Gilt Trip (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series Book 3)

by Arlene Kay

  Instead of lecturing me, Deming took my hand and gently kissed each finger. “I’m sorry I was grumpy,” he said. “There’s no excuse for my behavior.”

  If he expected me to comfort him, Deming was disappointed. I squeezed his arm and said nothing.

  “Don’t go back to that dojo, Eja. Please.”

  “Why not?”

  He sighed, finger-combing his thick black mane. “Something about that place creeps me out. Justin Ming is dangerous, not to mention a womanizer. I sense it.”

  “Hey, don’t worry. It’s only exercise. Besides, your mom will be with me. What could happen?”

  That earned me an eye roll and a brisk, derisive snort. Before Deming catalogued every one of my misadventures with Anika, I stopped him cold.

  “Euphemia Bates knows something about that bullion scheme,” I said. “We didn’t tell her anything, but she made it pretty clear. I wonder how many other victims Phaedra Jones snookered?”

  “She’s playing you, Eja. Christ! You and Mom are such amateurs.”

  I have the patience of the Biblical Mrs. Job. That comes in handy when dealing with a petulant lawyer.

  “Perhaps,” I said, “but you should know that I sicced her on Justin Ming, not your clients. That should give you some breathing space, at least for a while.”

  The look on his face was something akin to admiration. “That’s clever. Very clever. Naturally, she’ll figure it out soon enough, but it does muddy the water.” He swept up Commonwealth Avenue and deposited me at the door of the Tudor. I avoided a lecture by giving him a quick peck on the cheek and skipping past the doorman.

  “Eja, wait!” Deming was right behind me. “I’ll stop by this evening after dinner. It might be late though.” His eyes telegraphed a message that hiked my adrenalin to the sky.

  I stood on tiptoe and kissed his ear. “Not a problem, Counselor. You’re worth waiting for.”

  SHAOLIN CITY LOOKED untouched by tragedy. Without crime scene tape, patrol cars, and police seals, the dojo had an oddly festive air. Anika and I filed in for our private session behind a chattering group of students who were was focused on kung fu, not murder.

  To my surprise, we were greeted by the master himself. Avery Moore bowed to us and shared a gentle smile. His manner was gracious, but something was definitely amiss. Then it struck me: the taint of violence had stained this peaceful refuge and in the process diminished the man who loved it.

  “Ladies, I will be your instructor tonight. A poor substitute for Sifu Ming, I know.”

  I tried to be subtle, but curiosity overwhelmed me. “Where is Justin? Not ill, I hope.”

  The master waved his hands. “No, no. Nothing like that. He is leading our beginners class tonight.”

  Was the studly sifu avoiding me? His disclosures hadn’t seemed to trouble him one bit, but that might be misleading. Perhaps Justin Ming had more to hide than an occasional dalliance with his students.

  Fortunately, Anika used her superpowers to intercede. “My condolences, Master, on the loss of your pupil. I know all your students are family.”

  Why hadn’t I thought of that? The indirect approach can sometimes yield better results than a frontal assault, especially in the murky world of kung fu. Chalk that up to lessons learned.

  He hesitated, and for a moment I thought he might weep. Then Avery Moore patted Anika’s shoulder and urged us into the practice room where he led a ruthless regimen of stretches, thrusts, punches, and defensive maneuvers. Although I am decades younger than either Anika or the master, you would never know it. I wheezed and gasped while they appeared unaffected by sixty minutes of sheer torture.

  “You did fine, Eja,” Anika said. The woman was an expert fibber, capable of ladling up faux praise at a moment’s notice. “Think of the calories that we burned!”

  “Both of you made excellent progress,” said Master Moore. “Each student improves at her own pace.”

  I noticed on the bulletin board that Shaolin City had doubled the class offerings and expanded its repertoire to more exotic offerings like Tiger Claw, Straight Sword, and Kung Fu Forms.

  “You must be busy,” I said, “with all those new classes. How can you handle the workload?”

  Avery Moore plucked the sleeve of his uniform and straightened it. The gentleness briefly left his eyes as he gave me a hard stare. “Very observant, Ms. Kane. No wonder your detective stories are so popular.”

  Anika, my champion and publicist, had to comment. “Isn’t she marvelous? Eja’s plots are incredible, Master, and she’s solved real crimes as well.”

  “A rare talent,” he said, “but potentially dangerous. Take care, Ms. Kane. After our recent tragedy, I fear for the future.” He nodded to us and vanished into a side exit.

  “Master Moore has changed since the murder,” Anika said, as we exited the dojo. “What do you make of it?”

  “Money,” I said. “Bet you anything that the dojo needs a cash infusion. Justin hinted around about that when he was at my place.”

  Anika bit her lip as she thought the problem through. “Bolin could find out in an hour. He’s an absolute wizard when it comes to financial things. I hate to get him involved, though. Scruples—he has more than he needs at times.”

  If Bolin Swann found any information, he’d feel honor-bound to share it with both Deming and Euphemia Bates, and that might start a firestorm. My financial acumen was limited, but I knew someone with mad money skills.

  “How about asking a CPA for help?” I said. “As a favor. Nothing serious.”

  “Sounds fine to me,” Anika said. “Who?”

  “We actually have two choices—Fleur Pixley or Portia Amory Shaw. They both have the right credentials and may know something about the murder as well. We’ll say it’s a business venture between the two of us that we want to keep from Bolin and Deming.”

  Anika thought about it and nodded. “That might not be too far off. I’ve been looking for a something to invest in. Nothing elaborate, just something that’s my own.”

  I tried to tread carefully. “How would Bolin feel about that?”

  Her face lit up like a roman candle. “Oh, Eja. Bolin is the most supportive husband ever. He would give me anything, but I want some success on my own terms. You understand.”

  “Absolutely. It’s about self-respect. That’s something my writing has always given me, even though I don’t make much money from it.”

  Anika hugged me. “You are such a comfort, just like Cecilia. I was afraid to hope that you and Dem would get together.” Her eyes filled. “Selfish of me, I know, but you two were always perfect for each other and too stubborn to admit it.”

  As usual, she was right. Deming and I squabbled bitterly from preschool through university. He squired around one snooty socialite after another, and I married a fellow writer. Neither plan worked out until CeCe’s murder awakened our feelings, forging a union of two passionate, strong-willed people who loved each other. The rest was history, imperfect and fraught with conflict.

  “Hey, I almost forgot. Is lunch with Heather still on tomorrow, or will she be brown-bagging it at the city lockup?”

  Anika swatted my hand. “You nut. We’re meeting her at the Four Seasons, one o’clock sharp. Be prepared to talk clothes and makeup. Anything else will be wasted breath. Poor child, she’s the type to get lost playing peekaboo.”

  That was the consensus about Heather Exley, but I wasn’t so sure. Many beautiful women used the “dumb blonde” prejudice as a tool to lower expectations and do as they pleased. If Heather had murdered her competitor, she was wise to act like a dimwit. She had already perfected the blank stare and redefined the concept of helplessness.

  “Deming wouldn’t discuss the DNA match,” I said, “but surely Heather is the prime suspect. I wonder where that blood came from?”r />
  Anika pointed toward the Bentley and waved me in. Po had performed another miracle by finding a parking space directly in front of Shaolin City.

  “That’s no mystery, Eja. Remember how thin that blood was? Nose bleed. When the twins were young, CeCe was always getting them. Then Deming went through his tough guy phase and got into fights.” She sighed. “It’s a wonder that boy has such a perfect profile.”

  I leaned back and speculated, cradled in that incredibly soft leather. “Let’s ask her how it happened tomorrow. I figure she and Phaedra mixed it up again, and Heather got bopped in the nose. You do it, Anika. No one ever suspects you of anything.”

  She winked, mindful of Po’s long ears. “No problem. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  OUR EXERCISE SESSION had left me wired. I prowled around my living room, too antsy to write, think, or sleep. To compound matters, Cato patrolled the perimeter, emitting a constant low growl that stretched my nerves to the breaking point. No one was at the door. I felt confident of that after peering into the peephole several times. Nevertheless, when the phone rang, I jumped like a scalded pup.

  “You sound funny,” Deming said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just my imagination.”

  He knew better than to ask anything more. “Hey. I can’t make it over tonight. We’re still slugging it out in the conference room with no signs of progress.”

  That conjured up lurid mental images of Deming Bjorn Swann and Pamela Schwartz entwined like perfect pretzels. I resisted temptation and refused comment.

  “So. How were things at the dojo? I hope you kept your distance from Justin Ming?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Barely noticed him.” I’m the chatty type, so silence is the nuclear option, retrieved from my arsenal as a weapon of last resort.

  “You understand what I’m up against, don’t you?” Deming asked after an awkward pause.

  “Perfectly. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  Before hanging up, Deming lowered his voice and whispered into the phone, “Love you, Eja. Always have, always will.”

  BEFORE JOINING ANIKA the next day, I telephoned Fleur Pixley, my former college chum. “Are you up for some adventure?” I teased. “I can promise a hefty reward.”

  Fleur wasn’t buying my sprightly act. She immediately demanded details. “Cut the crap, Eja. What do you want, and why involve me?”

  “My oh my. You’ve become a total cynic.” I paused. “It’s no big deal, only one hour of your accounting skills. Normal consulting rates would apply, of course.”

  “I repeat. Why me? This doesn’t involve that gold scam, I hope.”

  After I summarized my proposal, Fleur calmed down. “So. Let me see if I’ve got this right. You and Mrs. Swann are hatching a scheme—”

  “Business venture, please.”

  “Okay. A business venture to buy some failing kung fu parlor without involving Bolin Swann or Deming. Is that about it?” She must have been a hanging judge in a previous life. Her voice was grim, as if she were pronouncing sentence.

  Frankly, it annoyed me. “Forget it, Fleur. We’ll go elsewhere.”

  “No, wait just a moment. Is this the same dojo where that murder happened last week?”

  My heart sunk. Fleur was a lot sharper than I recalled. She had a suspicious nature that was very unbecoming for a public servant. On the other hand, duplicity is hardwired into my genes, so I had no problem responding.

  “Right you are,” I gushed. “We figure this is the perfect time to make an offer. Revenues have to be down after a scandal like that. If the owners knew that Bolin Swann was involved, the price would skyrocket. That’s why we prefer anonymity.”

  Oddly enough, my explanation made sense. Fleur paused, and before we hung up, she agreed to consider the proposition.

  I spent the rest of the morning attending to Cato and choosing an appropriate outfit for a Four Seasons fashion fest. I settled on a red Escada suit that showcased my best assets. The garment was form-fitting and made me feel saucy, stylish but not slutty. Deming was especially fond of it.

  My home is only two blocks from the hotel—two long, excruciating blocks when you’re wearing stilettos. By the time I limped into the Bristol Lounge, Anika and Heather were already seated, enjoying their wine.

  “Eja, we were worried,” Anika said. She wore an elegant peach pantsuit that accentuated her creamy complexion. Heather was model-slim in a black skirted suit straight from the pages of Vogue.

  Apparently, Anika had launched a full charm offensive, and Heather was lapping it up like cream.

  “Isn’t she stunning, Eja? As you can see, Heather has a direct line to all the New York fashion houses.” Anika sipped sparingly as she spoke. “Perhaps she can include us on her next shopping trip. After all, you need a new jacket.”

  Fashion talk bored me silly, but I immediately took my cue and heaved a big sigh. “Lieutenant Bates said I’ll never get that jacket back. Not in this lifetime anyway. What a pain.”

  Heather awakened from her stupor long enough to blink. “Really? Why not?”

  “Oh, you know, dear,” Anika said. “Nosebleeds are so difficult to deal with, and Eja got your blood all over her sleeve.” She patted my arm. “Not to worry. We’ll find you something even nicer, Eja. My treat.”

  “My blood?” Heather said. She was either an Oscar-caliber actress or totally befuddled by the conversation. “I don’t understand.”

  “You and Phaedra must have mixed it up again in the locker room,” I said. “My sleeve got messed up when Anika and I found her body.”

  Heather sat motionless with her mouth agape. “But I never even saw her that night. After my session with Sifu Ming, my nose started bleeding. I thought I’d mopped it all up.”

  I spent a few seconds imagining the gymnastics that led to her nosebleed. Justin Ming was certainly agile enough to cause a girl’s blood to boil, and Heather was thoroughly engaged, body and soul. One false move or elbow jab could easily inflict injury.

  Anika wore her most maternal look. “I’m so sorry. I just assumed that your attorney had already discussed it with you. Lieutenant Bates told us about it yesterday. Don’t you worry one bit. Your legal team will handle it.”

  A wave of color swept over Heather’s cheeks. “Yes. Pamela Schwartz and your son take good care of me.”

  Anika and I locked eyes, signaling that the time was right for some real girl talk.

  “What was the story with this Phaedra Jones?” I asked. “She seemed so hostile.”

  Anika nodded. “Some women are very competitive. It’s a shame really.”

  I leaned closer to Heather. “Lieutenant Bates had the lowdown on her. She said Phaedra was a con woman. Can you believe it?”

  Heather curled her lip. “You bet. She zeroed in on any man with money, even Master Moore. Justin told me she made a real pest of herself.”

  “Surely Master Moore doesn’t have money,” Anika said. “Running a dojo is expensive.”

  I smirked. “Phaedra’s interest in Justin Ming doesn’t surprise me, though. That man is a sexual magnet. Women seem to flock his way.”

  Her reaction was right on target. Heather drummed her fingers on the table and set her patrician jaw. “I’m not supposed to discuss it,” she said. “Pamela said so.”

  “Of course,” I said, patting her hand. “Besides, Justin told me that Phaedra was in love with him. Can you believe it? No surprise. I’m certain that he shut her down right away.”

  Heather drained her water glass. She clutched her chest, slumped in her seat, and went limp.

  “Oh, no,” I cried. “Should I call a doctor?”

  Medical emergencies terrify me. Instead of helping, I dithered. My contribution was ineffectually chafing Heather’s wrists and rubbing her forehead with a damp
napkin.

  Anika stayed cucumber cool. “Don’t panic, Eja. I have just the thing.” She plucked a vial of smelling salts from her Birkin bag, leaned across the seat, and waved them under Heather’s nose. “There. That should do it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I WATCHED TRANSFIXED as Heather Exley rapidly came to her senses. Her recovery made me question whether the entire drama had been yet another bid for attention. Anika winked at me as she gave Heather a second dose of sal volatile. Anika was a marvel! How many society matrons carry smelling salts in their Birkin bags?

  “How in the world . . .” I asked.

  Anika laughed. “That came in handy when the twins were little. Wait ’til you’re a mother, Eja. You’ll understand.”

  I felt the heat rising to my cheeks and looked away to avoid embarrassment. Meanwhile Heather blinked her big blue eyes and spoke in a tremulous voice. She seemed far more interested in her wayward lover than her own ailments. “Is it true about Justin and Phaedra? He told me she was only his student.”

  I shrugged and feigned indifference. “So many women are lonely. She was probably fixated and threw herself at him. Everyone’s a stalker these days. It often happens with male authority figures, and you must admit, Justin is a babe.”

  Heather’s agitation was obvious. Her perfectly manicured fingers shook as she took a sip of wine. “He told me he loved me, and I believed him. I would have given him anything.”

  How many times had I heard that familiar tune from credulous women? Oddly enough, I’d pegged Heather as too calculating to fall for a line as old as Adam and Eve. Instead of steamy, sweaty sex, the lady wanted old-fashioned romance and exclusivity. Go figure.

  Anika didn’t miss a step. She gripped Heather’s arm in a gesture of female solidarity.

  “How much money did you loan him?” she asked. “We’ve all been there, Heather. Don’t feel ashamed.”

  Her flawless makeup never faltered, even as a fat tear trickled down Heather’s cheek. “Not much. Justin needed investors. He plans to start his own dojo, you see, and the down payment was more than he’d planned for.”