Gilt Trip (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series Book 3) (25 page)

“You?” I gasped.

She preened, showing a new and unpleasant side of her personality. “A nice touch, don’t you think? Ames is forever wearing that tatty Grateful Dead shirt. I knew that sooner or later you’d make the connection. Another nail in his coffin if needed.” Portia speared a cheese cube and smacked her lips. “Top flight, by the way. Hits the spot. This is really unfortunate, Eja. I actually like you. You’re not one of them. But you’re so stubborn. You just wouldn’t quit.” She shrugged. “What could I do? It’s self-defense. Surely you can see that.”

The woman was delusional. I wouldn’t beg, but perhaps I could reason with her. Get her to call the paramedics.

“I saw through that tart right away,” Portia said. “Prancing around the office, calling herself a financial advisor. You were right, of course. I checked out her references and her record. Enid Jones—what a joke.”

I croaked out a response. It took effort not to close my eyes and put out the lights. My words were slurred, barely intelligible. “Why not tell Horton?”

“Opportunity, Eja. I sensed my chance to make it big. Phaedra wanted to run at first, but I convinced her to stay the course and share the spoils. With my help, the scam was invincible.”

“Huh!” I put a ton of venom in one word.

“That insurance thing was Ames’ fault. It almost screwed up everything. So I told her to tell Horton she’d been swindled too. It worked. The dolt actually believed her.” Portia checked her watch. “Don’t worry, we still have some time. Deming got an emergency call, you see. He thinks that Pamela Schwartz was in an accident. By the time that’s sorted out, I’m afraid it will be too late for you.”

“W-h-a-t?” My speech was slurred, and I was so weary. If I could hold off, Deming would save me. I knew it.

Portia slipped a pillow under my head and pulled the cashmere throw up to my chin. “There you go, dear. No need to be uncomfortable. Just so you know, I dosed your gimlet with Rohypnol. In small doses it won’t kill you. I gave you a whopper, but your luck might hold. Not that you’ll remember anything.”

Her throaty laughter rang in my ears as I fought to stay conscious. My limbs were powerless, floating in a sea of marshmallow fluff. My last memory was Portia’s saucy grin as she unlatched the door.

“Someone did me a favor by eliminating Phaedra. Maybe two’s the charm.”

I HAD THE WORST headache of my life. Even body parts I’d long forgotten conspired in painful mutiny. Opening my eyes was torture, but I had to try. In the distance, someone was calling my name.

The voice was familiar. My hand was pressed against a larger one and gently kissed, over and over. Then a woman spoke, urging me to awaken. I knew her too. Slowly, painfully, sensation returned to me and with it a ghost of memory. The scratchy sheets, metal bars, and that light—that blinding light. Definitely not my home. I was in a hospital. The smell of antiseptic gave it away.

Deming’s was the first face I saw. His beautiful eyes were misty, the way they looked when CeCe died. But I was alive and planned to stay that way. If nothing else, the excruciating pain proved that.

I blinked not once but twice and cautiously opened my eyes, squinting against the blinding institutional light. Anika and Bolin stood on either side of the bed, their expressions set in neutral. Sprays of orchids, lilies, and baby’s breath decorated every vacant space—Deming’s handiwork, I presumed.

“Don’t try to speak, Eja.” Anika leaned forward and felt my forehead. “Just nod if you can.”

“I can talk.” It was more croak than speech, but to me that meant progress.

Deming squeezed my hand again and grinned. “We’ll fill you in on what happened. Conserve your energy. This may be my only chance to ever get the last word in.”

“You should have called me, Eja. What else are partners for?” Anika seemed a bit miffed at my facing danger alone. “I could have prevented all this. If Dem hadn’t found you when he did . . .”

“Calm down, my love. Let’s update Eja.” Bolin exchanged tender glances across the sickbed with his wife. “The important thing is that she’s just fine or soon will be.”

“You’re right, darling,” Anika said. “Forgive me for being testy. We were so worried about you.”

I locked eyes with Deming, wordlessly urging him on as if we were partners in a bizarre game of charades.

“We were lucky,” he said, pressing my hand until I squeaked. “When Jaime called me, I knew something was amiss.”

“Jaime?”

It takes a lot to fluster a lawyer, but Deming stammered until his cheeks grew crimson.

“Tell her, Dem.” Bolin’s eyes twinkled. “It saved her life.”

“Jaime and I had an arrangement,” Deming said. “Just a temporary measure, mind you. He agreed to notify me whenever you had visitors. A precautionary thing.”

“Bribe,” I sputtered.

Deming shrugged. “Okay. Whatever. Anyway, when he told me that Portia was there to deliver papers, something didn’t sound right. I called Horty, and he didn’t know anything about it.” A wry smile spread over his face. “Not unusual, I get it, but with all that was happening I got suspicious. This supposed accident of Pam’s was just icing on the cake. My dad handled that, and I headed over to your place.”

“He got two speeding tickets,” Anika said. “Almost ended up in jail until Euphemia intervened.”

Deming laughed. “Her name even strikes fear into cops on the beat. Anyway, she met me at your condo. It seems that our favorite police lieutenant was already on Portia’s trail.”

“Not surprising,” Bolin said. “Euphemia is a fine investigator.”

When we visited the Foundation, Portia had mentioned a visit from Mia Bates. She’d made it sound as if Horton was the chief suspect, but I now knew differently. Mia was playing games, using a ruse to flush out Portia.

“Please . . . let me finish this saga.” Deming was a logical thinker who loved to present things step by step. “We met Portia just as she reached the lobby. I have to admit, she played it cool. Said you were up there taking another nap. Naturally, the lieutenant didn’t buy that. She detained her in the lobby while Jaime and I went up to check on you.”

His voice cracked as Deming described finding me passed out, unresponsive as the medicos say. He called the paramedics and the Swann family physician Jake Harris. Before long I was logged into Mass General with all manner of tubes and tests invading my body.

“You could have died. Thank God you’ve never been much of a drinker. Portia gave you a whopping dose of that stuff.” He tried to sound casual, but the tender side of the man I love surfaced instead.

Bolin squeezed his son’s shoulder and resumed the narrative. “Portia finally confirmed that she’d given you Rohypnol. She claimed that you asked for it so that you could sleep.” He shook his head. “An obvious lie. Jake suspected what it was anyway, but it helped to expedite treatment. Don’t be surprised if you have some memory loss about that night.”

Anika jumped into the conversation. “That’s a mercy. Imagine spending an evening in your own home with a murderess.”

Something was wrong. I tried to penetrate the brain fog that gripped me, teasing me with forgotten information.

“Horton intends to prosecute her civilly,” Deming said. “Family connections be damned. Exleys take money very seriously.”

“No,” I said. My voice sounded weak, but at least the synapses were firing.

Three pairs of Swann eyes stared at me.

“Portia didn’t do it,” I sputtered. “Not the murder.” My memory was still hazy, but I distinctly recalled sitting across from her, sipping cocktails, and chatting about Phaedra. When I put Cato in the kitchen and got snacks, Portia must have put the drug in my glass. No gratitude for being a good hostess!

“Things look grim for her,” Deming said. “Lieutenant Bates is interrogating Portia about Phaedra’s murder. Plus, our old buddy Fleur Pixley came through too. Her guys traced that Swiss account right back to Portia.”

I did a double take. Weren’t numbered accounts in Switzerland sacred? Impenetrable? World secrecy standards had taken a nosedive.

Bolin must have read my mind. “Swiss authorities are much more cooperative now than in the past. Makes stashing untraced money more of a challenge.”

“She comes from a good family,” Anika said, shaking her head. “Apparently she never forgave them for disowning her. Understandable enough, but murder?”

I shook my head and slowly formed the word. “No.”

“Rest, Eja,” Anika said. “It will all come back to you.”

I gripped Deming’s hand with all my strength, remembering Portia’s parting shot. I had to make them understand. She bragged that someone had done her a “favor” by disposing of Phaedra. That someone was the killer, and he or she was still at large.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I SPENT ANOTHER restless night at Mass General with Deming by my side. Despite polite suggestions and urgent requests, he refused to leave. The staff finally took pity and brought in a cot for him to sleep on. No doubt the yearly seven-figure donation made by the Swann Foundation influenced that decision.

After a final checkup the next morning, the hospital officially released me to Deming’s tender care. Po drove the Bentley to the exit, and with the aid of Anika and Deming I was delivered to the Swann manse for R&R.

I’d opted to return home, but that was immediately vetoed. Deming nearly hyperventilated at the thought of it, and Anika pleaded for me to reconsider.

“You said Portia’s not the murderer,” he said. “That means someone is out there, and you might be a target. Again.”

Recuperating in the lap of luxury was a minor concession. It allowed me plenty of time to hash over theories with Anika, my co-conspirator and eager partner-in-crime. I also received some curious visitors.

Fleur Pixley led the parade armed with flowers, gossip, and faux sympathy.

“I never dreamed you’d be in danger,” she said, “but then you always were the impetuous type.”

Fleur confirmed that the federal case against Portia was humming along. “She violated at least six federal statutes. Let the local cops nail her for murder. We’ll get every penny that she stashed in Switzerland. Count on it.” The venom in her eyes was chilling. I’d never realized the depth of her dedication to justice.

That afternoon, we had more callers. Under Po’s watchful eyes, Ames and Heather Exley plied me with another Ballotin of Godiva truffles and more expressions of shock.

“Portia never showed an ounce of temper,” Ames said. “Who knew she was capable of murder?”

“Sheer jealousy,” Heather growled. “Some thanks we get for taking her in. That little thief stole five million dollars from her own family. I hope she gets the death penalty.”

“Unlikely in Massachusetts,” I said. “Besides, I don’t think she killed Phaedra. She had no reason to lie to me about that under the circumstances.”

Ames passed the truffles my way. “Here, Eja. Invalids deserve to indulge themselves.”

After my dustup with death, I was reluctant to eat anything from an Exley. “I’ll save the treats for dinner,” I said. “That way the whole family can enjoy them.”

He wasn’t finished. “You really believe Portia is innocent?”

Anika moved next to me on the couch and playfully wrinkled her nose. “Oh, Ames, I doubt that Portia’s ever been innocent. Listen to Eja. She has great instincts about this kind of thing.”

“Wasn’t she home with you that night?” I asked Ames.

He shrugged. “Couldn’t say. I went to Cambridge to meet a friend. Unfortunately, she stood me up.”

“I stayed in my room,” Heather said. “I suffer dreadfully from migraines.”

“My mistake,” Anika said. “I thought I saw you at the dojo that night with Horton.”

Judging from the look on Heather’s face, murder was well within her skill set. “My husband has his own schedule, Mrs. Swann. And so do I.”

They left a few minutes later.

THE NEXT MORNING brought an official visit from Euphemia Bates. We assembled in the study, joined by Deming and Bolin, and fortified by cups of espresso. Unlike my other callers, the lieutenant came fully armed with Officer Opie at her side.

“How are you feeling?” Mia asked. She was garbed in charcoal grey with subtle hints of cream at her throat and wrists. Her smooth leather boots were midnight blue.

“I’ll survive,” I said. Deming sighed at my bravery.

“We need a formal statement,” Mia said. “Drop by the station as soon as you can.” She handed me a typed list of questions. “Take a look at these and give me your reaction.”

I repeated everything I recalled, starting with the conversation at the Exley Foundation and ending with my second vodka gimlet.

“She didn’t dose the first drink,” I said. “It never left my hand. But she was alone while I went to the kitchen for snacks.” Cato sidled up to Mia and gave her his paw. “Funny thing. Cato growled the entire time Portia was there. I should have listened to the little fellow.”

“Did she admit killing Phaedra Jones?”

“No. By the way, Portia called her Enid, not Phaedra. Portia was way too sharp not to discover that sham identity because she’d done all the vetting. That’s how she got connected with Phaedra in the first place.”

Mia nodded to her officer and checked off several items. “You’ve told people that Portia was not the murderer. Why? She had no problem trying to eliminate you.”

“It was an opinion, Lieutenant, not a fact.” Deming edged closer to me.

I recalled another scrap of our conversation that evening. “Something else came up. Portia was doing her best to hang everything on Ames, and we both admitted having absolutely no skill at martial arts. It was a throwaway comment, nothing planned, but since Phaedra died from a
Dim Mak
, that made an impression on me.”

The look in her eyes told me that Mia was not impressed. No doubt she’d encountered plenty of wily killers during her stint at homicide, and this was nothing new. She rustled papers, preparatory to ending the discussion.

“We also agreed that Heather Exley wasn’t intelligent enough to be the silent partner. If you’re looking for Portia’s weak spot, that’s it. She’s smart and proud of it.”

“Good point, Ms. Kane. If you think of anything else, you can include it in your formal statement.”

I saved the best for last. My memory had slowly returned, and one vivid scene haunted my nightmares. “Before she left, Portia tucked me in as if I were sleeping. She gloated and said that someone had done her a favor by eliminating Phaedra.” I grabbed Deming’s hand. “She had no reason to lie to me at that point. I believed her, Lieutenant.”

AS SOON AS MIA left, Deming pounced. “Where did that last comment come from—out of left field? It’s the first we’ve heard of it.”

“Calm down, Dem. Eja’s memory is gradually coming back.” Bolin turned toward me and smiled. “Anything else, Eja? It must have terrified you being so vulnerable.”