear conscience and some semblance of hope. As usual, she looked like a dream—perfectly coordinated in head to toe peach, including her gym bag.

  “Tell me about last evening,” Anika said. “Did I miss anything?”

  I dished about the catfight and the amorous antics of Phaedra Jones.

  “Phaedra. Hmm. It’s so perfect.” Anika leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Of course, women are no different than men when it comes to defending their love interests. No telling how bullion came into the picture though. I can already see your new book title, Eja. Shaolin Screams. How does that sound?”

  “Great, except I’m there to learn, not write. No distractions.”

  “Good point. I’ll take notes in case anything interesting arises.” Anika waved a small Hermes notepad my way. “One never knows.”

  We hustled into the dojo and quickly changed into wushu gear. Last night’s bad vibes had vanished, and the locker room was a place of serenity. The Shaolin virtues of peace, harmony, and good cheer ruled the day.

  “Maybe we should stretch,” Anika said after we reached the practice room. “We must be early.”

  I kept any misgivings to myself. Justin Ming seemed like the punctual type who would abhor any breach of manners. Suppose he were indisposed—permanently silenced—by one of his female admirers or their male lovers? I shivered just thinking of it.

  “Forgive me, ladies,” a deep voice said. “I lost track of time.” Justin Ming beamed his soft, sensuous smile, but his manner was slightly off key. A lock of shiny black hair hung in his eyes, and sweat dotted his brow.

  “We shall start with a basic Shaolin pattern, a review of last night’s session. I will demonstrate for both of you.”

  Once again, his movements were an elegant blur of man and muscle. He slowed down and repeated step by step, more for Anika’s benefit than mine. Unbeknownst to my sifu, I had mastered that pattern with the aid of YouTube. For once, Justin Ming lost his inscrutable look. The man positively gaped as I executed the moves in question with a grace that astonished even me.

  “Very nice, Ms. Kane. Much improved. The master will be pleased.”

  Anika’s first effort surpassed my practiced moves, but I expected that. We both flourished with the one-on-one approach, and the hour sped by. Justin Ming was untroubled, so composed that his earlier behavior seemed like a figment of my imagination.

  “At our next session, we will explore basic self defense moves,” Justin said. “Meanwhile, practice your stretches and kicks. They are vital.”

  He patted our shoulders and vanished through an inner door. Anika and I gave each other a high five before we showered and retrieved our belongings from the locker room.

  “You’re really good at this stuff,” I said. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “Oh, Eja, it’s not magic. Besides, I have a quarter century head start on you. I’ve been practicing with Bolin for a long time.” She unpinned her chignon and fluffed her golden locks. “Come on. We’re not far from the Fairmont. My treat.”

  I’m pathetically easy to bribe, particularly when it involves a snack at a watering hole of the beautiful people. After all that exercise I almost qualified.

  “It’s early for dinner but late for lunch,” I said. “Almost five.”

  Anika shrugged. “We don’t have to eat much. Besides, I haven’t been there since they renovated the place. The Long Bar is supposed to be very cool.”

  The Copley Plaza Hotel is one of Boston’s grande dames. Like most ladies of a certain age, it had needed a tasteful facelift, and the Fairmont people had provided that. Nothing splashy, just an updated, freshened look. Anika and I slipped into soft seats of red leather, propped our elbows up on the bistro tables, and scanned the menu.

  “I’m ordering a sidecar,” she said. “So atmospheric.”

  My palate is untested, despite Deming’s constant efforts to improve it. I seldom drink, and when I do, the results are unpredictable.

  “Make it two,” I told the waiter. After all, Boston has plenty of cabs, and this was a celebration of sorts.

  We added a plate of raw oysters, sipping and slurping the feast until our hunger and thirst were slaked.

  “Dem is getting nervous, I think.” Anika took a delicate sip of her sidecar.

  My heart sank. “Changing his mind?” I gulped.

  “About you? Of course not. About some client I think.” She rolled her eyes. “You’ve had his heart since preschool, Eja. Cecilia and I always laughed about it.”

  As usual, her eyes teared up when s
he mentioned her slain daughter. CeCe was very much alive to those of us who loved her, and Anika refused to “get over it” or “move on” as some well-intended friends had urged.

  Anika checked her watch and signaled for the check. “Oops. It’s almost six. Bolin will be getting home soon.” A strange look flashed over her as she reached into her satchel.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “My wallet! I must have left it at the dojo. It probably fell into my locker.”

  Fortunately, I had both cash and credit cards. “Not a problem. We’ll run back and get it after I pay.”

  I flung Generals Jackson and Grant on the table and hustled Anika out the door. “Come on. No need to tempt anyone prowling around the locker room.”

  Anika seldom lost her composure, but this was one of those times “I’m so embarrassed, Eja. Some hostess I am.”

  “Forget it.”

  By maintaining a pace that would have pleased and astounded my fiancé, we reached Shaolin City just after six o’clock. Class was in session, so we tiptoed down the hallway into the ladies’ locker area. The room was deserted but dimly lit.

  “Where’s the light switch?” I groused. “Someone might trip.” Since I was the likely victim, my grievance was personal. Fortunately, Anika had a small but powerful flashlight on her key ring that guided us to her locker.

  “Here it is,” she cried. “Thank heaven! It’s such a hassle replacing everything.”

  “No kidding.” I leaned back against the locker and suddenly felt dampness on my sleeve. “Ugh! Someone must have spilled something. I thought they banned food in this area. At least they should pay their electricity bills.”

  Anika shone the light on my coat and grimaced. “Might as well get a rag and wipe off the floor. No need for someone else to suffer.” She aimed the flashlight toward the wall. “They probably have something in the utility closet.”