Mantrap (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series)

by Arlene Kay

  Thanks to Deming’s total disregard for speed limits we reached Brokind in record time. He took the opportunity to lecture me as we strolled up the driveway.

  “Remember, Eja, mum’s the word. Don’t take any chances.”

  I have a sarcastic side that corresponds to his pompous one. Puncturing Deming’s vanity is one of life’s great pleasures that I indulge in whenever I can.

  “Actually,” I said, “Mummy’s the word, isn’t it? Imagine what Christmas will be like this year with Dario’s little tyke along for the ride.”

  “Eja!” He spun me around, prepared to lecture me anew. My fluttering eyelids and snarky grin stopped him cold. “Oh. You got me that time. Matching wits with a writer is a challenge. I forget that sometimes.”

  “Just be glad it isn’t yours, Mr. Swann. The child, I mean. That’s something you might regret.”

  His expression shifted back to serious, and he took my hand. “Oh, I don’t know. I just might surprise you. Is that an offer, my love?”

  That question went unanswered, lost in the sound of footsteps coming from the cabana.

  “Hey, you two, what’s going on?”

  I knew that voice, even though I’d tried to forget it. The duo from dullsville, Morde and Laird, materialized at my side and followed us through the front door. They couldn’t have heard anything, at least I hoped not. Deming gave my hand a warning squeeze.

  “Joining us for breakfast, gentlemen?” His tone held a faint whiff of condescension.

  Mordechai Dale straightened his overcoat. “We’ve already eaten, thanks. Just here to meet with your father.”

  “Ah. The real estate proposal.”

  Laird nodded. “Bolin Swann drives a hard bargain, I have to admit. Got some great bargains in Bayview, you know. Perfect honeymoon cottages too.”

  The man gushed fulsome praise like a hot spring. No doubt that passed for charm in some circles, but it left me feeling queasy. A restorative omelet would cure my ills.

  “You must have been devastated,” I said. “I mean, when Dario reneged on his part of your deal. Kind of left you holding the bag, didn’t it?”

  Morde Dale fell back, stuttering. “Renege? What are you talking about, Ms. Kane? Dario was on the closest terms with us. Why, I have a signed contract right here.” He patted his suit pocket, as if to reassure himself. “It’s perfectly legal. I am an attorney, as you know.”

  Laird Foster kept his smile in place. “No need to get into that now, Morde. These folks want their breakfast.”

  It was a smooth recovery except for one thing: Deming Swann. My love was a predator missile aimed right at the heart of the matter. Nothing and nobody would deflect him from his target.

  “I’m Mrs. Cantor’s attorney, and I also represent Dario’s estate,” he said. “I’ll need to review any documents that involve them.”

  “Of course,” Laird said. “I’ll call you to set up an appointment.”

  Deming nodded to Krister and turned back. “Now is fine. My uncle’s study is free if you’re ready, gentlemen.” He bent down and kissed my forehead. “You don’t mind, do you? Ask my dad to join us if he’s free.”

  My smile was sweeter than clotted cream. “Not at all. I’ll eat for two.”

  My joke didn’t go unnoticed. He rolled his eyes as I sashayed into the breakfast room and closed the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  SINCE THE REIGN of Lars Cantor, breakfast had been special at Brokind. Persus saw no need to abandon the tradition once her beloved had passed on, and for that I was thankful. The groaning sideboard, presided over by Krister, held dishes culled from Swedish and American recipes. Eggs, muesli, fruit, a postprandial brandy, and fish were well represented. I’d also grown fond of smorgas, an open-faced sandwich previously unknown to me. The whole scene was reminiscent of English stately homes as penned by Agatha Christie. Unfortunately Brokind now shared another similarity with those famed estates. Murder.

  The other guests had already tucked into their meal by the time I was seated. Ibsen and Cato loitered in the corners, hoping for crumbs while gnawing on stew bones. Paloma kept her head down, shoveling eggs into her mouth with the precision of a steam engine. Curious. For some reason, the widow Peters seemed particularly grim on this beautiful morning despite the lively conversation.

  “Where’s Demmy?” Pert asked, flashing good will my way. “Krister made sausages just for him. You know the kind, Anika—Fläskkorv.”

  Anika saw my puzzled look and rescued me. “Fläskkorv is a type of Swedish pork sausage, Eja. You’ve probably never tried them before.”

  Pert pointed to one of the covered dishes. “Lars never liked them. Loathed them in fact. But Demmy and Dario begged for sausage and eggs like their American friends. So sweet.”

  “You know how kids want to fit in,” Bolin said. “Until Krister converted me, I’d always preferred Chinese breakfasts with congee and tofu. Now we have an international spread at home. Something for everyone.”

  After I explained Deming’s whereabouts, Bolin quickly left to join them. “Never hurts to even up the teams when you’re talking real estate,” he said.

  It seemed unfair. Mordechai Dale and Laird Foster against two generations of brilliant Swanns. Talk about matching wits with the unarmed!

  If Paloma ever stopped stuffing her face, I’d have the chance to make some inquiries. Nothing blatant, just a few deft allusions to Dario, Brokind, and future plans. Not a hint about babies, diaper pails, or feeding schedules. Whatever happened I knew that Anika would jump in and aid my plan. We were a daunting duo when the need arose.

  A stentorian sound from Paloma caused us to freeze. It took a moment to realize that she was burping rather than choking. She giggled, covered her mouth, and turned away.

  “Excuse me. Guess I ate too much.”

  No shit, Sherlock! A squad of marines would have eaten less.

  Persus gave her an indulgent smile. “No harm, my dear. You see, Eja, we’d just been discussing the trip Dario and Paloma had planned to Cherbourg. It was so grand—renewal of vows, second honeymoon, the works.” She blinked back tears. “Young people these days have so many competing priorities. I just hoped for a grandchild.” She dabbed her eyes with a lace hanky. “Great-grandchild, actually. Dario promised they’d work on that.”

  “I stopped taking the pill,” Paloma confided. “Dario wanted a girl.” She sniffed loudly and ran from the room, clutching her napkin.

  I looked helplessly at Anika and shrugged. Good manners dictated that someone should comfort Paloma, but I wasn’t up to the task. Who knew if her grief was real or feigned? What if she’d realized that dearest Dario had planted his seed elsewhere?

  Anika pushed back her chair and rose. “Let me speak with her. I know what she’s going through.” She glided toward the door, graceful as a gazelle, leaving me at opportunity’s door.

  “How is Meeka?” Pert asked. “I really should call the poor girl.”

  “She left bright and early for a meeting. Even last night she seemed in remarkably high spirits.”

  “Such a brave girl,” Pert said. “So like her dear mama Merle. We were close friends, you see. Sisters.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that. What was her father like? Meeka’s, I mean.”

  Persus hesitated before answering. “John Kyle was your typical Irish poet, sparkling blue eyes, full of guile and fine words. Read all the classics and loved to quote from them. He wrapped poor Merle around his finger so fast her head spun.”

  “Handsome, I suppose?” I had a mental image of Meeka’s dad.

  “Not in the same league as Bolin and Deming, my dear, but close. Very close. Women adored him and he . . . he was a weak man, Eja. Jonny boy—that’s what she called him—broke Merle’s heart a hundred times over. No business sense at all. Fortunately,
Merle’s daddy wrapped her inheritance up tight in a trust.”

  I saw my opportunity and seized it.

  “Family trusts can be good, I suppose. Not that I ever had one.” I summoned my most innocent expression. “Did Mr. Cantor believe in them?”

  “Lars? Oh, my yes. Most men with his holdings took precautions.” Pert chuckled. “I have no head for business, and Lars wanted to protect me. In my day, a girl expected that. Now, of course, young women do everything themselves.”

  I eased into my topic. “Meeka mentioned some business deal between Dario and her. Involving Brokind.”

  Persus Cantor was no pushover. Her eyes twinkled as if she knew the punch line to a very funny joke. “You mean that scheme to subdivide the estate? Dario told me about that, but naturally I couldn’t agree. It violated everything Lars stood for.”

  “He must have been devastated. Meeka said they’d spent a lot of time on the plans.”

  Pert closed her eyes and shivered. For a moment I felt like a bully who kicked puppies and pulverized old ladies.

  “It was worse than that, Eja. I had a proviso inserted into my will that allowed my heirs to make improvements to Brokind. Demmy warned me it could be dangerous, but I never dreamed Dario of all people would misinterpret.”

  I moved over to Anika’s seat, wrapped my arms around Pert, and lied. “Forgive me, Persus. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  She sat soldier-straight, her posture so stiff a Victorian would cheer. “I haven’t even told Anika this, but Dario and I quarreled bitterly just a week before he died. I threatened to change my will, remove that proviso. In fact, I made an appointment with Demmy to do just that.” She was sobbing now. “We both said dreadful things. Dario told vicious lies about Merlot, trying to turn me against her, and I told him to get out of my sight. Then he died. Just like that Dario was gone, and I never got the chance to apologize. My last link to family vanished.”

  Her tears escalated into sobs that shook her frail shoulders. Ibsen appeared by Pert’s side to commiserate, laying his huge doggy head in her lap. Not Cato. He snored loudly, never opening an eye or twitching an ear, blissfully unaware of any other creature’s needs.

  My mind was busier than the Cambridge off-ramp. No wonder Dario tried to pressure Merlot. He had a slender window of opportunity that was closing fast. No doubt he hoped to inveigle Grandma into leaving her will intact. That explained the second honeymoon and the baby talk. Meeka was a pragmatist who might have agreed to the scheme. As for her pregnancy, I had no idea how Pert would react to Dario’s lovechild, but somehow I knew she’d be happy.

  Small town relationships have an incestuous tinge to them. Pert adored Meeka’s mother and by inference, Meeka herself was family. Everyone except Paloma would welcome little Dario Junior with open arms and an equally open wallet. Paloma! I shuddered at the thought of her reaction. Suddenly, I was very afraid for Meeka and the child she carried.

  AFTER BREAKFAST I took Cato and Ibsen for a long walk on the beach. Somehow the enormity of the ocean put everything in perspective for me and minimized my own petty concerns. Would my new book be a success? Probably. Would I ever rise in my profession? Maybe. Did Deming really love me? Hopefully.

  Wallowing in self-doubt can be hazardous to one›s health. I never heard his footsteps on the beach stairs. Only Ibsen’s deep woof alerted me to another human presence. I whirled around to find Chief Raylan Smith just behind me.

  “Deep in thought,” he said with a smile. “Lucky I’m one of the good guys.”

  I didn’t flinch, even though my nerves were twanging like guitar strings. “Are you, Chief? Sometimes I wonder. You seem reluctant to solve Dario’s murder.”

  His chiseled features hardened. “You love to pick fights with me, Ms. Kane. I can’t think why.”

  Cato and Ibsen vied for attention and the all-important tennis ball. Raylan scooped it up and threw that soggy hunk of felt down the shoreline.

  “You knew about this land deal, didn’t you? It’s at the root of everything. I’m positive of that.” I wiggled my toes in the cool, comforting sand.

  Raylan did that stone face routine, his version of reverse psychology. For a talker like me, the wait was agonizing. I bit my tongue to keep focused and thought of Shakespeare. For no good reason, Brutus, that noblest Roman of them all, came to mind. Raylan had many of his traits: selflessness, devotion to duty, and loyalty. The parallels ended there. Brutus had a character flaw that would have scandalized Raylan. There was that little matter of stabbing his pal Caesar.

  “Listen, Ms. Kane,” Raylan said. His voice was neutral, not unfriendly but certainly restrained. “Real estate is not my province. I can’t and won’t step in unless a law is broken.”

  Ibsen rushed over and deposited a slobbery tennis ball at his feet, forcing a reluctant grin from the top cop. Raylan patted him and threw the sodden mess far out toward the pier.

  “That should keep them busy for a while,” he said. “Now, back to Dario’s situation. Tell me what you know, not your suspicions, speculation, or conjecture. You’ve scripted these scenes often enough to understand police procedure.”

  The man was infuriating! Pompous too. He knew more about Dario’s murder than he’d ever admit. At least to an outsider like me.

  “The family is very private, you know. An inside source would be helpful.” I spritzed on some eau d’ innocence and waited patiently. “I have Pert’s interests at heart.”

  “Oh, I see,” Raylan chuckled. “You’re volunteering to be ‘deep throat,’ are you? I just might take you up on that. I assume there’s a quid pro quo.”

  “That’s a bit harsh,” I said. “An information swap, perhaps? You realized that Dario was blackmailing the Bayview psychic, I suppose.”

  “I’m well aware of Ms. Brownne’s past brushes with the law. Checked her out the moment she entered my jurisdiction.” Raylan gave me a “so there” look. “Thus far, no complaints about her unless you’re about to change all that. In fact, she’s very close to Mrs. Cantor.”

  I craned my neck, making sure that we were still alone. Guilt will do that to you.

  “I suppose you knew that Meeka and Dario were involved?”

  Another nod from Raylan.

  Ordinarily I would have honored Meeka’s request. I’m opposed to divulging secrets, unless they lead to murder, of course. Murder trumps confidentiality any day.

  “Jealousy can lead to murder, don’t you agree, especially if there are complications.”

  Raylan covered his mouth and yawned as if my big news bored him. “Most crimes are tied to basic human emotions. Greed, ego, lust, jealousy. Pretty much the seven deadly sins.”

  I looked up and saw a lithe male form strolling up the beach toward us. Time to show my cards before Deming crashed our party.

  “Paloma is volatile. Maybe she found out and bashed his head in. She’s strong enough to do it.” Even as I said it, something clicked. Pert insisted that Paloma truly loved Dario. Did he die for love?

  Raylan pivoted and waved to Deming, who was valiantly fending off two eager dogs. “You’ve certainly given me a lot to consider, Ms. Kane. Let’s see: Morde, Laird, Merlot, Paloma—you’ve covered the waterfront. Anyone else?”

  I fought to maintain my dignity even as a telltale flush stained my cheeks. “Actually, you forgot two other suspects.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Please. Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  It was go for broke time. “Meeka Kyle loved Dario and wanted to marry him. Cheech Saenz is crazy about Paloma, totally besotted. Two time-tested motives for murder.”

  Raylan’s eyes sparkled but he said nothing. I vowed to change that.

  “One other thing to consider.” I drew myself up ramrod straight. “You’re one of my suspects too.”

  BY THE TIME Deming reached us, Raylan Smith ha
d finally stopped laughing.

  “There you are,” Deming said. “Cavorting with another man the minute my back is turned.” He grabbed my waist and twirled me around.

  “Hardly cavorting,” I said. “Chief Smith and I were discussing the case.”

  “Eja has some very strong opinions,” Raylan said. “No one is above suspicion, even me.”

  Deming gave him that neutral lawyer’s look. “I assume my aunt is innocent, but I have to agree with Eja. Laird and Mordechai are quite vocal about acquiring Brokind. They offered me what they called a ‘financial inducement’ to convince my aunt. As if money would sway me.”

  “A bribe!” I said. “Those sleazes!”

  “They consider it a prudent business practice,” Deming said. “Listen, Chief, I do have some information for you. My aunt gave me permission to share some of her personal data.”

  Raylan nodded. “Here or in my office. Your choice.”

  Deming pointed to three large boulders. “Here we are. The best open-air office there is. This won’t take long anyway.” He took my hand and helped me climb onto the rocks. “Can’t take a chance on breaking you.”

  He was right, of course. Cato scrambled up rocks like a mountain goat, but I was far less agile. My wilderness experience was limited to the latest videos from National Geographic.

  “Ready?” Deming’s brisk manner bordered on officious. I buttoned my lip and counted way past ten. Better to ignore him when he played Master of the Universe.

  “Your show, Counselor.” Raylan had returned to Sphinx mode. His face was unreadable, very like the outcropping he leaned against.

  “Okay, here it is. As you may know, a local consortium hatched a plan to convert property—including Brokind—into a mixed use, commercial and recreational complex. Laird represented the real estate end, and Morde and Meeka brokered the environmental angle.”

  Raylan locked eyes with him. “And Dario?”