by Arlene Kay
The moment we entered, Cheech Saenz flashed a toothy grin and sped over to Deming. “Hey, Mr. Swann, your order just came in. Looks real nice, too.” He turned my way and nodded. “Ms. Kane.”
“Is this a bad time?” Deming asked. “I thought I’d take her for a spin.”
“No problem. Come around the back, and I’ll go over everything with you. You got your helmet and gear with you?”
“I do.”
Deming followed him into the storeroom while I scoped out the spandex, trying to visualize myself in biking garb. The tank tops and cycling jerseys didn’t bother me, although they left very little to the imagination. Capris and shorts were another story. They were lethal, guaranteed to accentuate every bulge and hint of cellulite and create a few that hadn’t even been there. I don’t do shorts—case closed.
“Going riding, Eja?”
The cultured, slightly nasal tones of Meeka Kyle wafted my way. She stood behind me, clad head to toe in serious cycling duds that showcased her shapely legs. No unsightly bulges for that girl, no sir, although her windbreaker was zipped up all the way.
I stretched my lips into a tortured smile. “Oh, no. Not me. I’m just waiting for Deming.”
Meeka looked around and lowered her voice. “I heard about Persus. Terrible! So glad she’s recovered. Raylan told me.”
A revelation struck me with the force of a body blow. Despite her Ivy League gloss and monied pedigree, there was something unsettling about this woman. Meeka Kyle was hiding something, and I meant to find out what it was.
“You’re a serious cyclist, I see.” I motioned toward her bodysuit. “Paloma mentioned something about it last night.”
“Really? I’m surprised she noticed.” Meeka’s smile was poisonous. “But yes, to answer your question, I am very committed to cycling. Dario and I shared that.”
I took a risk. “You’re an environmentalist, I bet. With your connections, the state EPA might have supported your bike project.”
Meeka’s reaction teetered between exquisitely polite and snarky. “Ecology and recreation can coexist, Ms. Kane. The green movement is alive and well on Cape Cod. Dario and I were on the same page or close to it.”
“I wonder what page his grandmother was on? Persus planned to honor Lars’ plans to preserve Brokind. No development including bike trails. She told me so herself.”
She blinked, and for a moment the famously calm Ms. Kyle lost her poise. “I’m sure Persus would have changed her mind. Dario could be very persuasive.”
“Maybe. But that woman reveres her late husband. His word is still law to Persus.”
The arrival of Deming and Cheech ended our discussion. I was happy to get the last shot in and particularly pleased at the stunned look in Meeka’s eyes. Score one for the proletariat!
“Hey, Ms. Kyle, those sunglasses just came in. Let me go get it.”
Cheech scurried off like a well-trained serf while Meeka ignored me and gaped at Deming. I couldn’t really blame her. He’d changed into a pair of black bib shorts and a sleek spandex jersey that showcased his manly form. If Sports Illustrated needed a male cover model, Deming Swann was their guy.
“Excuse me, ladies, I’m going to take this out for a spin.” Deming wheeled the shiny cycle toward the door and gave it a final check.
In a display of emotion that seemed genuine, Meeka clutched her throat. “Oh Lord! That’s the Pegoretti—Dario’s dream bike.” She tapped the shiny red frame as if it were alive. “He insisted on something bright. Said he’d stand out in a crowd that way.”
A pall of silence descended upon us. Bright colors hadn’t helped Dario one bit with that mantrap. We averted our eyes. There was nothing else to say.
Fortunately Cheech bounded back from the storeroom clutching Meeka’s sunglasses. “Here you go, ma’am. Straight from Switzerland. Gonna try them out now?”
I had to admit that they were cool, from the tinted yellow lens to the futuristic design. Meeka stood in front of the mirror, slipped on her shades, and adjusted them.
“Wow,” Deming said. “They’re from Assos, aren’t they? The best!”
She gulped. “Dario ordered a pair for both of us.”
Cheech sensed opportunity and trolled for a sale. “Say. I have Dario’s pair in the back if you’re interested, Mr. Swann. Zeghos, same design.”
Deming hesitated, but for only a moment. “Sure. Why not? Add both of them to my bill.”
Meeka touched his arm. “Oh, Deming, you’re very generous, but I couldn’t accept that.” Her words said one thing, but her eyes telegraphed an entirely different message. I suspected that the lovely Ms. Kyle was prepared to show gratitude in numerous ways.
“Nonsense,” Deming said. “It’s the least I can do to honor my cousin’s wishes. Right, Eja?”
“Absolutely.” No one could call me a bad sport, even if I choked on my own words.
Meeka brightened and gave Deming her party smile. “Why not join me for a test ride? We could all go.” She included me in the charmed circle with a flick of her lashes.
“Eja doesn’t ride, but I’ll take you up on your offer.” He waved Meeka on ahead of him and turned to me. “I won’t be long, darling. Maybe you and Cato can take a walk.”
Right. Take a hike was more like it. I kept my emotions in check and strolled back to the spandex section. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll find something to keep us occupied.”
His puzzled expression was just compensation for my wounded pride.
TO MY DELIGHT and Cheech’s joy, I found a few items that made me smile. Nothing spectacular, just enough to prove that Eja Kane had athletic instincts and the curves to support them.
“These go on Mr. Swann’s bill?” Cheech asked.
“Great idea.”
As Cheech bent over, I saw an elaborate tattoo on his lower back.
“Wow, that’s really something.”
He whirled around. “What? Oh, you mean my tat. Yeah, the guy who did this is a real artist. Want me to hook you up, Ms. Kane?”
“No. No thank you. Needles make me nervous. Yours is very nice though. Not like Paloma’s.”
His brows knotted together like ravens’ wings, and for a moment, Cheech Saenz frightened me.
“I’m sorry. Did I say the wrong thing?” I clutched my purse, prepared to flee.
“Naw. It’s just that Paloma’s a beautiful woman, like you, Ms. Kane. Dario had no right to ink her that way.”
I did a quick survey of the shop: Bayview Bikes was deserted, and Cheech Saenz was a man with plenty of muscle. Mentioning Paloma had been risky, possibly foolhardy. When would I ever learn?
“Paloma seemed very pleased with her . . . tat. Said it proved Dario loved her.”
“She’s fucked up, and Dario knew it. Paloma thinks that kind of stuff shows love.” Cheech reached into a drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. They were familiar, exactly the brand we’d found near Dario’s body. I shook my head when he offered me a smoke.
“European, aren’t they? Gitanes I think.”
His face split into a wide grin. “You bet. Brunes. Serious smokes.”
I gave him a conspiratorial wink. “They must cost a fortune with all the taxes Massachusetts piles on cigarettes. Sin taxes.”
“Who knows? They’re too rich for my blood, whatever. Some customer left them here one day and I copped them.” Cheech took a long drag and sighed. “Man, they pack a wallop.”
I redirected the conversation while Cheech was in a mellow mood. “Paloma is lucky to have a friend like you. She seems lonely.”
He flicked an ash into a glass tumbler. “It never works. A chick like Paloma mixing with the swells. Dario disrespected her, treated Paloma like dirt, but she didn’t get that. She thought he loved her.”
I
sighed and took a long leap of faith. “Lots of men abuse their wives. Rich and poor. It’s an epidemic.” I studied Cheech’s stubbly beard. “Bet you wouldn’t do that.”
Before he answered, the telephone rang. Cheech grabbed it, mumbled something incomprehensible, and hung up. The spell was broken, and our brief period of camaraderie had ended. “Anything else I can get you, Ms. Kane?”
I shook my head, gathered my things, and went to find my dog.
Chapter Thirteen
I COAXED CATO into submission by a combination of treats and brute force. Since Deming had the keys to the Porsche, my options were limited: I could hang around Bayview Bikes like a pathetic reject, or walk the mile or so into town. Door number two was my choice.
The path to town was narrow and uneven. I banished rage and hurt feelings by concentrating on the bracing scent of sea air and the quaint Cape houses that dotted the shore. With my impaired sense of direction and unreliable balance, the stroll to town quickly became a tortuous march that tested nerves and blisters. Thirty minutes later when Cato rebelled, I realized that I’d taken a wrong turn. Only pride kept me from returning to Bayview Bikes and begging for help.
Focus, Eja, focus. Don’t embarrass yourself by taking a tumble. You have friends, a successful career, and Cato. Deming doesn’t rule you.
Just thinking about it made me want to weep. Self-absorption has its price—I didn’t hear the car’s engine until it was almost on top of me. Luckily it slowed, and a familiar voice rang out.
“Eja, what in the world are you doing?” Anika always looked heavenly, but today she was Aphrodite and Wonder Woman rolled into one svelte package.
“Walking to town,” I sniffled, struggling to maintain my dignity. “You know how Cato loves exercise.”
“Hop in,” Anika said. “We’re on our way to see Merlot.”
I didn’t need a second invitation. Within two minutes, I was perched next to Krister in the front seat of the Mercedes while Cato nestled in the back of the spacious sedan between Pert and Anika, soaking up attention like a tube sponge.
“What happened to Demmy?” Persus asked.
I bit my lip to staunch a flood of vitriol. “He went cycling with Meeka Kyle. Apparently she’s quite smitten with him.” Teeth grinding, bruxism, is one step up from gnashing, and it has a terrible impact on dental health. It can be satisfying though.
Anika snorted. “Typical. Women always pursue Deming. They seem to find him irresistible.” I love Anika, but those comments jumped the line from clever to cruel.
She moved forward and patted my arm. “He never cared about any of them. Not until you two got together.”
Persus giggled. “It’s so romantic. That boy adores you, Eja. Can’t take his eyes off you. He’s like his father in that way. Lars too. Dario was much more of a ladies’ man. Played the field for years.”
I hated to disillusion an old lady, but Bolin, not to mention Lars, wouldn’t abandon his beloved in a rundown bicycle shop. Sulking was unseemly, but I embraced it all the way over to Merlot’s.
Krister braked in front of Another World and sprang out to assist the ladies. Despite the blinding sunlight, the establishment with its shades drawn and door shut looked dark, almost forbidding.
“I’m sure she’s there,” Pert said. “We spoke this morning.”
“Let me check.” I clasped the railing and clambered up the steps. “Perhaps she’s taking a nap.”
I rang the buzzer, taking comfort in the deep, solid sound. Surely Merlot was napping or tidying her things. Nothing sinister. A puff of fur suddenly brushed my leg, nearly causing me to vault sideways into the shrubbery.
“There you are, Ra. What a naughty boy!” The door swung open, and Merlot Brownne appeared, pantsuit clad in a heavenly shade of sapphire. She deftly scooped the black Persian cat into her arms and waved to Anika and Persus.
“He didn’t frighten you, I hope.” A hint of mischief sparked in those charcoal eyes as Merlot deposited Ra in the house. She ushered us into her front parlor, offered beverages, and plumped the cushion in Pert’s special armchair.
“Where are my manners,” Persus fretted. “I believe you’ve met my niece Mrs. Swann. She’s Demmy’s mother.”
Both ladies acknowledged the introduction with polite smiles.
Merlot took Persus’s hands in hers and squeezed them. “You know I’m always here for you, Persus. How can I help?”
Anika spoke for her aunt. “We need guidance about Dario, Ms. Brownne. Anything you can tell us about his death would help. After yesterday’s incident, I’m worried about my aunt’s safety.”
Before Persus spoke, I jumped in. “You told us that someone close to Dario killed him. Can you be more specific?”
Merlot smoothed a wing of auburn hair, calling attention to diamonds clustered about her ears. Anika eyed them with the knowing gaze of a gemologist. They were dazzling, hardly the jewelry of a penniless psychic.
“You’ve been on my mind, Persus. So much.” Merlot shuddered. “Be very cautious. Dario warned me about that. Trust no one, except your family, of course.”
I curbed my desire to shake the pseudo-psychic senseless. I needed to regroup and conceal my thoughts. After all, my novels were replete with scenes like this, and very often they didn’t end well. Merlot Brownne was a slick article inclined to dispense meaningless platitudes. Guile was the only way I could ferret out the truth.
“You met with Dario the day before he died,” I said. “Paloma said he was angry, almost irate about something. Please. Tell us what it was.”
Cracks appeared in the psychic’s smooth patina. Not many, but some. Her eyes narrowed as she used that cash register mind of hers to gauge the intent of her audience.
“Yes, of course I counseled Dario that day.” She drew her iPhone from a side pocket and tapped it. “Here it is. Tuesday, April twentieth at ten a.m. I’m afraid I don’t remember many details. Dario was upset, it’s true.”
“Why?” Persus asked. Her voice quivered. “My grandson was a happy boy.”
Anika rose and put her arm around her aunt. “As you can see, Ms. Brownne, we need answers not evasions. My aunt’s life may depend on it.”
Merlot covered her eyes and leaned back on the sofa. “Let me meditate for a moment. Perhaps I can reconstruct something.”
Was it wise to waste any more effort on this woman? Persus was jittery, and time was fleeing like a sneak thief.
“I do recall one thing,” Merlot said. “Not so many details, just that Dario worried about Brokind.”
Persus tilted her head. “Brokind? Whatever for?”
Anika tensed, and I suppressed a queasy feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. Was it possible? Would we finally know the reason Dario died?
Our hopes were quickly dashed. Merlot hesitated, holding out her hands in mute appeal. “I’m sorry, Persus. That’s all I recall right now. Don’t worry. I’ll keep trying.”
My blood rose to a slow boil. This charlatan planned to string us along, confident that Persus would be generous with her favors. By controlling the past, Merlot kept a whip hand on the future. It wasn’t fair, but it was smart business.
Persus wept silently into her handkerchief as Anika did her best to console her.
Before we could say anything else, the doorknob rattled, and Deming strolled into the room. With his slicked back hair, tight jeans, and leather jacket, he looked like a living, breathing ad for GQ. Perhaps those endorphins he attributes to exercise had enlivened him. Maybe it was the effect of a cold shower or Meeka Kyle.
“Afternoon, ladies. Sorry I’m late.” Deming turned to Merlot. “When you finish, I’d like to arrange a private reading for me and Eja.” He turned to his mother and aunt. “Just the thing to allay those pre-wedding jitters.”
I knew it was balderdash, but Deming
’s words worked like a tonic on Persus. Gone were her tears, replaced by a mile-wide smile.
“Oh, Demmy, you’re such a romantic. We’ll leave you two lovebirds alone with Merlot, shall we?” She held out her hand to her niece. “Come, Anika. Bolin will be looking for us.”
I swallowed my anger and a bit of pride. Despite the provocation, I refused to whine or scold even if it killed me. So what if my fiancé dumped me for the bike-riding doyenne of Bayview? Exercise was his obsession, not mine.
Deming sat beside me and squeezed my shoulder. “Play along with me, Eja,” he whispered. “You’ll see.”
Merlot smoothed her skirt and returned to psychic mode. “Is any particular issue troubling you, Mr. Swann?” The intensity of her gaze was staggering. I was relieved when she closed those eyes and spoke in a calm, hypnotic voice. “Ah, I understand now. Perhaps I can help you.”
Deming raised his head skyward and gave his imperious sovereign stare. “Just what do you propose?”
“Your sister. Cecilia. She’s coming through very strongly. You were twins, weren’t you? That explains the intense connection.”
He shuddered, and my brilliant Deming lost his cool. His clever plan had been trumped by Merlot’s parlor trick. CeCe’s loss was an open wound for both of us, one that had yet to grow a scab. Hearing a stranger—a grifter no less—defile her memory was unendurable.
“That’s very cruel of you, Ms. Brownne. Using my sister’s death that way.” His tone was clipped, bursting with barely concealed rage.
Merlot never faltered. Eyes shut tight, she continued her spiel. “Cecilia wants you to know that she loves you, both of you, and she thanks you for taking good care of Cato.”
“Oh, come on now,” Deming growled.
Merlot was cagey, clearly in charge of the moment. We were pawns in her elaborate chess game, unable to move as she called checkmate. It was a hoax, an elaborate charade, the product of expert googling. It had to be. Yet, once again I felt the tug of truth in her words. Despite my own cynicism I bought at least some of her act.
