Gilt Trip (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series Book 3)

by Arlene Kay

  “Stop daydreaming, Eja. I’m starving.” Deming opened my door and rolled his eyes. “Remember. Say nothing about that check. Confidentiality and all.” He towed me toward the front door, where Po awaited us. “I hope they’ve got some snacks ready,” he said. “Horty must be economizing. Didn’t have anything worth eating.”

  Anika and Bolin were in the dining room, sipping Pellegrino. “Come on in, son,” Bolin said. “Don’t keep Eja just standing there.”

  “We were dissecting the party.” Anika winked as she said it. “Your dad found out more than I did.”

  “Not really,” Bolin said, “but several of the guys had also been approached by Phaedra. At social events and fundraisers. You know the drill. Her pitch was pretty slick, I’ll have to admit.”

  Anika giggled. “Phaedra was pretty slick too. She knew how to maneuver men.”

  Deming curled his lip in an excellent imitation of a villain. “Wait a minute, Dad. Those guys are all in the upper money brackets. They must have tons of financial advisors who would smell a rat right away.”

  “That was the beauty of the plan,” Bolin said. “Phaedra flattered them, flirted with them, and told them they were way smarter than their stodgy advisors. And . . .” His eyes sparkled, “she had a partner.”

  “What?” I cried. This was totally unexpected, but it made sense. Phaedra had been a “fixer,” but she needed someone else to close the deal, someone who might react badly if she ruined his scheme.

  Deming forgot his hunger. He glanced at his watch and rushed from the room clutching his cell phone. Horton Exley had some explaining to do, especially if he forgot to mention a third party. Euphemia Bates would blow her stack.

  “Oh, dear,” Anika said. “That boy will have an ulcer before he’s forty.” She lowered her voice. “I learned a few things tonight myself.”

  Bolin glanced at his wife with such pride that I choked up. It was a rare and beautiful thing to witness.

  “Okay, here it is.” Anika gave a deep, throaty laugh. “Several of the ladies were well-acquainted with Phaedra Jones, or women like her. Those vultures always hang around powerful men hoping to snare them.” Anika locked eyes with Bolin, making it clear that she had no such worries. “They were relieved when she made a play for Horton Exley.”

  “Kind of mean, isn’t it? After all, Horton has a family too.” Bolin winced.

  “I’m afraid Heather isn’t well-liked,” Anika said. “I’m not sure why.”

  I thought of several reasons, starting with the fact that Heather was a Grade A bitch. In fairness, I had to admit that her beauty was probably another barrier.

  “So they know about Horty’s affair?” I asked. “Interesting.”

  Anika sat silently for a moment, sipping her Pellegrino. “There’s more. I think they know about Heather’s affair too.”

  “Really?” Bolin shifted in his chair as if gossip made him uncomfortable. “What makes you say that?”

  “No one mentioned it directly, but there were several comments about exercise regimens and some coy references to trainers.” Anika showed her dimples. “In fact, one of them asked Heather if she recommended Justin Ming.”

  If Euphemia Bates cornered anyone in Heather’s circle, it wouldn’t take long for that tidbit to surface. I spent a pleasant moment fantasizing about Heather the jailbird, stripped of designer duds, her skin chafed by rough prison jumpsuits. Trouble was, even in that scenario, Heather Exley still looked beautiful.

  I dished about my chats with Ames and Portia, especially the family feud that afflicted the Exleys. “Doesn’t seem related to the murder,” I said. “Portia resents Heather, and Ames and Horton have a sibling rivalry going on.”

  Bolin pursed his lips, as if he were reluctant to speak. “You might consider one other possibility. If Horton’s mismanagement were made public, he’d be removed as principal trustee of the foundation. That would benefit Ames.”

  “Not just Ames.” I flashed back to my chat with Portia. “Portia would be right there steering the ship. The chance to show up Horton and Heather—she’d love it. She complained to me about inadequate checks and balances right after we met.”

  “But she seems so shy,” Anika said, “like a spectre at the feast. The family treats her rather badly, you know.”

  “Shy my foot,” I said. “Unless I’m totally off base, Portia is sly, the type who would skulk around and find secrets.”

  Just then, Deming breezed into the room, eyes blazing. “I couldn’t get Horty on the phone,” he fumed. “Maybe the party was too much for him.” Deming was a curious case in contrasts—blank and unreadable at times, or volcanic, especially when he started cracking his knuckles.

  “Stop that, son.” Anika’s voice was as soothing as cool water in a mountain stream. She filled a plate with smoked salmon and shrimp and handed it to him. “Now relax and eat this before you do anything else. I insist.”

  Bolin hugged his wife. “You heard her, Dem. Always a mother.”

  Deming wiped off his Mr. Sulky Pout face and sat down. “I don’t know why I bother anymore. Some clients are more trouble than they’re worth.”

  Before treading into dangerous waters, I took a deep breath. Unfortunately, Deming glimpsed my expression and pounced. Sad but true, I have a lousy poker face. “Something bothering you, Eja? I gather you don’t agree.”

  “Forgive me, but isn’t Horty exactly the kind of client who needs a good attorney? That is what you guys do, isn’t it?”

  Bolin’s laughter rang out. “She’s got you, son. Protecting our clients comes first. Never get in a verbal tussle with a writer. At least one as good as Eja.”

  I watched them, father and son, alike yet so different. They shared the same dreamboat genes, but inhabited very different psyches. Deming’s passion was tempered by Bolin’s seismic sense of calm—fire and ice warring within two brilliant minds and two exceptionally fit bodies.

  Deming crumpled his napkin and jumped up. “I’ve got to go. No telling what Horty is up to.”

  “Wait a minute. I’ll go with you.” I dismissed his protests without a thought. “Hey. You may need a woman’s touch.”

  He waved his arms in surrender, knowing that any further argument was useless. I trotted behind Deming as he swept past Po and out the door.

  “YOU STAY IN THE car,” Deming told me when we reached the Exley estate. “Things might get rough.”

  “Dream on,” I said. “You seem to forget that I carry pepper spray.”

  “Great. I’ll probably be the first casualty.” He stepped over to my door, undid my seatbelt, and helped me alight. “At least don’t say anything. This won’t take long if Horty has a brain in his patrician skull.”

  Suddenly, Deming thrust his arm out crossing guard style. “Wait a minute. What are police cars doing here?” He pointed toward two commonplace vehicles that littered the Exley’s side driveway. “They’re unmarked, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Maybe they belong to guests who are down on their luck. Or perhaps this crowd likes to go slumming.”

  Deming’s glare suggested that he didn’t appreciate my humor. “I better go in and find out,” he said. “Let’s hope Horty kept his mouth shut.”

  At that moment, the front door opened, disgorging Euphemia Bates, her sergeant, and the Exleys. Horton was protesting vigorously and waving his arms, but Heather looked dazed, more Stepford wife than socialite.

  “Call Pam,” Deming whispered. “I have her on speed dial.” He quickened his pace and headed toward his client.

  I followed instructions and summoned my least favorite female to the scene. Naturally Pamela griped when I said that Deming wasn’t there.

  “You’re sure this is urgent,” she asked. “I have plans tonight.”

  I fought and won a battle for self-control. Afte
r all, the first Shaolin law bade me to love fellow disciples. “Deming was fairly insistent, Pam, but it’s up to you. I should mention though that Horton Exley and his wife just got into a squad car.”

  “What? I’m on my way. Have Dem text me with the location.”

  I took a long, deep breath. Deming humped that harlot for two years, but that was no reason to overreact. We were both accomplished women with much to offer. Pamela Schwartz was tall, toothsome, and blond; I was short, curvy, and brunette. Why should that activate my insecurity? After all, I was his fiancée, and she was merely his colleague. Plus, I have a superior sense of humor. Men always choose that when selecting a mate. That happy talk might have worked except for one thing: I’d seen Pamela Schwartz in a bikini, and the sight still haunted me.

  Meanwhile, activity outside the house intensified. Euphemia Bates, looking like a svelte, sexy messenger of doom, swept into her car and was whisked away. Deming marched toward me, followed by an apoplectic Horton Exley.

  “Did you call her?” Deming grunted.

  I nodded and gave him Poison Pam’s message and his phone.

  “You’ve got to do something,” Horty wailed. “She’s innocent.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  Horton’s glare was bright enough to cause blindness. “My wife, of course. They think she murdered Phaedra.”

  That news staggered me. I had suspicions, plenty of questions, and absolutely no answers. Admittedly, Heather was the type of narcissist who could kill to protect her interests. She had three compelling motives to do so, but for some reason, I doubted it.

  “Eja, did you hear me?” Deming touched my arm. “I’ve got to get Horton downtown. Call Po, and he’ll take you home.”

  “Don’t worry,” a deep voice said. Ames Exley appeared out of nowhere wearing his bespoke suit and a sly smile. “I’ll see her home safe and sound. It will be my pleasure.”

  He didn’t like it, but Deming had little choice. His brow was knitted into a thundercloud, but he nodded briskly. “See that you do.” Then he and his client jumped into the Porsche and roared away.

  Ames dangled his car keys in front of me and pointed toward the garage. “This has been one hell of a night. Thank God we don’t have any neighbors nearby. Exleys simply don’t get hauled away by the authorities.” He grinned. “We make a killing in the market, not the dojo.”

  He loped into the garage, never noticing my tepid response to his feeble joke. I recalled that Ames had always been self-absorbed. It was one of the reasons why we’d never connected in college.

  “Come on, Eja,” he called. “I won’t bite.” Ames helped me into his mammoth vehicle, a nondescript black Surburban with no running board.

  “Surprised you, I bet. Pure function, nothing fancy. We haul lots of people around for charities and such, so a behemoth like this makes sense.”

  The intensity of his stare unnerved me for a moment, until I reminded myself that this was a man I had known for years. Correction. This was a man I knew years ago.

  Ames plugged in his iPhone and fired up the Surburban’s monster engine. Classic country music blared out, songs I knew by heart. After humming along to Crystal Gayle, Charlie Rich, and Kenny Rogers, I was finally able to relax.

  “Everything okay now?” Ames asked. “You might think our entire family is a bunch of loonies, but the Exley foundation does a lot of good. You should get to know us, Eja.”

  “Thanks. Maybe I will.” He made a few deft turns and followed my directions. Soon we were at the entryway to the Tudor.

  Sometimes enthusiasm outstrips my common sense. Before I could say “bad idea,” Ames Exley was ensconced in my living room, sipping cognac. I know nothing about fine liquor, but Deming is an oenophile who insists on stocking the liquor cabinet. Based on the approving nods from my guest, Deming was right on target.

  I sat on the opposite side of the room, holding Cato. Fortunately, the little devil behaved reasonably well. He ignored Ames and focused on licking my ears.

  “This is some place, Eja. Maybe I should have stuck with writing.”

  I skipped my self-deprecating tale about inheriting the co-op and its contents. Ames was a bit too slick and calculating for my taste. Let him think I was a superstar.

  “So how did you and Deming get together?” he asked. “I thought you married someone else.”

  No need to rehash my ill-fated marriage. I shrugged and gave Ames a bland smile. “It was just meant to be, I suppose. You’re the interesting one. How come a catch like you is still on the market?”

  “Just lucky,” Ames said. “After watching my brother and his wife, I’m rather jaded about connubial bliss. My cousin’s situation was just as bad, and now this drama tonight. It’s absurd, of course.” He took another sip of cognac. “Heather is insulated from life. She doesn’t care enough about anything, including her sons, to commit murder. Only one thing motivates that woman—Heather Elliot Exley.”

  Having seen her at the dojo, I had a very different opinion. Heather breathed fire when anyone approached Justin Ming, and her reaction to Phaedra had been volcanic.

  “It’s none of my business, but I saw her arguing with Phaedra at the dojo. It got pretty heated.”

  Ames raised his eyebrows. “Really? How odd.”

  I anointed myself with eau d’ innocence and continued. “It was very awkward, believe me. I didn’t know either of them, yet I was trapped there.”

  Unfortunately, Ames remembered my tricks from long ago.

  “Bet you made the most of it, though. You once gave an impassioned speech about the value of eavesdropping to a writer. What in the world were they fighting about?”

  I filled his snifter with more cognac.

  “It didn’t make much sense. Heather was shouting something about bullion. Phaedra was fending her off and sneering.” I shrugged. “You know, Portia mentioned something this evening about Phaedra posing as an investment guru. Maybe that’s where this bullion thing fits in.”

  Ames leaned his head back and laughed. “You are some detective, Ms. Kane. I suspect that Heather considered her a rival and warned her off. My brother was quite taken with Phaedra, you see.”

  I contrasted the two women—Heather, the ice princess, and dark, sinewy Phaedra. Horton wouldn’t be the first man to seek a wife’s comfort and a lover’s passion. That made him the ultimate patsy and a prime target for blackmail. After all, Exleys simply didn’t get divorced.

  “So,” Ames said, “you mentioned something about Fleur Pixley. If you get together, let me know. I’d love to join you.”

  “Okay, but are you up to handling two hot women at once?”

  “I can manage,” Ames said with a wink. “At one time, I was very fond of Fleur, but all she could see was Deming. He ignored her of course.” He twisted his cufflink and adjusted his jacket. “Come to think of it, you’re not his type either. Dem pursued those prom queen debs, the ones who always looked camera-ready. Strange how things work out.”

  He was right, but those comments still stung. No pep talks, book tours, or wolf whistles could ever eradicate my self-doubt. One look at Deming Swann made my heart quake and my innards roil with insecurity. If he walked out my door someday and never returned, it wouldn’t surprise me. In some sick way I would even feel vindicated. Keeping pace with the Swanns was no easy task for a simple soul like me.

  Ames walked over and pinched my cheek. “Hey, cheer up. I was only teasing. Like I said before, Dem got lucky when he found you. You always were the smartest kid in the room.”

  My phone buzzed before I responded. Deming has an uncanny radar about other men and is seldom shy about asking questions.

  “I’m home safe and sound,” I said. “Okay. Ames is here with me.”

  I handed the receiver to Ames and shrugged. “He wants to speak to you.”
>
  After a brief exchange, Ames hung up. No more snarky grin; his face was somber as he squeezed my hand and prepared to leave.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked. “It’s still early if you want another drink.”

  He shook his head. “Thanks, anyway. I should be there when Horton gets home. By the way, Dem said he’ll be here soon.”

  “Sure you don’t want to stay?”

  Ames grinned. “Nope. Clearly a case of three’s a crowd.”

  Chapter Eleven

  DEMING DIDN’T SAY much that night. When Cato and I returned from our jaunt around the Common, I found him collapsed on the couch, snoring lustily. I tucked the cashmere throw over him, set the security alarm, and headed for my bedroom with Cato in tow.

  Sometime during the night, Deming crawled in beside me, his arms cosseting me with a lover’s sweet embrace. I snuggled close to him, drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep until sunlight streamed through the window shades. Deming was still snoozing, looking as innocent as any lawyer can ever hope to. A thick curtain of black hair masked his eyes, and I saw through the linen sheet that he was totally nude. Who needs caffeine with that visual to stimulate you? I sprang from my bed ready to seize the day.

  After attending to Cato, I grabbed some espresso and got down to business. My makeup routine is simple, but it takes work to tame those irrepressible curls. Glamorous I’m not. I strive for a wholesome look seasoned with a dollop of sex appeal. Think girl next door with plenty of attitude.

  Fortunately, when Deming stumbled into the kitchen, he was too preoccupied with his client’s woes to interrogate me. He knew that something was brewing, but time and artifice were on my side.

  “What are you up to today?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “You have that look.”

  “Calm down, Perry Mason. Save your suspicions for the courtroom.” I gave him espresso and a kiss. “By the way, what happened last night? Did Mia Bates eviscerate poor Horty, or did he tough it out?”