Swann Dive

by Arlene Kay

  “Did you hear me? Christ, do you ever listen to me?”

  “Right. Moving forward. Onward and upward. Any more clichés that I missed?” I kept my tone teasing and only slightly acerbic. Deming’s response was a cracking good curse and a scowl.

  “You haven’t a romantic bone in your body. Did you hear me? I want to marry you, protect you, the whole kids-and-family bit.” He paused. “You owe me the courtesy of a response, or is that too much to ask?”

  Despite my skills as wordsmith and public speaker, I said nothing. My vocal chords were paralyzed by shock.

  Deming’s features hardened into a stranger’s mask. He turned aside and stalked toward the door. It was now or never, do-or-die time. I sprinted forward, colliding with him in a tangled heap.

  “I . . . are you serious? You’re not joking, are you?” If he toyed with me, my heart would break. Plain and simple.

  Deming flashed a ghostly grin and took my hand. “You’ve been around me long enough to know when I’m serious, Ms. Kane.”

  “But your parents . . . what will your dad think?”

  He gave an exasperated sigh. “You are a major wuss! I’m thirty-three years old, missy, and so are you. I don’t need my parents’ consent to get married. Besides, they adore you. Always have.” He tilted my head back and gently kissed me. “Life with you will be challenging, but I’m up to it. We can tell them tomorrow night. Go out to dinner; make an occasion of it. Include Jake.”

  A wave of guilt assailed me, washing away the joy. Tomorrow evening, I’d be rifling Townsend’s office, not snuggling with Deming. It was important. Had to be done. I owed it to CeCe. Could a relationship built on deceit ever survive?

  “Make it Friday. I’ve got plans tomorrow.”

  Deming’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not stalling, are you? I mean, if you’re not sure about me . . .”

  I stood on tiptoe and stroked his cheek. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

  WHEN HE LEFT the next morning, Deming’s manner was sprightly. This was yet another side of a man I thought I knew. The patrician reserve and class arrogance of past years had vanished. Who knows? Maybe they never existed.

  He gulped his espresso and planted a kiss on the top of my head. “Don’t get too wild tonight. After all, you’re spoken for.”

  My talent for duplicity astonished even me. What is admirable in a writer could prove lethal for a fiancée. I managed a self-effacing grin and a weak wave as he bounded out the door. I thought of CeCe, my kind and generous friend. If only she were here to share this moment. Cato nipped at my heels, reminding me of his needs, so I grabbed his lead, shrugged into a jacket, and did my duty. In six hours it would all be over.

  OUR BASE OF operations had all the comforts that Starbucks affords: coffee, restrooms, and proximity to Townsend’s office. I swathed myself in spy black, hailed a cab, and met Anika there at four o’clock. When I saw her garbed in lemon yellow I reconsidered my wardrobe choices. Anika was the picture of innocence and womanly charm. I channeled a downscale ninja. Could two such different women breathe the same air, let alone share a family name?

  Anika threw her arms around me, beaming her runway smile. If she suspected something about Deming, she was too well bred to mention it. She laced her fingers around her latte as if it alone held the sustenance she needed. I blinked as her flawless skin and translucent pearls melded into the fading sunlight. The entire scene was surreal, as though I’d stumbled into a portrait by Vermeer.

  “You spoke with Malcolm? He’ll be here?” Anika fingered her pearls like a rosary.

  “Absolutely. I confirmed everything with him this morning. Quarter of five on the dot.”

  She sighed and freshened her lipstick with the false cheer of a windup mannequin.

  “Ready? I see you remembered to wear your camera pin. You figure all the angles, Eja—such a great planner. Remember. Give me five minutes to do my part before you come in. I’ll leave the door open.”

  “Anika, listen. You don’t have to do this. Stay here. Wait for me. I won’t be long.”

  “My daughter didn’t capitulate, and neither will I.” Anika squared her shoulders and rose. “Follow me.”

  THE CROWDED elevator wheezed its way to the twenty-second floor as Anika and I watched from opposite corners. I used my hood to cloak my identity. She stood perfectly poised like the runway model she once was. When we alighted, Anika strode toward Townsend’s door, heels clicking on the marble floor. I hovered near the water fountain, studying my watch. When five minutes elapsed, I ambled over to the office door and opened it a crack. Anika’s voice, laced with hysteria, blended with soothing sounds from Brenda. A door slammed and voices raised. That was my cue. I slipped into the office, turned right, and sped down the corridor containing the lavatory and supply room. It wasn’t spacious, but it was large enough to stave off claustrophobia. I hunkered down behind cluttered shelves, keeping the door ajar, waiting for the second act to begin.

  It didn’t take long. Ten minutes later, Brenda opened the restroom door to freshen up. She performed the usual hair and makeup rituals without even glancing my way. From the grumbling I heard, Anika must have played her part to perfection. Brenda extinguished the lights, jangled her keys, and slammed the office door. I waited exactly two minutes before creeping into the hallway. Stealth garb aside, I made a lousy spy. My knees shook, and my pulse throbbed as if I were auditioning for “The Tell-Tale Heart.”

  Fortunately, I’d brought along a Surefire flashlight courtesy of Swann Industries. It was fantastic, only six inches long with a beam that could stun a moose. I took slow measured steps toward Townsend’s office, giving myself a mental pep talk. The doorknob yielded easily, a testament to Anika’s good work. It was kismet. Everything according to plan.

  The red lacquered box stared at me from the middle of his desk, emitting a special force field. It was a splendid piece, artfully carved and exquisitely detailed. Beauty aside, if it were locked, I’d smash that thing to bits.

  Luck was with me once again. The pin for the hasp was missing, and it gave way easily, leaving the box and its contents unguarded. I raised the lid and flipped through the neatly labeled CDs inside. Each bore a woman’s name. As I pocketed Anika’s, an outside noise distracted me. An adrenaline surge swept through my body, activating my fight-or-flight response. The jangle of keys meant that someone might be heading my way. Long-forgotten prayers sprang to my lips. Unfortunately, they all focused on St. Agnes, the virgin martyr widely touted by the nuns. I’m neither virgin nor martyr, so I switched to St. Jude. Hopeless causes seemed much more fitting.

  I scooped up the contents, trained my flashlight on the room, and sought a quick hiding place. My stomach clenched, protesting too much caffeine and too little food. Out of desperation I made a choice, lunging toward one viable option: the bay window. Thick silk draperies concealed it, and the massive shrink couch lay in front of it. The doorknob rattled as I crouched behind the sofa, enveloped by something stiff and bulky. I fainted as the wide, dead eyes of Wesley Townsend confronted me.

  Twenty-Three

  I’D NEVER TOUCHED a corpse before. Who could blame me for shrieking the moment I regained consciousness? Instantly a hard slap lashed my cheek, diverting my attention from anything but pain.

  “Ow! That hurt!”

  “There’s more where that came from,” Brenda said. “Shut up!”

  I was groggy and confused by her reaction. How had I landed on the couch? Where was Wesley Townsend or what remained of him? “He’s dead,” I sputtered, rising up. “Dr. Townsend.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” Brenda’s chestnut eyes glittered in the lamplight. They weren’t attractive anymore. They radiated menace. “You couldn’t leave it alone, could you? You and the lovely Anika. How stupid do you think I am, for Christ’s sake?” Her hand clasped an Art Deco letter
opener with a wicked tip. “Too bad. I really love Yo-Yo Ma.” She reached under her coat and found her purse. CeCe’s purse, the Hermes Garden Party.

  “You did it?” I asked. The words sickened me. Had Brenda been Townsend’s confederate? Was my friend’s purse a spoil of war? “People know I’m here. You won’t get away with this.”

  Her derisive laugh was closer to a cackle. “Let’s see. Mrs. Bolin Swann? Nope. Oh, I get it. You’re counting on Malcolm to save you.” She twirled the letter opener, pointing the tip at my jugular vein. “Sorry. This isn’t one of your dopey books. Mr. Cates is unavailable.” She checked her watch. “Right about now, he’s heading for that concert in my place.”

  “I don’t understand . . . Malcolm hurt CeCe?” I sat upright, feigning confusion, plotting my escape. If I caught her unaware, I had a fighting chance against Brenda and the letter opener she brandished. Her role in CeCe’s murder and all that followed was a puzzle best solved when I was free from here. I faked a coughing fit realistic enough to back her away.

  “Jesus, stop that! You’re too stupid to live,” Brenda said. “Creeping around like Sherlock Holmes. You still don’t get it. Malcolm Cates is as clueless as you. He was only too eager to skip out and take the missus to a free concert, especially after that message you sent him.”

  “Huh?” I played along, acting dull-witted. By feeding her ego, I could buy time and possibly save my life.

  Brenda’s lips curved in a victory smile. “Oh, yes. You called and left him a message. Told him your plans were canceled, but you’d left Yo-Yo Ma tickets for him at will-call. He was elated. Couldn’t believe his good luck.” She chuckled. “You know what a wuss he is.”

  That was bad news. Our plan depended on Malcolm and the getaway car. Anika must be frantic right about now. I had to act quickly while Brenda was still savoring her triumph. My hand curled around a bronze sculpture on the side table. I tensed and hurled it at Brenda’s head with all my might. My aim wasn’t great, but Brenda’s rather large noggin made an excellent target. The sculpture grazed her temple and did the job. She crumpled like well-worn currency as I leapt up, grabbed the contents of the lacquered box, and sped toward the door. My heartbeat scaled the stratosphere as I hit the waiting room. Let Euphemia Bates figure out the details; my only goal was freedom. I fumbled with the deadbolt and twisted the doorknob on the walnut door. A more composed person might have phoned the cops. I thought about survival. Maybe Anika called Deming when Malcolm didn’t show. Maybe he was outside. I flung open the door and stared into the doughy features of Meribeth Foye. Anika was at her side.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. The pallor of Anika’s face and her rigid posture gave the answer. She reached out to me, but her arm was encased in the firm grip of CeCe’s paralegal. The triumphant look in Meribeth’s eyes proved she was no savior. The glint of metal said she had a gun. I blinked. No wonder those chestnut eyes were so familiar. I’d seen them on Brenda, the fiendish receptionist. She’d mentioned her twin who worked in a law firm. I’d been so focused on the forest that I missed two very sturdy trees! The Janus motive—twins working in tandem to run their blackmail scheme. No wonder Malcolm had never appeared.

  Meribeth anticipated my next move. She grasped my shoulders, giving me a hard, backward shove that sent me sprawling into Brenda. Soft moans confirmed that she was unconscious but still alive. In the confusion, breaking free was a possibility. Abandoning Anika was not. They say that murder gets easier after the first kill. Not a theory I planned to test with homicidal siblings.

  “You hurt her! You hurt my sister!” Meribeth flung Anika against the couch and ran to Brenda. She cradled her, wiping the thin line of blood that trickled down her face. “Wake up, Sis,” she crooned. “You’ll be okay.”

  Brenda stirred and lifted her head. As Meribeth hovered over her twin, Anika and I exchanged glances and cautiously edged toward freedom. My legs were rubbery, weakened by fear, but functional. Unlike the sprightly heroines in my novels, I wasn’t brave. I was terrified. Anika Swann was a different story. She slipped off her stilettos, clutched them like weapons, and moved confidently toward the door. My flat-heeled gym shoes offered no such option. Anika turned the doorknob and nudged me out. I plunged toward the illuminated exit sign with her nipping at my heels. With a little bit of luck we’d hit that stairwell before Meribeth remembered us.

  Anika’s composure never wilted as we reached the exit door and flung it open. She faltered only after we ran head-on into the solid wall of flesh encapsulating Jem Russell.

  I was so glad to see the big lug that I hugged him. He seemed unfazed by our sudden appearance, untroubled by my wild eyes and tangled locks. That was my first clue.

  “You’re alive!” I stammered. “Thank God. Help us get out of here.”

  Jem flashed his moronic grin as he blocked the stairwell. “Calm down, ladies. Jem’s here.”

  “No time to chat.” I was one word short of babbling, but I couldn’t help myself. “We’ll explain later.”

  Anika remained poised. She beamed her radiant smile as she drove her stiletto into Jem’s meaty neck. Jem gasped, clutched his throat, and sank slowly to the floor. “That’s for murdering my daughter,” she said.

  Murder? It made sense even though I’d lost a step somewhere. I supported the team effort by a vigorous kick to his groin that left him gasping like a gaffed trout.

  “Run, Anika,” I said. “There’s no time.”

  “You’re right about that. Move back, or the rich bitch dies.” Meribeth grinned as she leveled her gun at Anika’s head.

  WE TRUDGED BACK into Townsend’s office, prompted by the barrel of Meribeth’s gun. Jem stayed splayed across the stairwell, making garbled, guttural sounds. He’d probably survive, unlike Anika and me. I racked my brain for something—anything—to delay the inevitable, but my mind was an arid wasteland. Meribeth waved her gun, motioning toward the leather settee. “Sit. Both of you.”

  “Tell us why,” Anika said. “We have the right to know.”

  “Awfully big on rights, aren’t you,” Meribeth snorted. “Think you run the world. Your daughter was the same way.”

  Hearing her talk about CeCe made Anika stiffen. Her eyes blazed hatred and defiance.

  “Why kill Townsend?” I asked. “He was behind all this.”

  Brenda pulled herself upright on the couch and curled her lip. “Still clueless. Townsend had no idea what was going on. He was a pervert, of course, but too gutless to cash in on clients.” She smirked at Anika. “You’re photogenic, Mrs. High and Mighty Swann. Where’d you learn to strip?”

  Anika’s pale skin flushed with either anger or shame. “Forget about me. Why kill Cecilia? She would have paid your price.”

  I knew the answer right away. CeCe would never have stopped. Not until she found and crushed the blackmailer. Leverage. Good attorneys use it to wring concessions from their opponent. CeCe was a tireless adversary who lived to win.

  “We had a good thing going,” Meribeth huffed. “We negotiated with five or six clients. Just enough to make ends meet. Nothing greedy. Townsend had plenty more patients. Rich bitches who’d pay anything to save themselves.”

  Her sense of entitlement floored me, but I faked a look of wide-eyed admiration. “How did you manage it? CeCe knew your voice. You were Byron, weren’t you?”

  Brenda guffawed as if my comment was comic gold. “That was easy. After all, I knew everything that went on here. Townsend left everything where I could find it. Child’s play! I sent dear Ms. Swann messages from the doctor’s computer. No direct contact. Sometimes Meribeth pretended I’d called and handed messages to her. It all went like clockwork.”

  “Yeah. That prick Malcolm loved it when I did his job. No one questioned anything until your daughter got nosey. Too big for her britches.” Meribeth beamed a triumphant look our way. “I made up Byron and those threatening
letters too. Think about it. You believed everything I fed you. I knew you’d eat up the literary touch. You snobs think you’re so smart. What a bunch of saps.”

  I slipped my hand into my pocket and found the Surefire flashlight. No match for a gun, but at least it was something. After all, it had special self-defense features. “What happened on that rooftop? Tell us. Please . . .” I banked on their need for recognition. Bet our lives on that slim hope.

  “Oh, why not? A last wish for our guests.” Brenda patted her bruised head and winked at her twin. “That spoiled bitch broke the rules. Contacted Townsend directly. He panicked, of course. Had no idea what was going on.”

  “Yeah, do you believe it?” Meribeth’s nasal tones were aggrieved. “It was easy to set her up. She thought she’d beaten Townsend. That’s all she could think of, getting those discs and saving her dear mama from disgrace.”

  Anika’s tears flowed freely now. I knew she saw her bright, loving daughter springing into action on that sunny day, confident of victory, oblivious to danger. It was no one’s fault but a mother wouldn’t see it that way. She’d blame herself.

  “How in the world did you get her to that rooftop?” I asked.

  “That’s where I came in.” Jem Russell limped through the doorway, clutching his throat. His voice was raspy, barely a whisper. “I told CeCe I’d meet her on that roof. Make her feel safe.” Some of his old swagger returned. “It was easy. Her fiancé couldn’t make it, and she needed someone. She always trusted me.”

  A blistering anger surged through me. I’d dismissed Jem as a feckless jerk with zipper problems and a pea brain, but Deming had seen the evil in him. Why hadn’t I listened?

  “How could you?” Anika sobbed. “She liked you. She was kind to you.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah. Those are the breaks. You know me, anything for cash. Don’t worry. She never knew what hit her. I made sure of that.”