Swann Dive

by Arlene Kay

  His eyes shot angry sparks my way. If Cato had been on the job instead of snoring in bed, Deming’s tender ankles would have stung.

  “Swann Security did the matchup. You know, on the residents of that condo.”

  “Yeah?” A chill started at my scalp and traveled quickly down my body. Something big was coming, and I wasn’t ready.

  Deming paced himself, parsing each word as only a gifted lawyer can. “My sister knew one of the residents. Very well.”

  He slowly forked a mouthful of quiche into his mouth while I inhaled caffeine and reached for more. If he expected drama, Deming was disappointed. I sipped the heavenly brew and stayed silent. Two could play this game. My only challenge was staying awake.

  I thought of CeCe, envisioned her diving into that quiche, spreading crumbs everywhere. She never worried about it, never gave it a second thought. Now here we were cleaning up after her, making things right. Deming and I.

  I didn’t mind. After all, we were the terrible trio, scourge of playground bullies everywhere. CeCe and I stayed even closer as adults, sharing triumphs and tragedies about the men in our lives. Deming went his own way, cutting a swath through the social register, pulverizing females in five states.

  Everything had changed in the blink of an eye. My best friend, loving, generous CeCe was gone. The Terrible Trio was now two with one more service to perform: avenging her death. Like it or not, Deming and I were partners, and I needed information.

  “Tell me. Who was it?” I grabbed his arm before he could shovel any more food into his mouth. “Please, Deming.”

  His face flushed, whether from fatigue or emotion, I couldn’t tell. Deming removed my hand and said the name.

  “Jem Russell. That bastard lives in the building, and he murdered my sister.”

  Seven

  “JEM RUSSELL! Are you sure?”

  Deming narrowed his eyes and growled. “Apartment 2810. That’s how sure I am. When I finish breakfast, I’m heading over there. I’ll beat a confession out of him if I have to.” His muscles tensed, leaving no doubt in my mind that he’d do just that. I recalled my promise to Anika.

  “Think for a minute. Jem would love brawling with you. He might even win.”

  “You’re insane.” Deming erupted like Vesuvius. “I’ll have you know . . .”

  I grabbed his arm. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. You’ve got black belts up the wazoo. So does he, if I remember correctly. You met at a karate competition, right?”

  He nodded. For a moment, his eyes held the same bruised look they’d had in my fantasy. “Don’t you see? I introduced them. I brought that killer into my sister’s life.”

  His pain and guilt were palpable. No use reminding him that CeCe fell for Jem the second she’d laid eyes on him. Even I could tell he was a loser—a sexy, charming cad without an ounce of ambition. Bolin and Anika pleaded, even tried paying him off. Nothing worked. Cecilia Swann had gotten what she wanted all her life, and she wanted Jem Russell.

  “They’d been seeing each other recently. At least I think so.” I released his arm and sat down. “Wait a minute. That doesn’t explain the engagement ring or this Raven character.”

  Deming wore his game face now, a smooth impenetrable mask that could air-condition hell.

  “So what? Russell probably calls himself Raven. Not that he’s a big reader. Comic books are more his style than poetry.” He threw down the fork and grabbed his jacket. “For your information, he’d been calling her for the past three weeks. We got a printout of her cell phone records.”

  “Hold on. I’m going with you.” I raced into the bedroom and wrestled that worthless cur Cato into his harness.

  Deming stood in the doorway glowering at me. “No way. Both of you stay right here. Don’t think for one minute that we’re some kind of team.”

  “I promised your mother.”

  He gritted his teeth and uttered a particularly vile obscenity. Like every other male in existence, her surly son adored Anika.

  “Move it.” Deming charged the front door with his usual charm. “He’s probably sleeping off a drunken binge right now. We need to catch him.”

  We rode to the lobby in sullen silence, each of us spoiling for confrontation. Cato was the only exception. He cavorted about the front desk in surprisingly high spirits. I saw Deming’s Porsche parked in front of the building next to a fire hydrant. He’d escaped a ticket, but even Deming couldn’t escape every downside of parking near a hydrant. Cato happily decorated the Porsche’s tire and the hydrant.

  “Don’t you even try to obey the law?” I pointed to the No Parking sign. “You’re an officer of the court, for heaven’s sake.”

  He shrugged. “I care about some laws, like the ones against murder. Everything else is up for grabs.”

  Despite our tiff, good manners triumphed. Deming opened the passenger-side door for me and scooped Cato into the backseat with one fluid motion.

  His arrogance infuriated me. How dare he act as if I were invisible? Typical. He’d done that since we were children.

  “By the way,” I said. “How’d you get that phone information? Don’t you need a subpoena or something?”

  He gave me the full eye roll. “Not when your head of security is the former police commissioner, you don’t.”

  “Okay. What about her other calls? Anything interesting?”

  “Who knows? No time to analyze it yet.” He laughed. “My dad’s on the case, so don’t worry. It’ll get done right.”

  No doubt about that. When Bolin Swann spoke, everyone jumped. CeCe was the apple of his eye, but he’d been much tougher on Deming. Maybe that was some father-son thing. CeCe had an entire comic routine called “my dad and his lectures.” Apparently, settling Deming down into family mode had been number one on Bolin’s to do list. He’d failed to convince his son of the urgency.

  I shuddered as we sped through the financial district, reliving Sunday’s horror. It was early, barely seven a.m., and most of the banks and buildings were still deserted. When we reached Jem Russell’s building, I suppressed a strong desire to bow my head and howl. The area had been tidied up. No crime scene tape or lurking press to torment us. If only the crater in my heart could vanish as easily. I raised my head slowly, looking toward that roof garden, thirty-two stories up. I was transfixed, unable to look away. I felt CeCe’s terror as she faced the end, and I prayed. Please God maybe she didn’t suffer. Maybe she was already gone before she fell. Please God.

  Tears coursed down my cheeks in rivulets of grief. I tried to suppress them before they became sobs. That’s when it happened. Deming put his arms around me and gently stroked my hair. I felt the supple leather of his jacket, the strength of his grip, and the comfort of his words. Gone was his cynicism. Tenderness replaced his anger.

  “Don’t cry.” His lips brushed my forehead. “We can still help her. Help her clear her name.” He lifted my chin and stared into my eyes. “We’ll find who hurt her. I promise you that. And when we do, I’ll deal with him.”

  At that moment, my doubts vanished. I made a silent vow to CeCe and St. Thomas More. Until this was over, she’d never rest in peace. Neither would I.

  THE CONCIERGE was nervous. She blinked furiously, arranging and rearranging every pen and paper clip on her desk while Deming and I waited patiently.

  “I can’t answer any questions,” she said, in a wobbly high-pitched voice. “I’ll lose my job. Legal warned me.”

  Deming nodded and produced a notarized document from Swann Industries. It was standard, a hold harmless agreement absolving the property owners and building management of liability for CeCe’s death.

  The woman blinked as she perused it. “You mean you don’t want to sue us? I’m no lawyer, but that’s what it seems to say.”

  Another patient smile from Deming, accompanied by a nod.
“Of course, we won’t quote you on any information you share. This is strictly between us.”

  “But your client . . .”

  The muscles in his jaw tensed. “My sister was the victim. My twin sister. My only clients are those who loved her.”

  I chimed in. “We just wanted to know your procedures. About the rooftop gardens, I mean.” I saw indecision and fear flit through her mind, accompanied by a shot of empathy.

  “Please,” I said. “Cecilia Swann was my dearest friend. We think she was murdered.”

  The concierge reared back, opening her mouth so wide I feared she would scream.

  “Murdered! But how can that be? We heard it was a suicide.”

  Deming flinched. “That’s untrue. My sister came to visit a close friend who lives here.”

  “Here? One of our residents?” A hint of caution crept into her eyes.

  A distraction was definitely called for. It didn’t require much acting; tears filled my eyes whenever I thought of CeCe. Fortunately, Deming played right along. He flourished another of those pocket squares, put his arm around me, and blotted my tears.

  “It’s okay, Eja. Once we speak with Jem, you’ll feel much better.” He leaned forward. “James Russell, apartment 2810. Will you buzz him? Please.”

  Hysterical women are bad for business; they breed uncertainty and confusion among paying customers. As tenants exited the elevators, briefcases in hand, they eyed our little tableau with undisguised interest. The befuddled concierge made a quick decision to put public relations over privacy. I stifled the sobs and smiled bravely through my tears.

  “Let me ring him,” she said, as she shoved a thick sheaf of co-op regulations our way.

  Within two minutes we boarded the elevator for our meeting with Jem.

  WE’D ALMOST reached his floor before I realized—I was still clutching Deming’s hand. After exchanging startled looks, we retreated to opposite corners of the elevator.

  Just thinking of Jem Russell made me crazy. My heartbeat scaled Everest before beginning the downward trek to normalcy. The last encounter I’d had with him had ended badly. How polite should a woman be to the selfish, scheming scoundrel who breaks her best friend’s heart then laughs about it? Jem sailed blissfully through life, fueled by boyish charm and a line of blarney that would shame a leprechaun. I had no idea how he’d weaseled back into CeCe’s life, but I’d soon find out.

  As we stepped off the elevator, Deming donned his inscrutable face. I’d seen that look in court when he represented some corporate scumbag demanding leniency. If Jem Russell hurt CeCe, I’d demand the death penalty myself. Hell, I’d administer it. Otherwise, we needed his cooperation.

  “Remember our plan,” I said. “Be cool.”

  “Plan?” Deming’s eyes were opaque.

  “The tribute. I’ll tell Jem I’m writing a commemorative tribute for your family.” I gritted my teeth to avoid screeching at him. “We went over this last night.”

  He folded his arms, looking like a handsome mule. “That’s your plan. Not mine.”

  “Your father didn’t think so.” I squeezed his shoulder. “Come on. Give it a try.”

  Bringing Bolin into the mix was a low but effective blow. Deming gave me a brusque, grudging nod and sped down the corridor.

  Before we knocked, Jem Russell, clad in rumpled terry robe and striped pajamas, flung open his door and waved us in. Despite his attire, Jem’s demeanor had a kind of dignity. He stood with his arms outstretched, a tragic sculpture frozen in time. For a moment, I almost believed that his grief was genuine.

  “Deming, Eja, come in. Believe it or not, I just heard.” He gestured toward his living room. “Please come in.”

  Deming took one step forward, balling up his fists. “You mean you didn’t know? The media certainly gave it enough coverage.”

  Jem gave his charming shrug. “You know me—totally self-absorbed.”

  “We hoped you’d help us,” I said, stepping between them. “I’m compiling a tribute for the family. After all, you knew CeCe as well as anyone.”

  Jem slicked back his auburn curls. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I’ll do anything to help. It’s just . . . I still can’t believe it. Why would CeCe kill herself?”

  “That’s still being investigated,” I said. “What did she tell you that morning, Jem? Anything that aroused your suspicions?”

  He plopped into a mustard leather lounger. “Huh? Forgive me for sounding dense, but I didn’t see her that day. I haven’t seen CeCe for two weeks.”

  Deming stood propped against the wall, his hazel eyes glued to Jem’s face. “Oh. We hoped you’d spoken with her or something. As you can imagine, this is hard for my parents. It’s killing my mom.”

  Jem closed his eyes and swayed back and forth. “Anika. Oh God, I need to call her.”

  He hadn’t answered the question, and that made me curious. “So you guys hadn’t spoken? CeCe told me you were back in town. In fact, she wanted to invite you to brunch with us that day.”

  One of Jem’s strengths is mental agility. He read the storm signals and deftly called a different play.

  “I’ve got coffee ready,” he said. “CeCe bought me one of those Nespresso machines. You know the kind, Eja. Housewarming gift.”

  “Great! Point me to the kitchen, and I’ll fix some.” I bustled into the galley kitchen and powered up the machine. Deming stayed in his perch, a winged predator stalking his prey. He used a jot of silence, his favorite weapon to unnerve Jem.

  “Were you two dating again?” Deming asked, his voice a silky purr. “We found a picture of you at her place.” He waved the crotch shot at Jem.

  “Nah. Nothing serious. Just friends. I can’t believe she kept that thing. We were goofing around. You know how it is.”

  Deming took one step forward. “No. How is it?”

  I played hostess by bringing both men a round of espresso. Jem downed his in one big gulp. Good thing I’d given him a saucer. His hand was shaking.

  “How long have you been back in Boston?” I asked. “I thought we’d lost you to Las Vegas.”

  Jem had bright blue eyes that he knew how to use. He trained them on me and shrugged. “Vegas! That place gets old in a hurry. Makes you appreciate your roots.”

  Properly translated, he’d probably left Nevada under a cloud. Jem was used to that. With an endless supply of wealthy widows, he was golden. Throw a disgruntled husband or lover into the mix, and things got dicey.

  Deming replaced his cup and made his move. “Cecilia died in this building. Why would she come here if not to meet you?”

  I’d seen the good, bad, and ugly of James Russell. His puzzled expression seemed genuine this time.

  “Gee. I don’t know. That’s what got me. Her going out on that rooftop and all. Last time I saw her, I tried to coax her out there. It’s real nice in the spring. Romantic, you know. Anyhow, she got halfway through the door and bolted. Vertigo acted up, I guess. She dragged me to that shrink’s office one time. Moral support, she called it.” Jem shrugged. “I just hung out with the receptionist.”

  “Did she seem depressed when you two spoke?” I touched his hand to steady it.

  “Hell no! She was on top of the world. Something about a big announcement. Promotion of some sort.” He scratched his head again. “At least I think it was about work.”

  “Nothing specific?” I asked. “You know how CeCe got when she was excited.”

  Jem Russell hung his head. “Tell you the truth, I kind of tuned her out. See, I had this business deal cooking . . .”

  Deming’s muscles tensed. “You wanted money, didn’t you?”

  “No, no. You got me wrong. We’d have been partners. Fifty-fifty.”

  “How much did my sister give you?” Deming’s voice was more of a growl.

&nbs
p; Jem leapt to his feet and began pacing. “That’s just it. She didn’t give me a dime. We planned to meet Sunday night to firm things up. I hung around the bar for two hours, but she never showed.”

  Deming clenched his fists as if he were aching to use them. “You have witnesses, of course?”

  “Wait just a damn minute. You think I killed CeCe? That’s really sick, man. I loved your sister. Maybe I didn’t treat her right but . . .”

  “Maybe?” Deming was in front of him in two long strides. “You broke her heart, humiliated my family, and you have the gall to say that.”

  Jem hung his head in a rare moment of self-reflection. He spun around and stood toe-to-toe with Deming. “Listen here, big brother. I did her a damn favor. I wasn’t good enough for you sister and everyone knew it but CeCe.”

  I intervened before things degenerated into bloodshed. “Hey, you two. This is no time to be settling old scores. The important thing here is CeCe.”

  Deming growled an unintelligible reply and stalked back to the other side of the room.

  “What else, Raven?” I asked.

  “Huh?” Jem looked genuinely perplexed.

  “Raven. Isn’t that what she called you?”

  He laughed and scratched his ear. “Are you kidding? CeCe called me a lot of things but not that. Does it mean something?”

  I hung my head in submissive female mode. Given Jem’s antediluvian concept of women, it worked every time.

  “Nothing special. CeCe called her fiancé that.”

  “Fiancé? You’re kidding? She didn’t act like she was in love with anyone.” He licked his lips. “Not around me, anyhow.”

  In a flash, Deming closed the distance between them and pounced. “Bastard! That’s my sister you’re talking about.” With one violent shove, he grabbed the collar of Jem’s robe and knocked him to the floor. By the time I got over there, they were wrestling on the floor, locked in mortal combat. Kicks, punches, and plenty of oaths were exchanged, but I didn’t see blood. That seemed like a good omen.