Gilt Trip (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series Book 3) (20 page)

Anika ran interference. “After all, we discovered her body, Lieutenant. That makes it personal.”

I felt the heat of Mia’s anger and blurted out my reason.

“It haunts me—her eyes and the way she grabbed my hand. She was counting on me to avenge her, and I can’t let it go.”

Chapter Eighteen

OUR MEETING WITH Euphemia Bates sapped my spirit. After Anika dropped me off, I vowed to forget murder and focus on my writing—at least for a few hours.

Jaime intercepted me the moment I entered the lobby. His sad puppy dog eyes confirmed that Deming Swann had cuffed him around or worse, threatened his wallet.

“Oh, Ms. Kane, I hope you’ll forgive me.” Jaime elevated obsequity to an art form with half bows and fulsome smiles. “I promise to do better.”

“Fine, Jaime, no problem. Just hold my deliveries and keep them for me at the front desk.” I recalled Heather’s ambush of the prior day. “And for goodness sake, don’t let anyone lurk in the lobby without being announced.”

He nodded vigorously enough to cause whiplash. “Understood. A lady stopped by this morning, but I told her she couldn’t stay.”

My antennae rose to full length. “The blond lady from yesterday—Mrs. Exley?”

The concierge struggled to craft a tactful response. “No. This lady was . . . older.”

After coaxing a description from him, I realized that my visitor was Portia Amory Shaw. Even in Boston, weathered twinsets and sturdy brogues were a rarity worth noting. Portia had cornered the market on those get-ups.

“She left a note.” Jaime bustled off to his desk and retrieved it.

Portia’s message was concise, almost brusque. “I have new information on the dojo. Call if you’re still interested.”

There went my good intentions. I immediately called Portia and invited her to my place for tea.

“Make it something stronger, and I’ll be there,” she said. “Is five o’clock too late?”

“Not at all.” That gave me plenty of time to strategize and assemble some snacks before she arrived. “You have my address, so I guess we’re all set.”

Portia paused. “Yes. Ames told me where you live. I happened to be in the neighborhood this morning, so I took a chance and stopped by.”

“Not a problem. See you later.”

I sat at my computer shivering. It was preposterous, a residue of last night’s flower delivery and unwanted attention from the Exley clan. It was time to tread a new path.

I explored the Shaolin Way of meditation and positive thoughts instead of gnawing on the negative until my mind exploded. I sat cross-legged on the floor, closed my eyes, and focused. To my surprise, Master Moore’s suggestions actually worked. A sense of well-being filled my mind, clearing away the cobwebs and night terrors. Shakespeare had said it best as he did most things. I refused to die many deaths by cowering in my room waiting for the end.

When Deming called an hour later, I was the soul of composure.

“How did it go with the lieutenant?” he asked. “I presume you’re not under house arrest or awaiting indictment.”

“Very droll. How was your date with flower power?”

His voice dropped, a warning that all was not well. “Don’t overreact, Eja.”

Meditation was forgotten as my blood pressure soared. “Okay.”

“The flowers were ordered by phone and the money messengered over. Things were busy, and the receptionist didn’t recall much.”

“I expected that order to stand out. Deadheaded roses can’t be that common.”

Deming gave a man-sized sigh. “Believe it or not, they are. Mostly at Halloween, but other times too. Devotees of Jerry Garcia and now the Goth influence.”

“Oh. Lieutenant Bates told me to be careful. She seemed rather concerned.”

Deming’s cool façade started to crack. “Just stay home today, Eja. Please. I forbid you . . . that is, I beg you not to go to that dojo. I’ll come over later and stay the night.”

That cheered me up as nothing else could. I decided not to muddy the waters by mentioning my date with Portia. Maybe I was skating on ethical thin ice, but by adhering to the letter if not the spirit of my promise, I kept Deming satisfied and relatively calm. I didn’t even have to cross my fingers.

“Fine. Okay. Except for walking Cato, I’ll stay here all day.”

He whispered into the phone so quietly that I almost missed it. “I love you, Eja Kane. Never forget that.”

THE OUTLINE FOR my next novel beckoned, and for the first time since Phaedra’s murder, I felt energized. Three hours hunched over my computer left my back and shoulder muscles begging for mercy, but the results were worth every niggling ache. I produced a character outline and two solid opening chapters of
Dojo Death,
a work that closely paralleled reality. Naturally the names were changed—not to protect the innocent, but to indemnify me from pesky lawsuits.
I hadn’t identified the killer either, but that could be deferred until subsequent chapters. It was easy to devise any number of motives for murdering Phaedra Jones or Prudence Brown, the pseudonym that I invented for her. In my novels, lust and lucre figured prominently just as they do in real life. Phaedra or Enid was a big-time overachiever in both areas.

I attended to Cato, freshened up, and arranged a tray of smoked salmon and assorted cheeses on the coffee table. Most women nibbled canapés rather than chowing down like guys. Despite the ubiquitous twinset and brogues, I gambled that Portia would follow the same path as her glitzier sisters. No need to pile on the carbs.

When Jaime announced her arrival, I put a leash on Cato and plastered a smile on my lips. Portia wasn’t the most engaging visitor I could think of, but my mother instilled in me the mantra of a true lady: always pamper your guests.

Imagine my chagrin when the door opened to two visitors rather than one. No dull attire for my CPA friend—Portia Amory Shaw had morphed from grey moth to butterfly. Shorn of her usual duds and fortified with a dab of makeup, she flirted with the outer fringes of glamour. The little black dress was unpretentious, but it suited her, and those trademark pearls looked totally at home nestled on her cleavage.
Cleavage!
Who knew?

The bonus guest was the real shocker. Ames Exley, clad in black designer jeans, T-shirt, and jacket slid in behind her thrusting a box of Godiva chocolates my way.

“Sweets for the sweet, or something equally banal,” he said. “I tagged along without Portia’s permission. She’s far too well-bred to approve.”

Something in those Exley eyes cautioned me. Their intensity was at odds with his breezy banter and hammy grin. For once, I applauded when Cato launched into his snarling, macho routine. It comforted me and caused Ames to step back.

“Please sit down,” I said, “and help yourselves to some snacks.” I opened the chocolates and added them to the other treats. “Portia and I had business to transact, but that can wait. A handsome man is always welcome. Besides, Deming will be here later, and then we’ll have two hot guys to drool over.”

The cousins exchanged a brief side-glance, as if some plan had been disrupted. I settled Cato down and played hostess.

“What have you two been up to?” I asked. “Everything okay at the foundation?”

Ames poured a scotch on the rocks and eased into the leather wingchair. “Ah . . . superb. Isn’t this place fantastic, Portia? Much better than that mausoleum we live in.” He pointed to the logs crackling in the fireplace. “Just perfect.”

“You look different, Ames. I’ve never seen you so casual, even during college.” I pointed at his black T-shirt with its colorful Uncle Sam logo. “Very nifty.”

Ames shrugged off my praise. “It’s vintage. My uncle was a real music freak.”

Portia sat on the edge of her seat and fumbled with her purse. “Forgive my curiosity, Eja, but have you heard anything else? About the murder, I mean.”

I spritzed on some eau d’ innocence and shook my head. “Nope. No one tells me anything.”

“Oh, come now. You’re far too modest. Weren’t you with Euphemia Bates just this morning? A little birdie told me that.” Ames bared every one of his excellent teeth in a Cheshire grin. “Heather’s ears were burning after you finished. Bet you Daddy’s going to take her derringer away.”

“We didn’t discuss the murder,” I said. “Anika and I had other business with her.”

He dismissed me with a scornful snort. “I understand Deming took you on the deluxe tour of Horty’s gold empire. Impressive, isn’t it?” Ames curled his lip. “Too bad it isn’t worth a damn dime.”

I smiled, gave him the big-eyed look, and said nothing. Ames obviously had an agenda. Why not let him pursue it.

“That Sumo-Tek is really something,” he said. “The automated future.”

Portia shuddered. “It’s so sterile. Like a sci-fi movie.”

I stood and poured myself a Pellegrino. “I’m surprised you two know about it. Horty said it was a big secret.”

“You’d be surprised what we know, dear Eja.” Ames rose and stepped toward me, causing Cato to growl. “Wow. That mutt really doesn’t like me, does he?”

“He’s the cautious type,” I said. “Very protective.”

Unlike her aggressive cousin, Portia was a bundle of nerves. Her left eye blinked incessantly and she constantly moistened her lips. “Phaedra Jones was a bad person who got what she deserved. She seduced men and then she robbed them. Horty wasn’t her only victim, you know.”

Ames walked over and stood behind her chair. “Come on, Cuz, give poor Enid a break.” When his cell phone buzzed, he looked at the caller ID and rolled his eyes. “Speaking of the devil. It’s Horty. Mind if I take this call?”

“Not at all,” I said. “Go into the kitchen if you need privacy.”

As soon as he left, Portia motioned to me. “I forgot to mention this before. Avery Moore has gotten regular payments exceeding a half million dollars over the past year. That’s what keeps the dojo afloat.” Her voice was low, almost a whisper. “I managed to trace the source.” She blushed. “A friend of mine is a banker. Anyway, they all came from a single payer.”

I heard the low rumble of Ames’ voice as he prowled about the kitchen. “Who was it?” I asked. Now I was excited, leaning forward to catch her every word.

“You probably won’t believe it. I know I was shocked.” Portia paused. “The money came from Justin Ming. Every penny of it.”

That bit of news left me gobsmacked. It also altered my view of Sifu Ming, despoiler of women and serial gold digger. Was he scheming to take over the dojo or propping up his master’s dream? With great effort, I closed my gaping mouth and responded.

“Well, so much for Shaolin City. Anika and I won’t subsidize a failing business. Frankly, I’m surprised that Justin had that kind of money.”

Portia cocked her head to one side. “Really? Phaedra probably had a partner. You said so yourself. She would have done anything to please Justin Ming. When that type of woman falls hard she has no sense.”

The malicious gleam in her eyes transformed Portia from mild-mannered accountant to gleeful conspirator. I drew back and stroked Cato’s fur, trying to make sense of things. Was Justin Ming the unknown partner in crime? He was certainly strong enough to hoist those gold bars and clever enough to target potential marks. His motive was easy to imagine—greed and need, the two biggies of crime.

But murder was another issue entirely. According to Euphemia Bates, Justin had no history of violence. Marriage-minded women were probably a common occurrence in his life, and he was wily enough to elude them without resorting to murder. Why eliminate Phaedra and risk a murder charge?

Ames sauntered back into the room, sporting a snarky grin. “Miss me, ladies?”

“Were you gone?” I asked. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You always were a smart-ass, Eja. Life with the Swanns hasn’t changed that.”

Portia gasped. “Ames! Manners.”

“Maybe Eja can solve the murder and save Horton. That’s what she really wants.” Ames sneered. “Why talk with the cops when we’ve got our own Sherlock Holmes right here?”

I took a deep breath and killed him with kindness. “Actually, I pattern myself after the female sleuths. Amelia Peabody or Kinsey Millhone will do nicely. Miss Marple is a bit long in the tooth for me, though.”

Neither one of my guests was a mystery buff. They both shot puzzled looks my way and gaped.

“Forgive me, Eja. That was rude.” Ames took a healthy slug of his drink. “Tension has been mounting lately, and I haven’t been myself. I’ve finally come to a decision. It wasn’t easy, but I’ve decided to move on.”

“Move on? You mean, leave Boston?”

“Leave the family business and strike out on my own. I’m following your advice, Eja. Remember? You told me to pattern myself after Deming. I’ve decided to join a law practice in the city.”

“He’s moving out of the house too,” Portia said. “We both are.”

“Together?” I gasped.

I couldn’t blame Ames for snarling at me. Manners had gone out the window long ago. “Of course not,” he said. “Don’t be absurd. We’re both professionals with great credentials. Doors will open for us.” He drained the scotch and leapt to his feet.

“Come along, Portia, Eja is a busy woman. So much to do, so little time.” The words were fine, but his tone was faintly menacing. “Where’s your fiancé, by the way? Writing briefs with Pamela?”

“Right here, Ames. Is there something you want to tell me?” Deming walked through the door dressed in corporate avenger garb. His lips brushed my cheek as he stood next to me—legs apart—in a wushu stance.