by Arlene Kay
Pamela Schwartz was a Sherman tank demolishing my defenses. “So,” she drawled. “When’s the big day?”
“Pardon?”
“Your wedding day. To Deming. You know. Tall, dark, and dreamy.”
A deep baritone sliced through the dead air. “Yes, darling. Tell Pamela. Don’t be a tease.”
Fifteen
HE STOOD IN THE doorway, smirking while my heart lobbed back and forth like an errant tennis ball. This scene would never make it in my novels. My heroes were paragons who inspired passion, not abject humiliation. Deming raised his eyebrows, doing a double take when he saw Harpo’s handiwork. He recovered quickly, glided over, and planted a quick kiss on my cheek.
“Cat’s out of the bag, Pam. Discretion was called for. You understand.” Deming kept a firm grip on my wrist. “Come, my love. Time to go home.” He steered me out the door, while Pamela fumed.
“Let go of me,” I hissed. “I’ll scream if I have to.”
His eyes sizzled as he spun me toward him. “Don’t cause a fuss, dearest. We’re in love after all.” He pasted a phony smile on his face and muttered in my ear. “What the hell are you playing at? And what kind of mess did you drag my mother into?”
“There you are!” Anika floated toward us, her smile radiant. “She’s something, isn’t she, Dem? So lovely.”
He urged us toward the elevator, saying through gritted teeth, “Let’s discuss this at home. Dad’s waiting.”
Deming helped his mother into the Porsche, leaving me to scramble into the back seat. Deming stared straight ahead, refusing to meet my eyes. Some fiancé he was! I forgot my woes and chuckled.
“I guess our engagement is over. Who said relationships can’t last?”
“Funny, Eja. You’re quite the comedian.” Deming stuck out his lip the same way he’d done as a boy when CeCe called him Mr. Sulky Pout.
Anika patted her son’s arm. “Oh, darling, don’t be an old meanie. It was my idea. You know, to throw them off the scent. Eja uses it all the time in her books. Red herring. That’s the term.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s just the point, Mom. This isn’t one of Eja’s convoluted plots. My sister’s murder was real.”
“Convoluted! I’ll bet you never even read my books.”
Now it was Deming who flushed. “I may have glanced at one or two of them. My sister left them strewn around the house.”
I felt rather smug after that admission. Not many authors my age have written four traditionally published books. Besides, despite my pitiful royalties I was steadily building a fan base, and sales were inching up. Deming Swann could just stuff it!
I whipped out my notepad and updated my findings. “We did pretty well today, didn’t we Anika? You’ll be surprised.”
“Huh!” I’ve learned to ignore Deming when he throws a tantrum. Silence is the gold standard when arguing with a lawyer.
I stole a quick glance at his profile. Deming was in full stone-faced mode, cold and unyielding. Hard to believe that those same lips, soft and pliant, had rocked my world a few nights ago. When we arrived at the Swann manse, he helped his mother alight and hustled me toward the door.
“We need to talk,” he growled. “Wedding plans and all.”
“Not now, Dem.” Anika linked arms with me. “Come upstairs, Eja. I have a surprise. We can change into something comfortable.”
“I didn’t bring anything, Mrs. Swann. Plus, I’m worried about Cato. He’ll get hungry.”
A hungry Cato was a fearsome spectacle. One I didn’t care to face.
“Don’t worry. Give Po your keys, and he’ll get Cato for you.”
Swann magic—an answer for everything. I bowed to the inevitable and trudged upstairs to her dressing room. It was just as I expected, airy and elegant with silk-flocked coverings, a patterned chaise, and closets lining each wall. Anika padded toward a column of custom built shelves and pulled out a prize.
“This would look amazing on you, Eja.” She motioned toward a floor-length leopard print silk with the store tags still on it.
“Oh, I couldn’t. It’s brand new.”
Anika choked back a sob. “I bought it last week for Cecilia.” She handed it to me. “Take it. Please.”
She left me there, fingering a beautiful garment that seemed like a shroud. After a few adjustments, I wiggled into it and stole a glimpse in the mirror. Good grief! Could that sultry woman actually be me, Eja Kane, MFA? My life hovered between charade and farce. I was either Raggedy Ann or Cinderella sans prince, waiting patiently for salvation.
A sharp rap jolted me back to reality. Deming cracked open the door and poked his head in. “Get a move on. Stop preening, for Christ’s sake!”
“What’s the matter? Don’t you like the new me?”
He curled his lip. “There was nothing wrong with the old you, although I have to admit that you look . . . nice. The way you looked when you married that slug.”
There it was again. For some reason Deming fixated on my ill-fated marriage and the husband who dumped me. “Get a grip, Deming. After all, you never even saw me that day. You were too busy to attend the wedding, if you recall. Something about a fishing trip.”
For the second time that day, I achieved the impossible—making Deming blush.
“Mother has pictures. You know how sentimental she is. Cecilia too. They were blinded by that guy’s looks. Thought he was charming. Ugh!”
We locked eyes and quickly turned away.
Deming waved me toward the stairwell. “Come on. Don’t keep my Dad waiting. Jake’s here too, in case you plan to faint or something.”
“No danger. I’m much tougher than I look.”
THEY WERE IN the library sipping brandy; Bolin, Jake, and Anika with Cato curled around her feet. The two men looked up at me, did a double take, and quickly slipped into neutral. Cato ignored my existence.
“Wow,” Jake said, admiration in his eyes. “You look fantastic!”
“I second that. Looks like your handiwork, Leda.” Bolin smiled fondly at his wife.
Deming’s frown erased every bit of good will. “Don’t encourage her, Dad. The two of them played detective today and stirred up trouble. For no good reason.”
“Whoa. Hold on a minute.” I cut him off in mid-rant. “First, listen to what we found. Then judge us.”
“Sounds like a plan, son.” Bolin nodded at me. “Go on, Eja.”
I summarized our exploits, focusing on the major players and our objectives. When I concluded, even Deming wore a look of grudging admiration.
Bolin leaned forward, gripping the arms of his chair. “You actually found him? You found Raven?”
“Well, not quite. But we’ve got at least one number for him and a few clues.” I ticked off each point on my fingers. “We know he’s a longtime acquaintance, someone all of you are familiar with. Plus, for some reason, CeCe worried that Deming might oppose him.”
“Damn straight,” Deming barked. “Jem Russell, or our senior senator. Not to mention some of those other jokers she found.”
I sprang up. “You’re missing the point. She knew her parents wouldn’t mind. Just you. That means something.” I turned toward Bolin. “You’ve made your feelings about Jem and Senator Prescott pretty clear. Raven is someone you know and like.”
Anika clutched her throat. “She’s right! Oh, Bolin, we’re getting closer.”
“Keep in mind that Raven made her very happy,” I said. “Harpo, Malcolm, even Meribeth Foye said so. Maybe we’re on the wrong track. Raven, whoever he is, loved CeCe. Why would he hurt her?”
Deming tapped his toe like a castanet. “Maybe she changed her mind, and Raven went bonkers. Loved her to death.”
Anika buried her face in her husband’s jacket. His reaction was immediate, a withering look that sto
pped Deming in his tracks.
“Anything else, Eja?” Bolin asked.
I hesitated, trying to balance hard truth with compassion. “There was some trouble at the firm. Did CeCe ever discuss any threats she’d gotten?”
The room grew tomb-silent. Even Cato stayed frozen in place.
Bolin recovered first. “Threats?”
I reached into my purse and handed the letters to him. “Someone sent these to her. It’s probably some crank blowing off steam, but I think Lieutenant Bates should see them.”
Bolin’s face masked any show of emotion. He spread the letters over the coffee table as Deming and Jake hovered behind him. Anika neither spoke nor looked at the letters.
“How the hell did you get these?” Deming asked. “Torture or the third degree?”
“Confidential source,” I said. “Pamela didn’t seem to know anything about them, and CeCe never mentioned them to me either. Maybe she didn’t take them seriously.”
Jake moved beside Anika to take her pulse, but she shrugged off the attention.
“I’ll contact the lieutenant tomorrow morning,” Bolin said. “She’ll probably know something about that gun by then.” He sighed. “Anything else, Eja?”
“Actually, yes.” I glanced at my notebook. “This is rather awkward.”
“Like that would stop you,” Deming said. “Come on. Give it your best shot.”
Bolin and Jake exchanged worried glances, but Anika held up her hand. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. The important thing is finding our daughter’s murderer.”
I paused to regroup. “It may be nothing, but Senator Prescott lied when he said he hadn’t seen CeCe recently. He had lunch with her the Thursday before she died.”
To their credit, no one gasped or cursed. Even Deming remained calm.
“Hard to hide something like that,” Jake said. “Pam must have known about it.”
“She did. In fact, she said she’d bowed out of contention. Had no interest in it at all.”
Bolin turned to his son. “You’re close to her. Do you believe that?”
I trained my eyes on the room’s elegant Sarouk.
“Maybe,” Deming said. “We don’t discuss office politics, Pam and I. And thanks to Mom’s little marriage scheme, she probably won’t even take my calls.”
Jake choked back a devilish grin. “Ah, come on, Dem. You should be honored that a hottie like Eja would go along with it when she could do so much better.” He tugged his tie. “Like an eligible, compassionate healer.”
“Stuff it, Jake.” Deming glowered, but his heart wasn’t in it.
I was momentarily lost, meandering through a delightful maze. A hottie? Me? Men always admired my brains, loyalty, and wit, never my looks. I ducked my head, awash in superficial splendor.
“We’re going to put you on the firm’s payroll if this keeps up.” Bolin’s jovial manner was a facade, a futile attempt to distract us from the pain of CeCe’s murder. I yearned to console him—all of them—but came up empty.
“Meribeth mentioned one other thing. It’s news to me, but maybe you guys heard about it.”
Four pairs of eyes turned my way, warily, expectantly.
“This was a work thing. About CeCe losing some important cases. Anybody know about that?”
“She mentioned it,” Deming said. “No big deal. Well, she was pissed, but you know how she was. CeCe expected to win every time.”
Bolin threw a sideways look at his wife. “We spoke about it. Naturally, her pride was hurt, but more than that she was puzzled. She reviewed every action in those cases, trying to find where she’d missed a step. No luck.”
“Maybe that’s it,” Jake said. “Could this whole tragedy be work related?”
My fantasy solution had Pamela Schwartz murdering CeCe out of jealousy or because she’d hurt the firm. It was an absurd but alluring way to dispose of a rival.
A swath of fur swept past me as Cato headed toward the door. I knew from experience what that signaled.
“Come on, Cato. Let’s head home.”
Anika leapt up. “No. You can’t, Eja. It isn’t safe. Stay here tonight.”
I was wedged between compassion and independence, unable to assert myself without hurting CeCe’s mother.
“No problem, Anika.” Jake gave her a dose of charm therapy. “I’ll watch out for her. Take her right to her doorstep.”
Deming bristled at his friend’s offer. “Don’t bother, Jake-man. I’ll drive them home and check out her place for bad guys. Okay, Mom?”
Anika nodded meekly, unable to hide the triumphant gleam in her eyes.
I ARRIVED HOME safely with my Praetorian Guards in tow. Jake and Deming checked out every crevice in my humble abode, finding nothing more sinister than dust bunnies, chew toys, and the odd shoe. When they left I felt bereft. I had no right to expect anything from Deming. I knew that. Ours had been a fleeting physical alliance. Nothing more. My head and heart waged a fierce struggle for control. Logic couldn’t quell the dull ache I felt or still my longing for him. I was accustomed to solitude and rather enjoyed my own company. Deming, on the other hand, always had a roster of nubile women to squire around. CeCe and I had teased him about his little black book many times. Now the reality of it numbed me.
I fired up the Bose and curled up on the sofa with Cato beside me. Bonnie Raitt and Linda Ronstadt kept me company, wailing about that universal heartbreak: faithless men and shattered dreams. Until now, I’d spared myself such angst. My ill-fated marriage was long over, and I’d avoided the entangling alliances that cause trouble. Casual dates and lots of solitude sustained me. And CeCe. Her friendship had compensated for the void in my personal life. Laotung—sisters forever. Nothing much changes. That’s just an ancient version of today’s BFF. As loneliness overwhelmed me, I buried my head in the cushion and cried myself to sleep.
Sixteen
SHARDS OF LIGHT filtered through the curtains as I shook myself awake. That sound. Someone was battering down my front door. Cato the Wonder Dog never even stirred, but I leapt up, electrified by the hope that it was Deming. Sometime during the night I’d drifted into my bedroom and shed the leopard silk. Unfortunately, makeup was spread all over my face, and my tousled highlights looked like a hornet’s nest.
“Coming.” I donned a robe, swirled mouthwash around, and made some quick repairs. Then, abandoning every sensible precaution drummed into me since childhood, I flung open the door. My smile faded quickly when I saw my caller. Lieutenant Euphemia Bates, hands on hips, stood firmly planted on my doorstep.
“Finally.” She flashed a practiced smile, but something told me mirth was the last thing on her agenda.
“Sorry. Did I miss an appointment or something?”
Sarcasm was wasted on Euphemia Bates. She was used to grilling far bigger fish than me. “May I come in? This is strictly unofficial. Just wanted to verify a few things. Check out some inconsistencies.”
I waved her in and did a quick survey. Every inch of her was encased in charcoal from the paper-thin merino wool dress to her cashmere cardigan and pumps. A slim black belt and silver locket broke the monochromatic color scheme. Mia Bates looked stunning, and judging by her strut, she knew it.
“Espresso?” I mumbled. “I just woke up.”
“Perfect.” She gave me another meaningless smile that never reached her eyes.
Cato, that worthless cur, wiggled up to Mia, dispensing doggy charm.
“Oops! I need to walk him right away, or he’ll have an accident.”
“No need,” Mia said. “My sergeant’s right outside. He’ll do the honors.”
So much for a strictly unofficial interrogation; I’d been stalked and trapped by an expert. Without a double dose of caffeine, I didn’t stand a chance. Fortunately, the Nepresso machine was close at hand.
After a few sips of the deep, rich brew, my mental fog lifted. I steeled myself for whatever Mia had in mind.
“How can I help you?”
“Apparently you’re trying to do my job,” Mia said. “Doing pretty well at it, too.”
I feigned innocence. “Pardon me?”
Mia flipped open her notepad and stared. “You got to all of them: shrink, hair stylist, secretary, paralegal, and ex-fiancé. Did I miss anyone, Ms. Kane?”
In my novels it’s the amateur sleuth who confounds the cops. Obviously, Mia didn’t follow that script.
“I’m writing a memoir about my friend at the family’s request. Ask Bolin Swann if you don’t believe me.”
Mia daintily placed her cup on the saucer and dabbed her lips with the napkin. “I read one of your books, you know. Clever. Not terribly accurate though.” She fixed me with a stony stare. “We know what we’re doing, Eja. This isn’t fiction. In real life things aren’t tied up neat and tidy every time.”
“Maybe I can help you. Compare notes, share information, things like that.”
“No!” Her words stung like a slap. “I won’t risk your life. Get it?” She took a deep breath. “Mr. Swann already gave me those poison-pen notes. He mentioned your other efforts too.”
I had nothing to lose. “What about the gun? Any results?”
Her eyes narrowed to umber slits. “No information. The serial number was filed off, but at least there was no ballistics match to any crime.”
That puzzled me. Where in hell had CeCe gotten that thing, and why had she kept it? Maybe she felt more threatened than she’d ever admitted. Why hadn’t she trusted me, or her family? At the first hint of trouble Bolin Swann would have dispatched a squad of tough guys to guard her. That gnawed at me, festering like a sore tooth. Had I somehow failed my friend, or was this another in CeCe’s endless quests for independence from the male Swanns?
“Did you hear me, Ms. Kane?” Mia looked one inch short of handcuffing me.
“Sorry. Missed it.”
“Stay out of this. We’re dealing with a clever murderer. Ruthless enough to throw your friend off a building. Imagine that, Ms. Kane, next time you feel curious.”
