Gilt Trip (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series Book 3) (10 page)

I had found the key to Portia Amory Shaw. The drab household retainer was transformed into a fiery champion of fiscal prudence. With her face flushed with emotion, Portia wagged a finger my way.

“Oh, no, Eja. Think what the world would be like without accountants. Chaos, that’s what. We are the guardians of stability and order. Why, I could tell you stories that would chill your blood. Checks and balances. They’re essential, but not everyone agrees with that. Putting too much control in one person’s hands leads to disaster. Ames agrees with me. He minored in accounting, you know.”

We both paused as Heather breezed past us like an errant sprite on a mission.

I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial level. “Poor Heather. That woman’s murder must have really shaken her.”

Portia leaned forward, suddenly eager to swap girl talk. “
That woman
was a menace. Phaedra Jones—even the name sounds trashy. Up to no good, I knew that from the first.”

“Surely she didn’t come to the house,” I said. “After all, there are limits.”

Portia sneered. “No. She hung around the foundation, though. Posing as a financial wizard, can you believe it? Blathering about gold. Horton mooned over her like a love-struck teenager.”

Her voice suddenly trailed off as if she were a wind-up toy whose battery was spent. The reason soon became evident. Heather Exley had sidled up behind me, and by the look on her face, she wasn’t happy. She stood, hands on hips, her Botoxed brow straining mightily to frown.

“You’re needed in the kitchen, Portia. Help Carlisle supervise the caterers.”

Without another word, Portia marched toward the exit with the sharp, stiff gait of a marionette. The triumphant gleam in Heather’s eyes was unsettling yet strangely appropriate. I’d seen that look the night she fought with Phaedra Jones, the spectre of a foul inner core that obscured her classic beauty. Lowbrow Barbie doll she might be, but Heather Elliot Exley had a mile-wide mean streak.

“I hope she wasn’t bothering you,” Heather said. “One tries to be kind, but sometimes . . .”

“Oh, certainly not,” I lied. “We were just chatting about books. By the way, Heather, I never expressed my condolences to you.”

The look she gave me was even more blank than normal. “I don’t understand.”

“About your friend. Phaedra Jones. I saw you two at the dojo and could tell you were close.”

Heather hissed a reply and turned on her heel. “You are misinformed. I hardly knew the woman.”

I stared after her, startled anew by the depth of her venom. When Deming joined me I was considering the possibility that Phaedra’s murder might be a simple case of vengeful spouse syndrome. Heather Exley relished the perks of the Exley name even as she lusted after Justin Ming. If threatened, she might lash out to protect her interests.

“There you are,” Deming said, stroking my arm. “Winning friends again, I see. Heather’s face was a veritable thundercloud. What did you say to her?”

I threw my hands up in the air and played innocent. “She’s kind of a flake. Who knows?”

“Come along then. I have a little pre-wedding surprise for you.” Deming raised his eyebrows suggestively.

I’m a sucker for any gift large or small. My parents seldom indulged me, so that made any present extra special. “Where is it?”

“Calm down, my girl.” Deming showed his lawyer’s face. “You have to earn it.”

“Earn what?” Anika asked. “How about joining us for dinner, you two? I’m starving.”

“Good idea,” Deming said. “Let’s find our hosts and say goodbye.” He did a quick survey of the room and sighed. “Hmm. Seems like they flew the coop.”

I spotted Ames and flagged him down. “Thanks for inviting us. Everything was lovely.”

This time, his smile seemed genuine. “I enjoyed our chat. It reminded me of happier times. Okay if I call you for lunch? Don’t want Deming to get the wrong idea and mess me up. He’s some kind of martial arts master as I recall.”

“I trust Eja’s judgment,” Deming said, pointing to my engagement ring.

Anika looped her arm in Bolin’s and laughed. “You children. Always cutting up. Please tell Heather that I look forward to our luncheon date.”

After Bolin shook hands with Ames, they led the way out the door. I was anxious to leave, partially because of my present, but mostly so that we could all compare notes. I’d noticed Bolin chatting up several investment bankers, while Anika charmed the rest of the crowd. No one had mentioned the Exley trust, not directly, but both Ames and Portia had dropped hints that all was not well. They might be malcontents, or they might have insider information about Horty’s misdeeds. Either way, the cocktail party had been a gold mine of information. I giggled at the unintentional pun and what it portended.

Deming galloped toward the Porsche while I trailed along behind acting nonchalant. He wanted me to beg, and I refused—that would set a dangerous precedent for married life. After he opened the door and kissed my cheek, I felt my resistance ebb. I’m not made of steel. Who can resist a strong, gorgeous man with a tender side?

“Guess,” he said, as he turned on the engine. “You’ll never figure it out in a million years.”

“Okay. Earrings or some other kind of jewelry.”

His derisive snort answered that. “Not even close. Besides, whenever I give you jewelry you always say it’s too expensive. Here’s a hint. This is something you can touch but not wear.”

Action was called for unless I was prepared to play twenty questions.

“If you tell me, I’ll share what I found out from Ames and Portia, plus my observations about Lady Macbeth.” I crossed my arms and hung tough. “It involves your client.”

Deming knew when to fold. “Reach under your seat,” he said. “You can unwrap it now, but for God’s sake be careful. It’s valuable.”

I felt like a kid at Christmas tearing into a present. It was beautifully done up in silver paper with an exquisite bow. That didn’t keep me from shredding the thing in ten seconds flat.

“Careful, Eja, careful.” Deming couldn’t hide his smile as I uncovered my prize—a first edition of Chandler’s opus,
The Big Sleep
, in original dust jacket.

I stroked the cover reverently, terrified of ripping it. “It’s from Bauman Rare Books. You must have paid a mint for this thing.”

“It can be returned if you don’t want it. Dad knows the owner.”

“Don’t want it! Are you kidding? Raymond Chandler is my hero, an American original. Thank you, Deming. It’s perfect. I’ll keep it on my desk for inspiration.”

His eyes glowed at my reaction. “Better put in on your bookshelf. If Cato ruins it, I swear I’ll pulverize that mutt.”

I leaned across the seat and kissed him. “I love you. For so many reasons.”

Our lips met in a tender touch that spoke volumes. Deming drew me close and whispered, “I waited a long time for you, Ms. Eja Kane, and I will never let you go. Understand?”

I shivered, barely able to speak. “Absolutely.”

Chapter Ten

AS THE PORSCHE zipped toward Newbury Street, I shared my impressions of the evening. The news didn’t faze Deming one bit. In fact, he summarily dismissed it.

“Big deal,” he said. “Let’s analyze what you learned. Ames is envious of his brother. Nothing new there. Story as old as Cain and Abel.”

“As I recall, that didn’t turn out so well.” I can hold a grudge with the best of them, and Deming was teetering on the brink of disaster. He knew how much detective work meant to me and refused to acknowledge my small triumphs.

“Number two.” Like most lawyers, Deming loved the sound of his own voice and lived to argue. “This business about Portia is slightly more interesting. Who knew that mousey little thing was a CPA? She’s my candidate for deep throat, the viper in the nest, so to speak.”

“She loathes Heather. That much was clear when she was treated like a scullery maid.”

“Don’t dramatize, Eja. Portia was probably eager to help.” Deming made a sharp turn and swung into his parents’ driveway. “You haven’t heard my news yet. Horty wrote a check to reimburse the foundation, subject to one condition. No disclosure about his mistake and no nonsense with the Feds about penalties and interest.”

“Sounds good,” I said, “except for one thing.”

Deming sighed. “What now.”

“There’s the little matter of Lieutenant Euphemia Bates and murder. Does she know about this five million dollar
mistake
? Seems to me it’s an excellent motive for murder. Horton is obsessive about his reputation. What if Phaedra was blackmailing him?”

I could see the wheels turning in Deming’s brilliant mind. Euphemia Bates was a worthy adversary who would never let the Exley name stand in the way of solving a murder.

“Forget about it,” Deming growled. “I’m Horton’s lawyer, not a police officer. I won’t volunteer anything against my client’s interests.” He switched off the engine and grunted. “I’ll mention it to Pam, of course.”

Ugh! Just when I started to feel mellow, he brings up Pamela Schwartz. I quickly changed the subject. “How far did you go with Fleur?” I asked. “She might get into trouble with her bosses, you know. They’re very conservative.”

Deming dismissed my concern with a wave of his arm. “Above all, they are a business, and like any other business a closed case is a big win. Besides, penalties are negotiable.” He smirked. “And I, my love, am one hell of a negotiator.”

That set me back awhile and strengthened my desire to see Fleur Pixley, my old college chum. We might relive old times or have a serious chat about the future. She was goal oriented, focused, and aggressive. Whatever her game, if it concerned Deming, she’d met her match in me.

“Stop daydreaming, Eja. I’m starving.” Deming opened my door and rolled his eyes. “Remember. Say nothing about that check. Confidentiality and all.” He towed me toward the front door, where Po awaited us. “I hope they’ve got some snacks ready,” he said. “Horty must be economizing. Didn’t have anything worth eating.”

Anika and Bolin were in the dining room, sipping Pellegrino. “Come on in, son,” Bolin said. “Don’t keep Eja just standing there.”

“We were dissecting the party.” Anika winked as she said it. “Your dad found out more than I did.”

“Not really,” Bolin said, “but several of the guys had also been approached by Phaedra. At social events and fundraisers. You know the drill. Her pitch was pretty slick, I’ll have to admit.”

Anika giggled. “Phaedra was pretty slick too. She knew how to maneuver men.”

Deming curled his lip in an excellent imitation of a villain. “Wait a minute, Dad. Those guys are all in the upper money brackets. They must have tons of financial advisors who would smell a rat right away.”

“That was the beauty of the plan,” Bolin said. “Phaedra flattered them, flirted with them, and told them they were way smarter than their stodgy advisors. And . . .” His eyes sparkled, “she had a partner.”

“What?” I cried. This was totally unexpected, but it made sense. Phaedra had been a “fixer,” but she needed someone else to close the deal, someone who might react badly if she ruined his scheme.

Deming forgot his hunger. He glanced at his watch and rushed from the room clutching his cell phone. Horton Exley had some explaining to do, especially if he forgot to mention a third party. Euphemia Bates would blow her stack.

“Oh, dear,” Anika said. “That boy will have an ulcer before he’s forty.” She lowered her voice. “I learned a few things tonight myself.”

Bolin glanced at his wife with such pride that I choked up. It was a rare and beautiful thing to witness.

“Okay, here it is.” Anika gave a deep, throaty laugh. “Several of the ladies were well-acquainted with Phaedra Jones, or women like her. Those vultures always hang around powerful men hoping to snare them.” Anika locked eyes with Bolin, making it clear that she had no such worries. “They were relieved when she made a play for Horton Exley.”

“Kind of mean, isn’t it? After all, Horton has a family too.” Bolin winced.

“I’m afraid Heather isn’t well-liked,” Anika said. “I’m not sure why.”

I thought of several reasons, starting with the fact that Heather was a Grade A bitch. In fairness, I had to admit that her beauty was probably another barrier.

“So they know about Horty’s affair?” I asked. “Interesting.”

Anika sat silently for a moment, sipping her Pellegrino. “There’s more. I think they know about Heather’s affair too.”

“Really?” Bolin shifted in his chair as if gossip made him uncomfortable. “What makes you say that?”

“No one mentioned it directly, but there were several comments about exercise regimens and some coy references to trainers.” Anika showed her dimples. “In fact, one of them asked Heather if she recommended Justin Ming.”

If Euphemia Bates cornered anyone in Heather’s circle, it wouldn’t take long for that tidbit to surface. I spent a pleasant moment fantasizing about Heather the jailbird, stripped of designer duds, her skin chafed by rough prison jumpsuits. Trouble was, even in that scenario, Heather Exley still looked beautiful.

I dished about my chats with Ames and Portia, especially the family feud that afflicted the Exleys. “Doesn’t seem related to the murder,” I said. “Portia resents Heather, and Ames and Horton have a sibling rivalry going on.”

Bolin pursed his lips, as if he were reluctant to speak. “You might consider one other possibility. If Horton’s mismanagement were made public, he’d be removed as principal trustee of the foundation. That would benefit Ames.”

“Not just Ames.” I flashed back to my chat with Portia. “Portia would be right there steering the ship. The chance to show up Horton and Heather—she’d love it. She complained to me about inadequate checks and balances right after we met.”