Gilt Trip (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series Book 3)

by Arlene Kay

I saw an opening and took it. “Her partner had to know the inner workings of your foundation. Chances are he or she killed Phaedra.”

  Horton’s eyes bulged in bullfrog fashion. “How can that be?” he sputtered. “We’re all family here.”

  “Exactly my point.” I tried womanly wiles, but considering Deming’s raised brow, I missed the mark. “Phaedra’s partner was smart and audacious. Sound like anyone you know?”

  “Other than yourself, of course,” Deming added smoothly. “We need to anticipate the police on this and avoid unsavory press. Frankly, you’re in the best position to help.”

  Horty furrowed his brow in an earnest attempt to think. “We run a tight ship here. Mostly family with a few employees. You wouldn’t believe the waste in some of these organizations. Non-profit doesn’t mean profligate!”

  “Ames must be a great comfort to you,” I said. “Isn’t he the chief investment officer? Sounds important.”

  “Bah!” Horton snorted. “It’s just a title. I make the investment decisions around here. You can rely on that.”

  No wonder Ames was a jerk. His brother’s arrogance could drive a saint to the dark side. Fortunately, Deming’s profession required him to keep his composure with even the most trying clients. He simply nodded and continued the conversation.

  “So, you met Phaedra here—at the Foundation? She was an investment counselor, I believe.”

  Horty’s face lit up. “She was magical—full of enthusiasm and packing some pretty impressive references. I checked, of course.” He hesitated. “Or someone did. No matter. I’m a keen judge of character, and that young woman impressed me.”

  “I presume Phaedra suggested precious metals as an investment?” Deming’s question was closer to a statement of fact, and I detected a slight edge in his tone.

  “It’s not what you think,” Horton said. “I brought the subject up myself after watching those television commercials. You know. They’re everywhere. Major celebrities endorse buying gold.”

  My head felt like it was exploding. If not for the tragic consequences, the whole thing would be ludicrous. Horton Exley was a bigger fool than I’d ever imagined.

  “Your board of directors agreed?” I asked. “I imagine Portia analyzed everything for you.”

  “Portia? My dear Eja, I don’t need a CPA to vet my decisions. Not when I find a sure thing. Why bother with some tedious proposal process when opportunity strikes?” He gave me the verbal equivalent of a pat on the head. “I judge a person by more than numbers. When I learned Phaedra loved the martial arts, that sealed the deal. Discipline, strength—those are the qualities that count.” He nodded at Deming. “You understand, Dem.”

  Deming faked a cough to hide his laughter. I’m positive of that.

  “Heather trained with her,” I said. “Surely you knew that, being a student of Master Moore yourself.”

  “A happy coincidence,” Horton said. “Come to think of it, I first met Phaedra at some Shaolin City event. Chinese New Year, I believe.”

  Deming shot me an “I told you so” message as Justin Ming’s involvement surfaced once more. “You know the players, Horty. Make a guess. Who do you think her partner was? As I recall, you always were pretty shrewd at sizing up such things.”

  No matter what Deming said, I had to horn in. “Any unexplained money or change in lifestyle? Five million dollars could buy a lot of independence.” I thought of Ames’ escape plan and poor pitiful Portia, toiling in her cousin’s home.

  Horton’s face resembled an heirloom tomato. “Sorry. I need to speak privately with my attorney. No offense, Eja.”

  I took the hint and sauntered toward the door. “None taken. Maybe Portia is in her office.”

  “Yes, yes,” Horton said. “You girls have fun.”

  I kept calm even after seeing the snarky grin on my beloved’s face. Surely Horton was too dense to plan and execute this crime. On the other hand, maybe he was just lucky.

  THE BELEAGUERED receptionist led me to Portia’s office, a lesser space on the other side of the corridor. It was snug—some would say tiny—with none of the benefits of size or location save one: distance from Horton Exley.

  Fortune favored me, and Portia was at her desk sorting through paperwork. She answered my knock with a tepid smile and waved me in. To my chagrin, her dun-colored outfit was a virtual twin of the ensemble I had chosen.

  “Sorry to disturb you,” I said mendaciously. “We were visiting Horton, and I got kicked out. Big male powwow, you know. No girls allowed.”

  Her reaction was priceless, a faint echo of excluded females through the ages.

  “I know all about that,” she said. “Horton seldom listens and rarely takes my advice. He’s too manly to respect me or any other woman.”

  I smoothed my skirt and sank into one of the tweed chairs. It had seen better days and was missing a few springs. “At least he let you vet Phaedra. That was more than I expected.”

  Portia did a double take. “Vet her? You’re joking? From the moment that tart wiggled her way into this office, Horton was hooked.”

  “Sorry. I figured that would be your job.” I shrugged. “Wonder where she got those glowing references Horton mentioned?”

  “Oh, please! You do live a sheltered life.” Her face teetered between a smile and a sneer. “Anyone can phony up references, degrees, endorsements. We live in the age of digital magic. Half those things don’t hold water if anyone ever checks them. And you’d be surprised at how many supposedly smart people never bother.”

  Portia was smart—there was no disputing that. How galling to toil under the yoke of the insipid Horton and his sleazy little brother. Maybe the worm had finally turned.

  “I’m surprised you’re still here,” I said.

  “Hush!” Her voice turned shrill and panicked. “No one knows about that. It was just talk, nothing real.”

  “But you said . . .”

  “That was Ames spouting off nonsense. Neither one of us is going anywhere, and we both know it.” She slumped in her chair. “I’ll always be the poor relative living on sufferance. Begging for crumbs from Heather’s table.”

  I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial level and leaned toward her. “Think. Who was Phaedra’s partner? When we know that, we’ll find the murderer.”

  A low chuckle issued from her throat. “How ironic.”

  “Huh?” Not my best response, but I was curious.

  “This partner game doesn’t quit. That’s exactly what Euphemia Bates asked me last night. She’s one scary woman, and take it from me, she won’t stop until someone’s in cuffs.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THE POLICE—NAMELY Lieutenant Bates—were way ahead of me. I should have expected it. They are professionals, after all, not midlist mystery writers with a hunch. I slunk out of Portia’s office feeling lower than a garden snail at dusk. Some sleuth I was. When Deming finished his conference, he glanced at me and shook his head.

  “Why so glum, Sherlock? I thought you got what you wanted.”

  I tried to be brave and laugh it off, but I couldn’t fool Deming. “It’s complicated,” I said. “I feel like a fool.”

  He ruffled my hair and helped me to my feet. “Come on. I’ll buy you a sumptuous lunch filled with fattening foods. Something chocolate. That should cheer you up. We can discuss ways to eliminate those pesky pantyhose you hate so much.” He pushed the elevator button and spoke sotto voce. “I’ve got some interesting news.”

  I pleaded and begged, but he refused to budge.

  “Not a word until we’re seated at the table, napkins on our laps and drinks in hand. Come on. If we leave now we can snag a table at Stephanie’s.” He licked his lips. “Hmm. I can just taste those buttermilk onion rings.”

  Luck was with us. Deming parked the Panamera on a side str
eet and loped into his favorite lunch spot with time to spare. I wasn’t surprised. Swann magic extended to dining as well as other earthly delights.

  Despite getting my comeuppance from Euphemia Bates, I was ravenous. Fortunately, Deming claims to like women with a healthy appetite. Encounters with anorexic debutantes had cured him of feeling otherwise.

  “Stephanie’s is the gold standard for lunch,” he said. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

  He chose Pellegrino and his beloved onion rings as an appetizer. I made the sensible choice despite flirting with several succulent alternatives. The crunchy vegetable salad was actually pretty tasty, and it filled me up. Catch phrases like “healthy and fresh” did nothing to spoil its appeal. Deming opted for the incredibly luscious grilled cheese sandwich, consuming it all without compunction.

  “Okay. What did Horty tell you? Unless it’s privileged, of course.”

  He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Don’t worry. He said I could tell you.”

  “Why all the secrecy then?”

  Deming chuckled. “He was embarrassed. You know how Exleys are about scandal.”

  “Scandal?”

  “Heather left him yesterday.” Deming kept his face blank, but his eyes glinted with mischief.

  “Big deal. We knew that was coming. Divorce is pretty common these days, even in their crowd.” I watched him carefully, noting the tapping foot and the biggest tell of all—knuckle cracking. “Okay. What else?”

  “She moved in with another man.”

  I yawned. “B-o-r-i-n-g. Do better, Counselor. Who was this guy, the mayor?”

  Deming sipped his Pellegrino. “Nope. Better than that. Heather moved in with Ames Exley.”

  His comment caught me in mid-crunch, causing a carrot to lodge in my throat. I gulped Pellegrino while Deming prepared to administer the Heimlich maneuver. After the crisis passed, I mopped my streaming eyes and faced him.

  “Ames and Heather—no way.”

  He raised his hand. “On my oath as an officer of the court and your devoted fiancé.”

  I was befuddled, confused, and just plain perplexed by the turn of events. It took a minute, but my synapses finally started firing again. “Which one was Phaedra’s partner? I thought they didn’t even like each other. Obviously, I was wrong. Your mom said money motivates the Exleys, and who knows, they might have planned the entire thing together to scam Horty.”

  “Could be.” Deming narrowed his eyes in a determined Judge Dredd scowl. “Heather couldn’t do it alone, but Ames has brains to spare and very little conscience. Horton just told us that he met his lady love at a Shaolin City event.” He spread his hands. “You do the math.”

  We temporarily detoured around murder by sampling Stephanie’s heavenly chocolate cake. Sharing dessert halves the calories and avoids dieter’s remorse. Unless you’re Deming Swann, that is. He wolfed down most of it without a scintilla of guilt.

  As he scooped up the final crumbs, I made my move. “Now that you’ve switched suspects, it means you’ve given up on Justin Ming. I feel vindicated.”

  “Hold on.” He paid the check, added a tip, and helped me up. “I’m still considering the possibilities. Heather reacted emotionally to the news about Phaedra and Ming. She must have. You said yourself that she was obsessed with him. Ames was clearly an afterthought. She may be lovestruck, but money trumps passion every time.”

  I considered the options as we walked to the car. I hated to admit it, but Deming made sense. Heather was a flighty character prone to dramatic gestures. Ames, on the other hand, had no character at all and five million reasons to throw his lot in with Heather.

  “Do you think Mia Bates knows this?” I asked. “She was on the trail of Phaedra’s partner only last night.”

  Deming snapped his fingers. “Good point! I better give Pam a heads-up.” He hit redial on his iPhone and spoke urgently to his partner. In short order Pamela Schwartz went into attack mode, ready to unleash her ire on the Boston PD. My money was on Lieutenant Bates.

  Our meeting with Fleur Pixley seemed anticlimactic at that point, but Deming insisted on following through. “Got to keep in her good graces,” he said. “Horton’s not totally out of the woods with the authorities, you know. Fleur could complicate things if she felt slighted.”

  “You’re in kind of a pickle, aren’t you?” I asked as we cruised toward Government Center dodging construction crews, pedestrians, and stoned students.

  “How so?” His horn blared at an elderly driver who dared to challenge the Porsche.

  “You really can’t represent Horton and his estranged wife, can you? I mean, Heather might try to implicate her husband if things got rough. A murder charge will do that to you.”

  He pressed his lips together. As he considered the possibilities, I studied him. Deming takes his looks for granted and always has. He found it hard to understand how the rest of the mostly female world reacted to pure male beauty.

  “Frankly,” he said, “I don’t care a fig about Heather. Of course, avoiding a scandal would be in Horton’s best interests. The whole Exley clan’s actually.”

  Once again, Deming found a parking spot not far from our destination. His run of luck was beginning to creep me out. Boston was as impossible to navigate as Manhattan, especially when one has a pricey vehicle to risk.

  “Better let me take the lead again,” Deming said. “Fleur can be prickly.”

  Something in his voice alerted me that all was not well. “She does know I’ll be with you, doesn’t she?”

  “I’m sure I mentioned it.” He lengthened his stride, forcing me to skip after him. “Come on. Don’t overreact. Everything will be fine.”

  “Stop!” Any visit to Fleur had to be closely orchestrated. “Maybe I should catch a cab and go home.”

  He spun around and pulled me to him. “Be a good sport. I promise you can ask her anything you want.”

  I mumbled several unkind things, but in the end we came to a rapprochement. Deming would use the soft soap, and I would play clean up.

  Fleur’s office was typical government issue, one notch up from the police station. We navigated an unending rabbit’s warren of orange and brown cubicles before finding the executive suite. Even I had to admit that Fleur’s personal space, although Spartan, was impressive. Her private office managed to combine authority with a few feminine touches and some fairly impressive artwork with an Asian theme.

  For Deming she was all smiles and girlish glee, but her face hardened the moment she saw me. We sat at her conference table for a few minutes, exchanging pleasantries like the civilized beings that we were.

  “Eja, what a pleasant surprise. Dem forgot to mention that you were free. We could have done lunch.”

  Wormwood and gall, bitch! Deal with it.

  “We had other appointments,” Deming said. “Thanks for fitting us in. We won’t take much of your time.”

  She glanced at the clock on a side table. “Nonsense. You’re always welcome. Both of you. Now how can I help you?”

  Deming crossed his long, elegant legs, giving Fleur a full view of what she was missing. “Just a few points on this gold scam. Naturally, our firm has researched my client’s situation, but I have several questions.”

  “Of course. Ask away.” Fleur leaned forward, exposing a hint of cleavage.

  “How sophisticated would the promoters have to be? Phaedra had a smooth line of patter—she was the bait. Her partner must have been the strategist, and that requires brains.” Deming’s technique was interesting, cordial but professional.

  “Horton thought she was a financial planner, but that’s unlikely.” I dipped a toe in the conversational pool. “Still, the company she claimed to represent is legitimate. Horton’s treasurer told me they researched it. That was the clever part. Sound company
, phoney goods.”

  Fleur’s smile was pained. “Didn’t he get an independent appraisal of the bullion? That’s SOP when a sizable sum is involved.”

  Deming shook his head. “By the time the bars were delivered, my client was hooked. He did get a certificate of authenticity, though. Ms. Jones insisted on it for his protection.”

  “Let me guess,” Fleur said. “It said the bullion was pure gold.”

  Deming nodded. “She was quite a cool operator. That certificate looks very impressive. Things fell apart when the foundation’s insurer insisted on an appraisal. That uncovered the scam.”

  Fleur enjoyed the joke. “Bogus, of course. They’re so easy to fake. I presume the police are tracing the fake gold bars. Not many places make a quality product like that.”

  “Yeah. They traced the wire transfer Horton made to a Swiss account. Closed now, of course.”

  “Nice touch,” Fleur said. “Swiss banks inspire confidence. If it had been the Caymans, your client might have smelled a rat.”

  Deming rose and shook her hand. “Thanks for your time. We’ll make sure you get a wedding invitation.”

  I tried not to smirk, but it wasn’t easy. Fleur recovered nicely and faked a smile worthy of Georgetown Law School.

  “Make sure I get a synopsis of that scam too. I’ll include it in our files as a case study.” She shook my hand. “And once again, congratulations to both of you.”

  “THAT WASN’T SO bad,” Deming said after we cleared the building. “Everything went rather well.”

  “I guess Heather is out of the picture,” I said. “No way she fits the role of cunning strategist.” That left Ames Exley as the only viable suspect. Even though he made me shudder, I still didn’t see him as a villain, let alone a murderer. “Will you notify Lieutenant Bates?”

  Deming blanched. “Are you crazy? My first job is to protect my client, not chase criminals. Let Euphemia Bates find her own suspect. That goes for you too, Eja.”