Mantrap (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series)

by Arlene Kay

  “It makes quite a statement,” Anika said. “Such a vivid color.”

  “Can’t imagine what it does to cigarettes,” I said with all the sweetness I could muster. “I rarely smoke, but Deming gets the urge every once in a while. He just loves French cigarettes. Ugh! Such vile things.”

  Paloma laughed. “Dario finally quit. Kept ragging me about second hand smoke. I had to sneak a smoke whenever I could. I always said my brand was OP, you know, other people’s.”

  Both of us managed a weak laugh, but Anika recovered first. Timing was important now. “Someone else said the same thing to us just today. Who was it, Eja? I can’t recall.”

  I kept my eyes glued to Paloma’s face. “I know—Cheech Saenz. We stopped by his bike shop.”

  Paloma shuddered the moment his name was mentioned, but she brazened it out.

  “Cheech, he’s my friend.”

  Anika patted her hand. “Trust me, my dear, it’s more than that. The man adores you. Anyone can see that.”

  “We never did nothing,” Paloma shrieked. “Just talked. You’re like all the rest. Think you’re better than me. Cheech understands how things are.”

  “Cheech knew that Dario hurt you, didn’t he? He said as much.” I edged back in my chair, but it was unnecessary. All the fight went out of Paloma, and a low wail started in her throat. Predictably, a monsoon followed as she sobbed inconsolably.

  “He loved me. Dario loved me. We were going away together. To France.”

  “Of course you were,” Anika said, her voice in soothing mode. “I’m sure he needed your help. So disappointing about his project.”

  “Dario couldn’t do it alone, and his grandma, Mrs. Cantor, she wouldn’t help him. He couldn’t close his deal.”

  “I know, dear,” Anika said, “but he shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

  The sobs subsided, and Paloma glared at both of us. “No big deal. I grew up that way. Sometimes men need to blow off steam. If it helped Dario, I was okay with it.”

  “Cheech didn’t feel that way,” I said.

  Paloma lowered her head, shaking it like a stubborn child. “Dario loved me. Nothing else mattered.”

  I gulped and plunged into the abyss. “Even getting another woman pregnant?”

  Silence, more deafening than a roar, filled the room.

  “That slut! It’s that Meeka Kyle, isn’t it?” Paloma leapt up, rage causing her body to shake. She flung herself down on the loveseat, rocking back and forth, trembling.

  “Pregnant! Whatever are you saying, Eja?” Persus Cantor stood ramrod straight, clutching the doorframe for support. Her eyes had a feverish glow that consumed everything in its path. Even her neat shirtwaist faded in the heat of that blast.

  Anika reached her aunt as she slumped against the wall. “Help me get her to the couch,” she said, motioning to me. Paloma seemed oblivious, locked in a fugue state that had no key.

  “Oh, God, what have I done. Should I phone her doctor?” Once again, I cursed my big mouth. “I should have kept quiet. I’m so sorry, Anika.”

  She shook her head. “She had to find out sooner or later. I told Bolin that.” Anika pointed to the crystal decanter. “Pour her some Perrier, Eja. That should do the trick.”

  I held a tumbler to Pert’s lips as Anika moistened a napkin and dabbed her aunt’s wrists. Her eyes fluttered, then opened. She might be pushing eighty, but Persus Cantor was still a trouper. She half rose and blinked warily at us.

  “Oh, my. This is so embarrassing. Please forgive me. I never faint, do I, Anika?” Persus reached for her hankie and cried softly. “Did I hear what I think I did? Tell me if it’s true.”

  “Hold on a minute, Aunty.” Anika gestured toward the empty loveseat. “Go find Paloma,” she said. “I’m afraid she should hear this too.”

  I rushed from the room straight into Krister. “Does Mrs. Cantor have any pills?” I asked. “I’m afraid she collapsed.”

  “I’ll get the smelling salts,” he said. He was calm, cooler than a glacier’s tip.

  I ran up the staircase, continuing my search for Paloma. As I breezed past the hallway, Krister’s voice stopped me. “If you’re looking for Mrs. Peters, she’s gone.”

  “Gone? How can that be?”

  He was too well trained to speculate. “I heard her sports car leave.”

  Paloma drove a sleek red Viper that was pretty hard to miss. That dream car fit her perfectly—fast and sexy. Deming scoffed when I drooled over it and called the weathered hatchback I sometimes borrowed a perfect match for my driving skills. As usual, he was right.

  By the time I returned, Persus was sitting upright, seemingly recovered from her ordeal.

  “Couldn’t find her,” I told Anika. “Apparently she drove away. Maybe we should warn Meeka that Paloma’s on the warpath.”

  “Don’t worry about Meeka,” Pert said calmly. “She’s in Boston today. It is Meeka, isn’t it? Perhaps she should plan to stay in Boston at your place, Anika. Let things cool down.”

  Anika hugged her aunt. “I’ll contact Bolin. He’ll handle everything.”

  After Anika left there was an awkward silence, at least on my part. In my zeal to crack the case, I’d trampled the lives of others and broken my promise to Meeka. I ruthlessly catalogued my sins without sparing myself one bit. If I were writing this scene, the errant detective would be fired immediately.

  “Don’t blame yourself, Eja,” Persus said as she sipped Perrier. “It was a shock, true, but a blessing as well. A child, new life in my family. If only you knew how much that means to an old woman. Paloma does her best, but sharing Dario’s son with Meeka—that’s a dream come true.”

  For once I kept silent, worried that I might say too much.

  “Anika told me it’s a boy. Such a gift! Meeka has always been like my own granddaughter. Now I’ll still have a part of Dario left to love.” Pert’s smile was beatific as she erased all thoughts of Paloma. For once I almost pitied that hapless girl from across the tracks who had never fit in Dario’s world.

  Chapter Twenty

  I SKIPPED DINNER that evening. The day’s drama had drained my appetite for food and conversation. When Deming phoned, I hemmed and hawed until he lost patience.

  “Stop, Eja! Tell me what happened, or I’ll call Mother.”

  I played penitent while Deming the confessor shrived me of my sins. He loved that role, especially the kinky part of assigning punishments.

  “The minute I leave, disaster strikes. What in hell were you thinking? No wonder Meeka showed up here.”

  His question was a good one. Even I wasn’t sure what I’d hoped to gain. When in doubt, change the subject. It always works for me, especially with Deming.

  “Your mother and I had an interesting time with Laird today. He’s teetering on the verge of financial meltdown, and his hostility to Dario lives on. That spells motive to me.”

  The diversion worked. Deming immediately dove into the suspect pool. “Why kill Dario though? Wouldn’t help his project.”

  “Revenge, my sweet. Remember your Hamlet. The croaking raven bellowing revenge.”

  Literary allusions seldom impress Deming. He has a practical streak a mile wide.

  “So now my aunt’s suitor is a croaking raven, huh? At one time you called him suave.”

  “At one time I thought Dario was a decent guy too. I’m just saying that plenty of people around here had motive. In fact, when we confronted Paloma, she didn’t deny anything. Just said she loved Dario.”

  Silence makes me uncomfortable, as if the axe will fall any minute. I bit my tongue, resisting the urge to babble.

  “It’s happening again, isn’t it?” Deming’s words had all the charm of a funeral dirge. “You promised to stay out of danger, but you can’t or won’t stop. This is
a murderer we’re discussing, not some silly villain in your books.”

  “Silly! Now just one minute, Deming Swann. My novels are known for fully formed characters especially villains.”

  “It’s not a debate, Eja. I’m talking about our life together. I’m just not sure that I can take it anymore. I’ll speak with you tomorrow.”

  I didn’t panic. I felt preternaturally calm. “You’re probably right, but one last thing before you go. Check out Laird Foster’s financials while you’re at it.”

  He hung up without saying another word.

  I SPENT A RESTLESS night tossing and turning, dreaming all sorts of ghastly things. By the time I groomed myself and appeared at the breakfast table, Persus and Anika were immersed in party plans. Paloma was nowhere to be seen.

  “Eja, you look tired, dear.” Persus had recovered her sprightly manner of old. “Have some espresso.”

  After downing two cups of the precious brew, I was finally able to speak. “Anyone seen Paloma?”

  “She’s still asleep,” Anika said. “Late night. Krister said she stayed out until dawn.”

  Persus shook her head. “Poor child. The news hit her hard. Her marriage wasn’t ideal, but she truly loved Dario. Quite a shock to find out about the baby.”

  If I were a betting woman, I’d wager that Paloma had found solace in the tattooed arms of one Cheech Saenz. There weren’t many other candidates in Bayview unless one dabbled in senior citizens. Another doubt nagged at me. Perhaps Paloma wasn’t as devastated as she pretended to be. Perhaps she already knew about the pregnancy.

  Anika passed a printout to me. “Check this out, Eja. Our guest list for Saturday night. Isn’t it spectacular? We’ve invited around fifty people from all over the east coast.”

  I scanned the list, noting that at least two of the females were Deming’s former flames. Terrific. While I was solving crimes, he could interview my replacement.

  “Something wrong?” Anika asked. “Oh, I get it. Don’t worry about Dem’s old girlfriends. They’re both engaged now.”

  I summoned my sunniest smile. “Not a problem. After all, he’s still a free man.” My voice broke a little when I said that, causing Anika to squeeze my hand.

  “My dear, Dem hasn’t been free since you threw your book bag at him in first grade. That boy has loved you for years even when you married someone else. Don’t fret. Come help us with the menu.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to walk the dogs. Work up an appetite, you know.”

  It was a loser’s bluff, a pathetic ruse, but they played along anyway. I hitched Cato up to his harness, whistled for Ibsen, and set out for the beach.

  The day was overcast, a perfect metaphor for my own state of mind. The restless waves sternly rebuked any swimmer or boater foolish enough to challenge them. After both dogs exhausted themselves running up and down the beach, I trudged toward Brokind unsure of my next move. I needed diversion, something besides party chatter.

  An engine’s purr caused me to leap back from the cobblestone path. The car stopped, and Krister leaned out the window. As usual, he wore a sober black suit, dark tie, and starched white shirt. His face showed the emotion of a storefront mannequin.

  “Forgive me, Ms. Kane. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  I got a sudden brainstorm. “Can I hitch a ride to town with you? The dogs are a mess, though.”

  Krister smiled at the bedraggled pooches. “No matter. I’ll take them home with me and groom them.” He wasn’t the chatty type, not given to casual conversation. Still, if anyone knew of skeletons in the tidy Cantor closet, Krister was my man.

  We rode in silence while I summoned my courage. “Tell me about these mishaps Mrs. Cantor’s been having,” I said. “No one talks much about them.”

  His eyes narrowed to a flinty slit. “I don’t gossip. It’s not my place.”

  I gave myself a failing grade in finesse. Krister’s manner was frostier than the Arctic Circle with little sign of melting. So much for global warming.

  “You’ve been with them a long time,” I said. “You care about her welfare.”

  “Yah. Her privacy too.” Krister gripped the steering wheel.

  “You prepare her meals,” I said. “What kind of ‘digestive upsets’ did she have?”

  The sedan approached an intersection and rolled to a whisper-smooth stop. “That was months ago. Before Mr. Dario died. She’s fine now.” He set his lips in a firm thin line that nothing short of mayhem could dislodge.

  “She was pushed into the pool. What about that?” I smeared my face with cynicism. “Weren’t you the one who saved her?”

  “Me! By Ansgar, you try my patience!” No more icy calm. Too late I recalled that Ansgar was one of the fierce Swedish Vikings that had prowled the seas. With his navy eyes shooting fiery sparks, Krister might well be one of that tribe.

  “No, no. I wasn’t suggesting . . .”

  “Mrs. Cantor has a delicate constitution. Arguments upset her.”

  That was the best I could hope for. I managed a weak smile and remained silent until he deposited me in the heart of Bayview where Merlot Brownne held court.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I told Krister. “I’ll call if I need anything.”

  As I approached Another World, the front door opened, disgorging an unexpected visitor. Chief Raylan Smith stopped on the stoop and stared, hands on hips, as if I were a blight on the pristine landscape. “Morning, Ms. Kane. Not stalking me, are you?”

  “That’s a felony.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched in a reluctant grin. “I got a call about you last night. We should sit down and discuss it.”

  I’d grown weary of men interfering with my plans. “Do tell. What did Deming say?”

  “I never reveal my sources. Besides, it was a warning, not a complaint. You’ve been taking risks, ruffling feathers. Why am I not surprised?”

  His eyes softened like bits of molten chocolate. Chocolate gives momentary pleasure and long-term pain. Ask any woman with a weight problem.

  “I’d love to chat,” I said, “but I’ve got an appointment.” Without another word, I grasped the handrail, stepped up to Merlot’s door, and let myself in.

  She was in her parlor, calmly sipping from a porcelain cup as she stroked Ra. The inky cat leapt off Merlot’s lap, fixed me with his amber gaze, and meowed as if he were sharing a secret. Considering the mystical ways of felines, he probably was.

  “What a surprise,” Merlot said. “Did we have an appointment?” She wore snakeskin stilettos and an apricot sheath that showcased her lush curves. A creamy length of pearls nestled at her breast. “No matter. Please, sit.”

  Her eyes flickered over me as she observed and dismissed my appearance. I squirmed, considering my tattered jeans and sandy shoes, not to mention windswept curls and patchy makeup. She played the duchess; I was the scullery maid.

  The wedding jitters shtick wouldn’t work this time. I knew that instinctively. Merlot Brownne was a tricky minx, and candor was my best and only option.

  “Persus thinks the world of you,” I said. “I hope you’ll help me. For her sake.”

  Merlot raised a brow but said nothing. I took a deep breath and continued. “We saw you with Cheech yesterday.”

  If that startled her, Merlot hid it well. She was an accomplished games player, far more skilled than I. In another life she might have been a chess master.

  “Monitoring my movements, are you Ms. Kane? Bayview’s not a police state. Not yet at least.” Her faux smile brimmed with contempt and confidence.

  “True, but extortion is still a crime. You know all about that, I think.” I chanced a bluff knowing that it probably wouldn’t work. “Mrs. Swann and I spoke with Cheech.”

  Merlot stayed cool, but her complexion paled. I wa
s on the right track. I knew it. Her connection to Bayview Bikes meant something. If only I could figure it out.

  She rose slowly, gracefully and poured herself more tea. Her hand trembled slightly, causing some milky liquid to splash into her saucer. “Cheech Saenz is a client, and our dealings are confidential. He’s free to tell you anything he likes. I am not.”

  “You were there that afternoon. The day Dario died. Cheech admitted that you found his body. Tell me what happened. Truth is the only thing that will protect you or Persus.”

  Merlot sat down, crossed her legs, and fixed me with a charcoal stare. If she wanted to spook me, she succeeded. “It’s in the police report. I walked up the bike path and found Dario, hurt but still alive. His pulse was thready and his head was bloody. So bloody.”

  She shivered as though the memory was too much to bear. Suddenly inspiration struck me like a lightning bolt, and I knew the answer. Part of it at least.

  “You weren’t alone, were you? Maybe you saw something important.”

  “Wasn’t I? Where’s your proof?” Merlot stretched as gracefully as the feline at her feet. “I called for help, and Cheech dialed 911. End of story.”

  I pressed on, knowing that my window of opportunity was closing. “From the moment we met I sensed it. Paloma was there. Cheech said so. You saw something worth your while, and you’ve been blackmailing them ever since.”

  A long, lazy grin inched up Merlot’s face. “You’re bluffing,” she said. “I owe you nothing, but for Pert’s sake, I’ll tell you this much. Paloma was at the bike shop, it’s true. Dario had thrashed her the day before, and she was hurting. He had a special technique, you know.” Merlot laughed. “Knew just where to hit her so the bruises wouldn’t show. He had lots of practice, the little louse.”

  Once again I shuddered thinking of the beastly Dario Peters. A chip off the old block, it seemed, with a wife who equated pain with caring. Cheech, on the other hand, loved Paloma. She’d fled to him to commiserate or possibly to avoid another beating. Had he given Dario a taste of his own medicine, or was Merlot just leading me on?