by Arlene Kay
“How nice you look,” Ames said, kissing my hand. “Already dressing for success, I see.”
“Since when do you kiss hands?” I asked. “On overload from some Parisian jaunt?”
He gave me that measured Exley sneer before remembering our purpose. “Alas, no. My excursions are confined to this fair city until the mess with the foundation is sorted out.”
“Oh?” Being coy is a stretch for me. I’m no coquette.
“I’m sure Deming told you all about it.” Ames watched my reaction like a cat at a mouse hole.
“You obviously don’t know Deming. He’s tighter than a vault when a client’s concerned. Horton mentioned the bullion scam himself.”
Ames shook his head as he scanned the menu. “Foolishness. My brother threw away millions just to play house with that slut. I could have gotten her for free.”
My jaw dropped, making me gape like the village idiot. “Phaedra came on to you?”
“Is that so unbelievable?” He sounded rather testy, as if I’d questioned his charm. Ames sipped a martini as we placed our order. “Sure you don’t want something stronger? Wine or maybe a cosmo?”
“No, thanks.”
He leaned forward, simulating a leer. “Not pregnant, are you, Eja?”
I glared at him. “What’s wrong with you? Maybe you should discuss it with Deming if you’re so intrigued by our sex life.”
Ames threw up his hands. “Whoa. No harm, no foul. I’m in a mood. The Exleys are prisoners of primogeniture, thanks to my father’s will. I’m a thirty-five-year-old man who’s beholden to his older brother for money, while Horton blows five mil on a hooker, and that idiot wife of his drags our family’s name through the mud.” He took a healthy slug of liquor and continued. “He thought he was so clever. Like no one else was smart enough to find that vault he rented. Fool’s gold for a rich fool. How appropriate.”
My patience with young Mr. Exley was wearing thin. “So get a job. Make your own way. That’s what Deming did.”
He snorted. “Deming Swann, the paragon. How many women did he have along the way, Ms. Kane?”
I yawned. “Ancient history.”
The gleam in his eyes bordered on evil. “Are you so sure? Some habits die hard.”
He wanted a reaction, hoped to wound me by mentioning the very thing I feared most. It gnawed at the edges of my mind, forcing me to confront a painful question. Was I pretty enough to satisfy Deming, or merely safe and comfortable like an old shoe?
I shrugged. “Who knows? Anyhow, Horton repaid the foundation with interest. That should satisfy the cops if they check it out.”
Luckily, the arrival of our lunch forestalled further conflict. I tucked into those tuna sliders, giving every succulent morsel the attention it deserved. Ames seemed more interested in a liquid lunch. He toyed with his salad, pushing spinach leaves around the plate.
“He probably killed her, you know.” He spoke in that too loud, boozy tone.
I narrowed my eyes. “Lower your voice. Do you know what you’re saying?”
He made no attempt to be civil. “Exleys are used to getting what they want. We always have, just like the Swanns. You wouldn’t understand that, Eja.”
I put on my party smile and remained silent.
Ames squeezed my hand. “No offense intended.”
“None taken. Have you any proof that Horton murdered Phaedra?”
He shook his head. “Not take-it-into-court proof, but I know my brother. He was wild about that woman. In love. The day he found out about the gold scam, he aged ten years.”
“Euphemia Bates is a bottom-line cop. She demands proof. Besides, Heather had motive too. Plenty of it. Take it from me, sharing a man is a recipe for disaster.” I banished an image in my mind’s eye of Fleur Pixley, Pamela Schwartz, and Deming—a frolicking ménage à trois.
As Ames signaled for another drink, he balled his hands into tight fists. His anger was raw and palpable, quite unlike the polished frat boy I used to know. Had we been alone, I might have been frightened. Instead, I decided to test something Bolin had mentioned.
“You’d be the winner if Horton was arrested,” I said. “Isn’t there some type of morality clause in the foundation’s charter?”
His skin turned fushia from either drink or rage. I voted for door number one.
“You always were a know-it-all,” Ames hissed, “writing your turgid prose and predictable plots.”
“Guilty on both counts.” My smile was sweetness personified. “Now answer my question, unless you’re afraid to.”
He took a deep breath and sputtered a response. “Yes, I would take control of the foundation. Why not? Horton is a figurehead who doesn’t do anything except control the purse strings. Portia and I do all the real work without a word of thanks from him. Heather won’t even answer the phones. They’re both worthless, and that goes double for my bratty nephews.”
Sometimes I forget just how vulnerable I would be in a physical confrontation. I forged ahead, determined to milk Ames Exley for every drop of information. “I’ve heard nothing but supposition and whining from a jealous younger brother. Why would either Heather or Horton kill Phaedra? Convince me.”
Ames jabbed his finger in my face. “I’ll tell you why. Horton planned to divorce his wife and marry that harlot. I heard them screaming at each other the night before the murder. Heather threw a vase at him too—a valuable Ming dynasty piece.”
He sank back in the chair, sipping his liquid lunch. That outburst had deflated him as surely as a punctured tire. I was no longer frightened. He disgusted me.
“Thanks for lunch, Ames,” I said, sliding from my seat. “Take care of yourself.”
“Eja, wait.” He stared at me with bloodshot eyes. “I’m so sorry. Don’t tell Dem. Please.”
I shook my head. “Relax. He’ll never hear it from me.”
I WAS TROUBLED by Ames. His boozy assertions raised more issues than they solved. Both Horton and Heather had excellent reasons for murdering Phaedra Jones. Horton, that prim and proper Bostonian, had risked his money, reputation, and marriage for the sultry vixen. She had swindled him out of millions and broken his heart while pining for the muscled arms of Justin Ming. If Horty realized that, he might strike out at her. Scions of privileged families don’t share well.
Heather was a different proposition—spoiled, selfish, and mesmerized by the charms of Justin Ming. Although she was no intellectual, when it came to getting her own way, she was cagier than most.
I walked the twelve blocks to my home, dodging traffic and brooding all the way. Conflict makes me weary, so instead of working, I stretched out with Cato at my feet for a brief nap. My dreams were immediate and violent. Heather Exley starred as a homicidal wife on a tear. Her startling blue eyes were so vivid and her smile so smug that my shrieks awakened Cato.
Then I remembered. Phaedra was suffocated with a kung fu move that Heather was probably quite proficient at. After all, she had threatened the victim on the night before her murder. I was a witness to that.
Cato gave me the canine eye roll and licked his lips. He took mealtime very seriously and had unpleasant ways of reinforcing his will. After attending to his needs, I jumped in the shower and prepared for a night at Shaolin City.
When the phone rang, I forgot my grievances and grabbed for it.
“Everything okay, Eja? You sound out of breath.” Anika never missed a trick. Perhaps she sensed the disappointment in my voice.
“I’m on my way to the dojo,” I said. “I’ll give you a full report this evening.”
“Be careful, and don’t take any chances.” Anika paused. “Portia called today with an update. Based on his credit reports, she says Master Moore is loaded. No delinquencies or outstanding balances on credit cards. I guess we were way off base.”
> I considered the threadbare carpets and manic expansion of class offerings. “I wonder. There’s something going on at Shaolin City besides the obvious. Lots of intrigue.”
Anika hesitated. “Have you spoken with Dem?”
“Nope.”
“Bolin told me about your discussion,” Anika said. “Hang in there, Eja. Please. My son would be lost without you, and so would I.”
YEARS OF CATHOLIC schooling made me punctual to a fault. I zipped into the classroom with minutes to spare, joining the other acolytes in their warm-up routines. Oddly enough I enjoyed the mindless ritual of stretching and bending. It cleared away the cobwebs and gave me clarity. My progress had been painfully slow but steady. I could now execute basic maneuvers without inviting ridicule from my peers. Besides, Shaolin Law number eight forbade bullying.
As class progressed, I grew even mellower, keeping my focus despite the presence of Justin Ming. The sexy sifu was everywhere, offering guidance, meting out praise, and showcasing his perfectly toned torso. When he reached me, Justin lowered his voice and angled his body away from the others.
“Good work, Ms. Kane. Your progress continues.” His words were fine, but his tone suggested something more sinister.
Fortune favors the brave, so the saying goes. Although I’m suspicious about bromides and slick solutions to thorny problems, I confronted Justin head on. “Thank you, Sifu. You honor me.” I beamed a specious smile his way.
“Some moves may prove dangerous,” he said. “We encourage our students to be cautious. To avoid injury.”
I bowed my head. “Wise counsel, indeed. Too bad Phaedra wasn’t cautious.”
He clenched his jaw and spit out a response. “Why is Phaedra your concern? You didn’t even know her.”
It was a fair question, one that I’d wrestled with myself. My meddling had plagued Deming and led to our most recent spat. There was no easy answer for someone like me who made her living devising plot twists and solving fictional crimes. My secret was shameful but true—I enjoyed the intellectual challenge of a real murder.
“I found her body. That makes her my concern.” I crossed my arms and faced him. “Tell me. Did Phaedra give you money like the rest of your clients?”
Justin Ming flinched. “You’ve been busy I see. Invading my privacy.” He guided me through one of the more complex sets, gripping my arm so tightly that I yelped.
“Heather spoke with us. I know all about your new dojo.” I broke free and moved back a step. “Or was that another charade?”
Suddenly, Sifu Ming relaxed, gifting me with a dimpled grin. “I love all my pupils, even challenging ones like you, Ms. Kane. It’s the Shaolin way.” He dismissed me with a nod and glided over to the opposite side of the room.
When class ended, I headed for the exit, avoiding the locker room with all its ghoulish memories. In the shadows, I saw an obstacle—Master Moore standing between freedom and me.
“A steam shower will soothe your muscles, Ms. Kane.” His lustrous green eyes had a feline quality—clear and glowing.
My heart pounded as if it might leap from my chest. I had no reason to fear this man, yet I did. Perhaps it was guilt that pumped adrenalin through my veins, spiking my fight or flight response. “Thank you, Master. I will do so at home.” I clutched the doorknob with ice-cold fingers, but he was there before me.
“All students are family here,” he said. “Each of you is my child.”
“Even Phaedra Jones?” I asked, as fear emboldened me. Despite his pious ways, Avery Moore was still human and susceptible to feminine wiles. Had Phaedra snared the master in her web?
“Shaolin Laws are neither punitive nor restrictive,” he said, “but sometimes we must ask a follower to leave. Harmony is essential to our way of life.”
I did a quick review of the Ten Commandments, Shaolin style. By my count, Phaedra had violated at least three of them, including two of the biggies. Justin Ming wasn’t far behind.
“Did you ask Phaedra to leave the dojo?”
Avery Moore’s opaque expression was impossible to read. He had obviously aced Inscrutability 101 at Shaolin school.
“Are you happy here, Ms. Kane? There are other paths to the Moral Way.”
Annoyance supplanted my fear. This guy wanted to kick me out of his dojo! How fair was that? Anger surged through me as I gave the master a veiled glance of my own.
“There is much I can learn from you, Master. I seek the goal of joyful living.”
Duplicity is not my strength, but I’m a fast learner. Channelling Anika’s technique was more productive than direct confrontation. The results pleased me.
The master pursed his lips before responding. “Our laws transcend race and culture, Ms. Kane. My African ancestors would embrace our precepts as readily as yours. But those who break our laws reject spiritual cultivation. They must go elsewhere.”
“Murder is never a solution,” I said, staring straight at him.
The master nodded. “Quite right. Unjustly taking life is a grave offense.”
I clasped my hands behind my back to quell their shaking. “I must leave now, Master. Please let me pass.”
He patted my shoulder and moved out of the way. “Of course.”
I plunged out the door and turned left, head down, arms pumping. Someone was following me. I felt it. Home was only blocks away, but my legs felt stiff and leaden. The only hope was the canister of pepper spray nestled in my backpack.
I rounded the corner onto Newbury Street, pausing to breathe and reach for my weapon. Suddenly, strong arms snaked around me, pulling me into a tight embrace. I should have been terrified, but the faint scent of Royal-Oud gave him away.
“I missed you,” Deming said, brushing his lips against my cheek. “Do you forgive me?”
Chapter Fifteen
SELF-RESTRAINT WAS never my strong suit. A wiser woman would have played it cool and let him stew. Instead, I stood on tiptoe, pressed against his soft alpaca sports jacket, hugging him with all my might.
“Someone was following me,” I said. “I could feel it.”
Deming looked around and shrugged. “Nobody’s there, so don’t worry about it. I’ll watch over you. Always.” He brushed his lips over mine and whispered, “We need to talk. Let’s go home.”
I was scarcely a figure of romance with my damp wushu clothes and sweat-soaked curls. “I need to clean up,” I said, averting my face. “You ambushed me.”
Deming lifted up my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “You’re beautiful just as you are, Eja. Don’t you know that?” He gently kissed my eyelids and forehead. “Lovely.”
That moment was so intimate, so tender, that I melted.
We walked briskly across the Common hand in hand, past starstruck lovers, empty Swan Boats, and earnest pet owners. The sky was overcast, but the glimmer in his eyes was enough for me.
We didn’t say much while we cuddled on my living room sofa. I forgot every gripe and grievance the moment that he kissed me. A tide of emotion swept away pain, flooding my heart with unimaginable joy. Deming softly murmured my name, saying that he loved only me.
Before long my wushu garb was history, a crumpled heap that formed a nest for Cato. Deming pulled the cashmere throw over us as we lay skin on skin, savoring each touch.
“Did your dad speak with you?” I asked afterwards.
He nodded. “Mother too. They lectured me as if I were a teenager. I already felt bad, but they rubbed salt on the wounds.”
I tugged at his thick black hair and drew him closer. “You know me better than anyone. I’m curious, nosey even. That probably won’t change even if I try.”
He twisted the signet ring on his left hand. “I never dreamed that I might actually lose you. It was so unthinkable that I panicked.”
Was dashing Deming Swa
nn actually mortal? I chuckled at that odd, delicious notion. His arms tightened around me, and he dozed off before discussing Phaedra’s murder. Eventually, I was able to loosen his grip and slip out to contact Anika.
“I can’t believe you found all that out,” she said. “But what does it mean?”
That was indeed the puzzler. My efforts had yielded suppositions, possibilities, and suspicions but no solid proof.
“Who knows?” I said. “We’re back where we started from. Phaedra burned the candle on both ends, that’s for sure. Between her love affairs and gold swindles, she was one busy bee.”
Anika stayed silent for a moment. “Maybe we should let it go, Eja. Lieutenant Bates can handle things. It really isn’t our concern. I should never have involved you.”
“Fair enough. I thought you felt obligated to Horty’s parents, and trust me, both he and his lovely wife are prime candidates for the noose.”
“Massachusetts doesn’t have a death penalty,” Anika said.
“Artistic license. Prison would be the same thing.”
“What if Horton did it, and we proved it? I’m sure it was an accident.” Anika’s voice trailed off. “We’d have to turn him in.”
“True. And I’d hate to see Ames come out on top. He’s turned into a major creep.”
Anika’s years on the catwalk made her a model of composure. She waited until the last moment to ask me about her son. “Did Dem find you?” she asked. “I don’t mean to pry.”
“He’s in the living room, and all is well.” I lowered my voice. “Our private session is still on for tomorrow. Interested?”
“I’ll be there,” Anika said. “No harm in a little exercise.”
I’M NOT JULIA CHILD, but I have a specialty that never fails. While Deming slumbered on, I whipped up a spinach quiche and sliced some strawberries. By nine o’clock he was dressed, showered, and ravenously hungry.