Swann Dive

by Arlene Kay

  He yelped like a schoolgirl. “What the fuck! You’re insane! Always have been. I remember when you clobbered me in the head with your book bag.”

  We locked eyes in a searing battle of wills, neither one of us yielding an inch. Finally, he came to his senses and backed away. “Let’s get moving. If you must know, I’m dropping in on Pam. As friends. Nothing more.”

  “Of course,” I said. “You’re right. Maybe I should go home. Cato, you know.”

  We maintained a stony silence for the next half hour as Deming retrieved his car and drove me home. The moment he reached my building, I hopped out, forestalling any chivalrous gestures.

  “Hey listen,” Deming said. “About this afternoon . . . what I said . . .”

  “Already forgotten.” I painted a faux smile on my lips and strolled away.

  SLEEP ELUDED ME that night. I awakened the next morning to a horrific headache and swollen eyelids that were nobody’s fault but mine. The sell-by date for fantasy had passed me by long ago, especially ones involving my best friend’s brother. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I’d allowed a known lothario to invade my mind and capture my heart without firing a shot. Who could blame Deming for fleeing to Pamela Schwartz at the first opportunity? They shared primal passion without guilt or commitment, no I-love-yous or studied lies required, given, or expected. In short, the perfect relationship for the consummate bachelor.

  For some unfathomable reason, I dialed Wesley Townsend’s office. He was a loathsome sleaze, but he’d made me feel good about myself. Maybe a return engagement would rekindle the spark. It might also shed some light on CeCe’s murder.

  Brenda answered right away, using that impersonal voice endorsed by robots everywhere.

  “I thought you’d left,” I stammered. “Didn’t you say you were quitting?”

  Her sigh wafted right through the phone line. “Easier said than done. My job offer fell through, and in this economy . . .”

  “Say no more. Look Brenda, I’d really like a session with the doctor. Today if possible.”

  She made sympathetic clucking noises before responding. “Sorry. No can do. He’s out of the office all week. Another of those damn conferences. He’s got someone to handle emergencies though.”

  I suddenly felt foolish, ashamed of my weakness. After all, I’d made it through a divorce without imploding. A nagging little voice inside me wouldn’t let it go: You had CeCe to console you. Now you have no one.

  “That’s okay, Brenda. Thanks anyway.”

  “Hold on. I’m a really good listener. Occupational hazard. Why don’t we get together after work?”

  I hesitated, summoning my skills at diplomacy. Brenda was nice enough, but I needed a trained professional, not a sympathetic clerk.

  “Ah, come on. What can it hurt? Besides, it’ll be fun.”

  I told myself that it was only an hour out of my day. Besides, my only female confidant was Anika, mother of the man I was trying to forget.

  “Okay. Where and when?”

  I could feel her smile across the phone line. “Great! Cactus Club at six. Their margaritas are to die for.”

  I’M NO EXPERT on Boston’s bar scene. Running the gauntlet of appraising male eyes is among my least favorite things. CeCe . . . well, she was a superstar who sailed into any room with confidence born of wealth and beauty. I summoned my courage and slipped into the bustling Cactus Club wearing a Plasticine smile and oversized shades. No need to scout out a table. Brenda waved merrily from a discreet corner spot, perfect for a tête-à-tête.

  “Sit down,” she chirped. “I’ve already ordered your drink.”

  “I’m not much of a drinker . . .” My bout with cognac had proven that. On the other hand, boozy confidences flow much more freely.

  “So . . . what’s troubling you?” She twirled her swizzle stick. “The doctor is in.”

  “It’s nothing. Hardly worth mentioning.”

  Brenda reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Deming Swann, isn’t it? I took a peek at your file this afternoon.”

  A blast of heat made my cheeks burn. “They’re confidential!”

  “Big deal. Wesley trusts me with all his passwords. Has to. The man is brilliant, but when it comes to computers, he’s back in the Stone Age.” She gave me another squeeze. “Don’t worry. I’d never tell.”

  Something told me to loosen up. “I’ve known the Swann family since I was five. We were schoolmates, the twins and I.”

  Brenda nodded. “No wonder Ms. Swann and you were so close. I know all about twins. I’m one myself.”

  “No kidding? How cool. I’d love to have a twin.”

  “Fortunately my sister and I aren’t identical. Fewer problems, you know.” She sipped her margarita and eyed me speculatively. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

  Discretion was the first casualty of my well-lubricated state. Two margaritas loosened my tongue. “Do you know anything about Dr. Townsend’s habits? With women patients, I mean. Any complaints?”

  Brenda squirmed in her seat. “None that I know of. Why?”

  I leaned forward. “Does he video his sessions? Especially the hypnosis ones.”

  Her eyes widened in either fear or recognition. “He records all his sessions. For his protection and theirs. It’s standard industry practice. You signed a disclaimer last week.”

  “Even when he assaults his patients?” I thought of Anika, elegant Anika, stripping before that shrink. How many other women had been victimized?

  Brenda pushed back her chair and leapt up. “You’re wrong! He’d never do that.” She foraged in her purse, found some bills, and threw them on the table. “I can’t be part of this. I won’t.” She grabbed my wrist with surprising strength.

  “Prove it,” I said. “If he’s innocent, no harm, no foul. If not, we may have the motive for my friend’s murder.”

  Her mouth opened in a perfect o. “Murder? Dr. Townsend was in Hawaii then. I told you that.”

  “Maybe he paid someone. Someone CeCe trusted.”

  Brenda clamped her hands over her ears. “No! I won’t listen to this.”

  “You said he’d be gone all week. We could check his files and find out.”

  Her face had a ghastly pallor. “We? You’re not touching those records. No sir!”

  I sensed an opening. “Does that mean that you will? Please, Brenda. It’s important. I know Mrs. Swann would be very grateful.”

  Brenda needed a job, and times were tough. If I dangled money and a position at Swann Industries in front of her, she might succumb. It was bribery, pure and simple, but it worked for me.

  “How much does he pay you?” I asked.

  Her eyes widened. “Why?”

  “Swann Industries will double it, guaranteed, if you come through with those discs.”

  Brenda’s chestnut eyes had dollar signs in them now. “They’d do that?”

  I summoned my earnest scholar look. “They’re always hunting for talent, and you’re a most capable woman. Deliver those discs, and the job is yours.”

  She staggered to her feet. “Let me think about it. I’ve got your number.”

  Funny thing: I had her number too.

  I COULDN’T COUNT on Brenda. Her discomfort reeked like cheap cologne. This crusade depended on me with a little help from my friends. The next morning I did a Google search for the American Psychiatric Association. Just as I thought, the 164th annual convention was ongoing in the city of brotherly love. I mentally thumbed through the list of registrants until I saw a familiar name. Dr. Wesley Townsend, seminar leader and major honcho, would be thoroughly occupied in Philadelphia for at least three more days. Time enough to formulate a plan that would free Anika from fear and avenge CeCe. I couldn’t prove that he murdered her. Maybe he didn’t. Either way, by destroying t
hose awful tapes I’d fulfill part of my friend’s agenda and give Dr. Pervert his comeuppance.

  According to Anika, he kept the damn things in his office, hiding in plain sight. All I needed was ten minutes of access to Wesley Townsend’s inner sanctum. There were elements of risk to be sure. Penal servitude has never appealed to me, and if my plan tanked even Bolin Swann might be powerless to help. I’d written this scene—intrepid heroine risks all to find justice—a hundred times, watched it on television even more. A partner would really come in handy. Lord Peter and Harriet, Nick and Nora, Tommy and Tuppence—the literary woods were full of them! My first thought was Deming, but that wouldn’t work. Anika had sworn me to secrecy, and besides, he’d never agree to something illegal. Suddenly Malcolm Cates popped into my mind. He owed CeCe big time, would be cool in a crisis, and had muscles to boot. I grabbed my directory, found his number, and dialed.

  Malcolm didn’t answer. Instead, the nasal twang of Meribeth Foye assaulted my ears. I asked for Malcolm, praying fervently that she wouldn’t recognize my voice. No such luck.

  “Ms. Kane, is that you?”

  What choice did I have? Caller ID complicated life for us all. “Hi, Meribeth. I’m looking for Malcolm. Is he around?”

  I could hear her sneer through the phone line. “He’s quite independent now. Seems he’s got another job lined up and doesn’t really care.”

  “Is he at work today?” I fought the panic that seeped into my voice. The window of opportunity was pitifully short. To beat Townsend at his own game I had to act fast.

  “Wait a minute, Ms. Kane, he just came in.” I heard some mumbled conversation and a sharp click.

  “This is Malcolm.”

  After a brief greeting I went for broke. “I need your help. If you ever cared about CeCe, meet me at her place tonight. Eight p.m. Tell no one.”

  “Tonight? What’s this about, Ms. Kane?”

  “I already know that you’re a risk taker. We have a chance to finish something that was important to her. Are you game?”

  He paused longer than he needed to and gave an enormous sigh. “I guess so.”

  “Good. See you at eight.”

  Just one more call to make. I scrolled down my directory and rang up Anika Swann.

  Twenty-Two

  ANIKA ARRIVED early that evening bearing a picnic basket stuffed with goodies. The thought of food repulsed me until the scent of Po’s cooking wafted my way. His kung pao shrimp was food of the gods. No mere mortal could resist, and I didn’t even try.

  “I told Bolin we were having a girls’ night out.” Anika arranged our feast on CeCe’s Herend platter and set the dining table.

  “Oh! Maybe we shouldn’t use her good stuff,” I said.

  Anika shook her head. “Darling Eja. All her things are exquisite. Besides, this belongs to you now.”

  I forked some shellfish into my mouth. “He didn’t question you? Mr. Swann, I mean.”

  “Relax. Bolin only asked if I was spending the night. He likes me to be home by bedtime. You understand.”

  Not really, but I was more than ready to learn. If I cuddled up to Deming each night, I’d never leave the house! Between bites of kung pao heaven I described my plan. Anika said little, but her eyes never left my face. I noticed a slight tremor to her right hand.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you? You intend to do this.” She brushed aside an imaginary hair and shivered. “If we succeed . . . it won’t make up for her loss, but I know she’d be pleased. Cecilia loved winning.”

  Anika was unafraid, fearless in the face of a potentially dangerous scheme. That pampered and cosseted beauty balked at only one thing. She insisted on playing a direct role. It made sense on several levels, although the thought of Deming’s reaction chilled my blood. Finding his mama in the hoosegow wouldn’t help our love connection one bit.

  By the time Malcolm arrived we’d reached a compromise. Anika would play the distraught patient while I slipped into the restroom to hide. The space was cavernous; she assured me of that. I have my own fears, and claustrophobia is one of them. The closet was deep enough to conceal me, and it adjoined a storeroom, so I’d be able to stretch without any problem. Malcolm would serve as lookout.

  “Lookout? Sounds like some old movie. Cinema noir. What next, a getaway car and Tommy Gun?” The affable Malcolm of old vanished, replaced by a sneering stranger who made me shiver. CeCe had trusted him, but I could not.

  “Thankfully, we won’t need any weapons other than courage. You’re a risk taker, aren’t you?” My smile was laced with a hint of menace. After all, Anika and I knew all about his misdeeds. One word from Bolin Swann would sever Malcolm’s professional lifeline.

  Anika played supplicant, stretching her arms out to him. “Cecilia relied upon you, Malcolm. She was always there for you, and she knew you’d reciprocate. Thank you.”

  He flushed, chastened by her words. “I know what I owe Ms. Swann, and I won’t forget it. Count me in.”

  My nerves grew more frazzled as our timeline shortened. Tomorrow afternoon was D-day. Right before five o’clock, Anika would appear at Townsend’s office playing the distraught mother. She knew the stakes and was fully prepared to do whatever was necessary. In the confusion, I’d slip in and hide in the restroom. After Brenda closed up the place, Malcolm would text me if anyone came prowling around. It was a simple plan that just might work. It had to.

  “Suppose you can’t find those discs?” Malcolm asked. “Maybe they’re in a safe or something.”

  Anika turned away, speaking in a surprisingly strong voice. “He keeps them right on his desk in an antique lacquered box. Taunting his victims, I suppose. It’s a lovely piece. Surely you noticed it, Eja.”

  “Maybe. I was too traumatized to register anything that day. I’ll bet he left everything right there. Hubris! Anyhow, it’s a chance we’ll have to take. At least we’re doing something.”

  We discussed our exit strategy and decided that Malcolm would park his car out of reach of surveillance cameras, just across the street from Townsend’s office. If I couldn’t find anything in ten minutes, I’d give up and make tracks. Luckily the building was low-tech, with only an hourly sweep by a rent-a-cop.

  “His name is Joe,” Anika said. “Lovely man. Very friendly. He showed me pictures of his grandchildren one time when I left my keys in the office. His knee acts up, so he’s unlikely to be too inquisitive.”

  “What if Townsend’s office is locked? I can’t break down the door.”

  Anika chuckled. “Leave it to me. I’ll make sure that door is open.”

  Malcolm’s face never lost its scowl. “What about the secretary? She might work late that night and get suspicious.”

  “Not to worry,” I said. “Brenda’s a big fan of Yo-Yo Ma.”

  “So?” He folded his arms in a contemptuous gesture.

  Anika and I exchanged amused glances. “It just so happens that Mr. Ma is performing tomorrow night at eight p.m. Sold-out concert. Tickets impossible to get,” I added sotto voce, “unless your name is Swann.” The Swanns were personal friends of the famous cellist, and it took only one call from Anika to score the two box seats she’d given to Brenda.

  “Trust me, Brenda will be out the door promptly at five. Guaranteed.” I checked the time, surprised to find how late it was. Anika rang for Po, Malcolm made a hasty exit, and I grabbed Cato for our postprandial walk.

  Although the streets were barren, I didn’t feel alone. My boon companion CeCe Swann was there, face alight, cheering us on. From whatever heavenly perch she owned, my friend would watch over us and keep us safe. If we were lucky.

  DEMING’S CALL THAT night roused me from a troubled half-sleep. “We have to talk,” he said. “I’ll be right over.”

  “No way! I need rest.” My protest sounded feeble and unconvincing even to me.r />
  “I won’t stay unless you ask me.” He hung up, leaving me cursing my own weakness. I buzzed the concierge and curled up once again in my bed. Ten minutes later, Deming knocked on my door. Cato opened one eye and sank back on his nest. As a sentry he was hopeless. He wasn’t much better as a roommate.

  I’d made no attempt to freshen up. Pam Schwartz would have donned something sultry, totally unlike my sturdy cotton nightshirt. Come to think of it, everything she owned was probably a prelude to seduction. Some women have the knack; the rest of us improvise. I answered the door with more growl than grace and waved him in.

  “You really were sleeping, weren’t you?” Deming’s thick black hair was tousled, giving him the look of an errant schoolboy—a sexy, beguiling schoolboy with all the right moves. Before touching him, I put a sharp brake on my libido. Why succumb to sculpted abs and incredible hair? That resolve lasted until Deming pulled me to him and stroked my cheek.

  “We left things sort of messed up. My fault, I know. Ever since Cecilia died I’ve lost control. Forgive me. Please.”

  “What’s to forgive?”

  He pulled back and sputtered a response. “Christ, Eja, stop this nonsense! Stop playing detective and leave it to the authorities. Let it go.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. Deming, twin brother of my best friend, was giving up. Throwing in the proverbial towel. Despite Euphemia Bates’ efforts, CeCe’s murder would inevitably be shuffled to the bottom of the death pile. Boston was a big city with plenty of other grieving families and open cases. Even Bolin Swann could push only so far.

  “Let me get this straight,” I said. “You’re abandoning her.”

  The anguish on his face fed my guilty conscience. I waited him out.

  “I’ll never give up,” Deming spat. “But I’ve got to move forward. We’ve got to move forward.”

  He kissed my forehead in a chaste brotherly gesture that chilled my soul. Was this how it would end? I thought of CeCe and “The Hollow Men” again. Deming was dumping me with a whimper, not a bang. Double entendre intended.