Gilt Trip (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series Book 3) (4 page)

My mind replayed long ago college scenes when Fleur Pixley made a grab for Deming. She wasn’t alone in that of course, but CeCe and I found the whole situation hilarious. Just thinking of it made me smile. “Better wear your chastity belt, big boy. Fleur probably still has designs on your virtue. Always did.”

Deming huffed at the very thought of it. “I assure you this is a professional matter. No danger of anything happening.” He squeezed my hand. “You know I’m not interested in other women, Eja. Only you.”

Nice words, but I judge people on actions. Deming had a well-deserved
reputation
in Boston social circles as a rake. He’d earned it by breaking hearts and dodging at least one paternity suit and several angry husbands. That happened long ago, but it was worth considering. Something about a leopard and his spots.

“Don’t blame me if you hear gossip,” Deming said with a faint sneer. “I’ll offer to take my old classmate out to dinner. Soften her up.”

“Not a problem,” I said with a sweet smile. “Your mom and I have stuff to do tomorrow.”

“Oh?” I could almost see his antennae rising. “You two are magnets for trouble. Remember, I won’t be there to save you if you get involved in some harebrained scheme.”

“I thought wedding plans made you crazy,” I said. “If you insist on being involved, we can postpone our trip until you’re available.”

The alarm on his face was comical. “No, no. You handle it. I’ll swing by after dinner.”

I looked up at him and sighed: smooth golden skin, sculpted features framed by clouds of raven hair, and seventy-four inches of muscle. Star quality for sure.

“Oh, I forgot. I met Heather Exley the other day when I was with Anika. She’s breathtaking. Heather, I mean, although your mother is too.”

“Eh. Heather’s been brain-dead for years. Their sons aren’t much brighter, so I hear.” He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. “Not like you, my love. Our sons will have it all—looks and intellect.”

That kind of talk made me flush, with either pleasure or alarm, I wasn’t sure which. I’d never envisioned myself as anyone’s mother, but Deming had definite ideas to the contrary.

“Are you spending the night?” I asked. “Cato will miss you.”

“Don’t get me started. I’ll wait until you walk the little bastard and then leave. Tomorrow’s an early day for me.”

I DID MY BEST to practice the next morning by studying the YouTube video featuring Sifu Ming. Progress was slow, almost non-existent, but I kept at it, awarding myself points for pluck and sheer stubbornness. When two thirty rolled around, I met Anika at Starbucks with a clear conscience and some semblance of hope. As usual, she looked like a dream—perfectly coordinated in head to toe peach, including her gym bag.

“Tell me about last evening,” Anika said. “Did I miss anything?”

I dished about the catfight and the amorous antics of Phaedra Jones.

“Phaedra. Hmm. It’s so perfect.” Anika leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Of course, women are no different than men when it comes to defending their love interests. No telling how bullion came into the picture though. I can already see your new book title, Eja.
Shaolin Screams.
How does that sound?”

“Great, except I’m there to learn, not write. No distractions.”

“Good point. I’ll take notes in case anything interesting arises.” Anika waved a small Hermes notepad my way. “One never knows.”

We hustled into the dojo and quickly changed into wushu gear. Last night’s bad vibes had vanished, and the locker room was a place of serenity. The Shaolin virtues of peace, harmony, and good cheer ruled the day.

“Maybe we should stretch,” Anika said after we reached the practice room. “We must be early.”

I kept any misgivings to myself. Justin Ming seemed like the punctual type who would abhor any breach of manners. Suppose he were indisposed—permanently silenced—by one of his female admirers or their male lovers? I shivered just thinking of it.

“Forgive me, ladies,” a deep voice said. “I lost track of time.” Justin Ming beamed his soft, sensuous smile, but his manner was slightly off key. A lock of shiny black hair hung in his eyes, and sweat dotted his brow.

“We shall start with a basic Shaolin pattern, a review of last night’s session. I will demonstrate for both of you.”

Once again, his movements were an elegant blur of man and muscle. He slowed down and repeated step by step, more for Anika’s benefit than mine. Unbeknownst to my sifu, I had mastered that pattern with the aid of YouTube. For once, Justin Ming lost his inscrutable look. The man positively gaped as I executed the moves in question with a grace that astonished even me.

“Very nice, Ms. Kane. Much improved. The master will be pleased.”

Anika’s first effort surpassed my practiced moves, but I expected that. We both flourished with the one-on-one approach, and the hour sped by. Justin Ming was untroubled, so composed that his earlier behavior seemed like a figment of my imagination.

“At our next session, we will explore basic self defense moves,” Justin said. “Meanwhile, practice your stretches and kicks. They are vital.”

He patted our shoulders and vanished through an inner door. Anika and I gave each other a high five before we showered and retrieved our belongings from the locker room.

“You’re really good at this stuff,” I said. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Oh, Eja, it’s not magic. Besides, I have a quarter century head start on you. I’ve been practicing with Bolin for a long time.” She unpinned her chignon and fluffed her golden locks. “Come on. We’re not far from the Fairmont. My treat.”

I’m pathetically easy to bribe, particularly when it involves a snack at a watering hole of the beautiful people. After all that exercise I almost qualified.

“It’s early for dinner but late for lunch,” I said. “Almost five.”

Anika shrugged. “We don’t have to eat much. Besides, I haven’t been there since they renovated the place. The Long Bar is supposed to be very cool.”

The Copley Plaza Hotel is one of Boston’s grande dames. Like most ladies of a certain age, it had needed a tasteful facelift, and the Fairmont people had provided that. Nothing splashy, just an updated, freshened look. Anika and I slipped into soft seats of red leather, propped our elbows up on the bistro tables, and scanned the menu.

“I’m ordering a sidecar,” she said. “So atmospheric.”

My palate is untested, despite Deming’s constant efforts to improve it. I seldom drink, and when I do, the results are unpredictable.

“Make it two,” I told the waiter. After all, Boston has plenty of cabs, and this was a celebration of sorts.

We added a plate of raw oysters, sipping and slurping the feast until our hunger and thirst were slaked.

“Dem is getting nervous, I think.” Anika took a delicate sip of her sidecar.

My heart sank. “Changing his mind?” I gulped.

“About you? Of course not. About some client I think.” She rolled her eyes. “You’ve had his heart since preschool, Eja. Cecilia and I always laughed about it.”

As usual, her eyes teared up when she mentioned her slain daughter. CeCe was very much alive to those of us who loved her, and Anika refused to “get over it” or “move on” as some well-intended friends had urged.

Anika checked her watch and signaled for the check. “Oops. It’s almost six. Bolin will be getting home soon.” A strange look flashed over her as she reached into her satchel.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“My wallet! I must have left it at the dojo. It probably fell into my locker.”

Fortunately, I had both cash and credit cards. “Not a problem. We’ll run back and get it after I pay.”

I flung Generals Jackson and Grant on the table and hustled Anika out the door. “Come on. No need to tempt anyone prowling around the locker room.”

Anika seldom lost her composure, but this was one of those times “I’m so embarrassed, Eja. Some hostess I am.”

“Forget it.”

By maintaining a pace that would have pleased and astounded my fiancé, we reached Shaolin City just after six o’clock. Class was in session, so we tiptoed down the hallway into the ladies’ locker area. The room was deserted but dimly lit.

“Where’s the light switch?” I groused. “Someone might trip.” Since I was the likely victim, my grievance was personal. Fortunately, Anika had a small but powerful flashlight on her key ring that guided us to her locker.

“Here it is,” she cried. “Thank heaven! It’s such a hassle replacing everything.”

“No kidding.” I leaned back against the locker and suddenly felt dampness on my sleeve. “Ugh! Someone must have spilled something. I thought they banned food in this area. At least they should pay their electricity bills.”

Anika shone the light on my coat and grimaced. “Might as well get a rag and wipe off the floor. No need for someone else to suffer.” She aimed the flashlight toward the wall. “They probably have something in the utility closet.”

My sunny mood evaporated fast. Sticky substances didn’t bode well for a new suede jacket. I’m normally a miser about clothing, but this had been my spring splurge. I stalked over to the closet and rattled the knob. “I think it’s locked or maybe just stuck.”

Anika sped over and gave the handle a mighty tug. Our teamwork paid off as the utility closet yielded to girl power, disgorging a mop, pail, and something unexpected.

Anika’s screams harmonized with mine as the crumpled corpse of Phaedra Jones sprawled at our feet.

Chapter Five

IN MY PANIC I misspoke. Phaedra Jones wasn’t really a corpse. Not yet.

“She’s still alive,” Anika said, taking Phaedra’s pulse. “Barely. Stay with her while I run for help.”

I couldn’t protest even though my heart convulsed at the thought of babysitting a body. I slid my bag under Phaedra’s head and grasped her hand. She wasn’t bleeding. At least I couldn’t see any evidence of blood. Her eyelids fluttered, fanning false lashes like convulsing caterpillers. When she gripped my hand, her icy fingers showed surprising strength.

Suddenly she opened her eyes and stared straight at me.

“Help is coming,” I said. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

No character in my novels would utter such senseless, banal dialogue, but this was no time for editing. Phaedra Jones glared at me as she edged toward the darkness.

“Dim Mak,”
she whispered. “Promise.”

“What? Who did this to you?” It was important, a dying declaration that made no sense. I leaned closer putting my ear against her lips as she said it once again.
“Dim Mak.”

Then with a final shudder, Phaedra died.

I NEVER FAINT. Hardly ever. Alcohol consumption, not shock, made me black out that night, and I’ll swear to it. I revived and sat up amid a sea of anxious faces. Anika’s arms encircled me, chafing my wrists, speaking in a calm, finishing-school voice.

“It’s okay, Eja. Everything’s under control, and Bolin is on his way.”

“Deming?”

“Po will pick him up.”

I shivered as the dampness claimed me. “My jacket?”

“Evidence, Ms. Kane. How are you, by the way?” That familiar voice belonged to Lieutenant Euphemia Bates, a solid forty-something fixture on the Boston homicide squad, who knew us all too well. She hadn’t changed much: still impeccably dressed, tall, slender as a sapling, and improbably poised. Her hairstyle was different, combed straight back with a hint of grey. It suited her, framed her smooth bronze skin and high cheekbones with an artist’s touch.

I met and held her steely gaze. Mia Bates was an intimidating presence at any crime scene, especially when civilians interfered. She really hated that.

“It’s been a while, ladies. Frankly, I never thought we’d meet again. At least not professionally.” As she acknowledged Anika, Mia’s eyes softened. While investigating CeCe’s murder, she’d gotten to know and even like us. I’d always admired her blend of cop toughness tinged with compassion for the bereaved.

“Feel up to some questions?” Mia asked. Her tone made clear that it was purely a rhetorical question. Like any crack investigator, she tackled witnesses as soon as possible after the crime occurred.

“Please use my office, Lieutenant.” Avery Moore’s soft voice was steady, but his green eyes evinced pain and something else that I couldn’t identify. He led the way past the body of his student, never looking, staring straight ahead as we entered the hallway.

The master’s workspace was austere, a cubbyhole barely large enough to accommodate three adults. His desk was a simple oak table, cleared of clutter, adorned only by a vase with a single orchid stem. No pictures, personal items, or papers.

“I’ll have tea sent in,” he said. “A restorative.” Avery Moore vanished into the ether before we responded.

Euphemia Bates crossed her arms as she watched him disappear. To homicide detectives mired in human depravity, spiritual beings such as the master must seem like a foreign species.

Anika closed her eyes, taking several deep yogic breaths. I tried to emulate her, but somehow my lids flew open, afraid of missing something.

“Let’s get to it,” Mia said, pointing to me. “What’s your connection to the deceased?” She consulted a printout. “Phaedra Jones. That’s the name I was given.”

“None at all,” I said. “That is, I didn’t
know
her. In fact, until last night I didn’t even know her name. But we were there. I held her hand and watched her die.” I closed my eyes and took a big gulp of air. “That does something to a person. I can’t forget the look on her face. She knew she was dying, Lieutenant.”