by Arlene Kay
“What about your alibi? Lieutenant Bates nailed you to the wall on that one.”
Another shrug. “We staged that. Brenda lives in my building. They never even made the connection. I’ve been staying with her since I ‘disappeared.’ That’s how I ducked out. Bates was hot on my tail.” He gave his Huck Finn smirk. “I’m pretty good with most women, but I couldn’t fool that cop. No way.”
Meribeth shifted her gun and frowned. “Let’s end this. Murder/suicide sounds about right. Townsend killed these two when they confronted him, then offed himself.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “They’ll know that the doctor was murdered. No powder burns or gunshot residue on his hands. Plus they’ll compute the trajectory.” I folded my arms with a confidence born of desperation. “Guess you’re not so smart after all.”
Meribeth narrowed her eyes, Brenda glared, and Jem looked puzzled. Every second was an answered prayer.
“Listen, Sis,” Brenda said. “She may be right. No big deal. We’ve got the van. We’ll take them through the garage and drive to Maine. They’ve got miles of woods there. When winter ends, these two will be skeletons.” Malice made her face a clown’s mask. “Jem can get Townsend later. Roll him up in a rug and dump him somewhere. The cops won’t figure it out. I’ll play the bereaved clerical grieving for the big boss.”
“Yeah, I guess. I’ll plant some clues, and you tell the cops some story about Townsend. Threatening letters. They liked the ones I made for Ms. Swann.” Meribeth smirked at me and motioned to Jem. “Let’s go. Hold on to them this time and take the stairs. I hope you disabled those security cameras.”
“Already done, boss lady. You know I follow your command.” The eye contact between Jem and Meribeth suggested a double entendre. I shuddered, recalling that twins were his special fantasy.
“The garage!” I squealed. “That’s public space. Someone might get hurt.”
Jem chuckled. “Didn’t know you were so tenderhearted. Too bad.” He hoisted me up with one enormous paw and grabbed Anika with the other. “Show time, ladies. Come on.”
Meribeth led the procession with Brenda taking up the rear. I considered pushing Jem down the stairs, but the risk was too great. Anika and I might be killed or injured on those concrete steps. I vowed to tough things out. They’d have to murder me before I begged for my life or disgraced myself. Die with dignity, but live if you can. That’s my motto. Unlike me, Anika stayed placid. You’d almost believe she was listening to a litany of complaints from the PTA.
I prayed that some casual observer would see us and call the cops. We made an odd quintet, goose-stepping our way across that dank, dark garage. Most of the patrons were long gone, but a few stragglers, a Jeep and the ubiquitous Mercedes sedans, still remained.
Meribeth stopped in front of a Dodge minivan and opened the back door. “Did you switch the plates?” she asked Jem.
He flashed the trademark grin that had won so many hearts. “But of course, fair lady. And don’t worry. I lifted this from the long-term lot at Logan. We’ll vamoose before the poor sap even knows it’s gone.”
The garage was surprisingly warm, but I shivered anyway. Once they hauled us out of the city our chances weren’t good. Every self-defense manual and grisly crime show made that clear. Somehow, someway, Anika and I must prevail. A parking garage was a poor substitute for the O.K. Corral, but the outcome might be the same. Before I could react, Jem clamped my arm in a vise and flung me into the van. He sandwiched himself between Anika and me, waving an ugly black gun in the air.
“Don’t move, ladies. Can’t spoil the interior.” He chuckled and mugged for his audience.
“Cut the clown act,” Brenda hissed. “Someone might notice you.” She eased the van out of the space and aimed for the nearest exit. “Shit! We’ll have to use the rear exit. This one’s closed.” She backed up and slowly, methodically, followed the flashing signs.
“Keep cool,” Meribeth said. “Couple of cars behind us.”
I tried to catch Anika’s eye but was blocked by Jem’s bulk.
“Relax, Eja. No one’s going to save you. They can’t even see you.” That thought seemed to please him. He rocked back and forth like an antsy toddler.
“Will you stop that?” Brenda huffed. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as the van crept toward the exit. She reached for her parking pass. “Damn! It won’t read this thing! What next?”
“Maybe the doc didn’t pay his bill,” Jem said, smirking. “I told you not to use a dead man’s card. Bad karma.”
Brenda swiveled around and faced him. “Shut the fuck up, moron.”
I watched Jem change in the blink of an eye. No more mister nice guy. Dr. Jekyll had left the car. Jem lurched forward and squeezed Brenda’s shoulder until she shrieked. “Never underestimate me,” he growled. “CeCe made that mistake.”
Meribeth swung her purse, scoring a direct hit on Jem’s nose. “Touch her again, and I’ll kill you,” she said. “You’re not the only one with a gun.”
The car behind us honked twice. Brenda lowered her window as the attendant, a tall, gangly redhead, rapped on the door. “Need help, ma’am? Those cards always seem to act up.” He took her parking pass and raised the barrier. “There you go. No trouble.”
Maybe I was dreaming, fantasizing probably, but he looked familiar. I couldn’t quite place him. Redheads with a sprig of freckles aren’t that common anymore. I leaned forward and locked eyes with Anika. She was waiting, ready to seize any opportunity.
Brenda maintained a steady, unremarkable pace as we approached the street. No one would suspect that anything was amiss. Our options diminished at warp speed, leading me to mourn the squandered years and mindless drift of my life. If a miracle happened—if I got another chance—I’d change it all.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, everything exploded. The Jeep behind us rammed our bumper—hard. As Brenda swore and veered to the right, I grasped my Surefire flashlight and clobbered Jem on his wounded nose, watching those high-tech aluminum teeth on the tail cap do their job. A satisfying bone crunch, blood spurt, and howl of pain caused him to drop his gun. Anika leapt for it and coolly fired two bullets straight into Meribeth’s back. She swiveled toward Jem, leveling the gun at his forehead.
“Don’t even breathe,” she growled, “or you’re next.”
Brenda wailed for her twin as she steered the van toward the phalanx of police cars now ringing the street. Her ragged breath and bulging eyes signaled her intent to ram the barrier. Visions of Thelma and Louise, Butch and Sundance flooded my mind. I lurched toward Brenda, hammering her head with my trusty flashlight. That stunned her enough to slow her progress, enough to allow someone to wrench open her door and grab the steering wheel.
“Nobody move.” The garage attendant morphed into the familiar freckled face of Patrolman Kyle Jennings, designated driver for Euphemia Bates. He gasped at the sight of Meribeth’s lifeless body and Jem’s bloody face before regaining his composure. “Drop the gun, Mrs. Swann. Everything’s under control.”
“Not until you handcuff him,” Anika said. “He murdered my daughter.”
The passenger door opened, and Mia’s voice rang out. “Hand it to me, Mrs. Swann.” She pushed aside Meribeth’s corpse and trained her weapon on Jem. “Easy now, ladies. Step out of the car. It’s all over.”
They were waiting, tucked behind the police barrier. We extricated ourselves from the van and staggered toward them too traumatized for tears, too proud to faint. Bolin and Deming rushed forward, offering us comfort and safe passage. I recalled the vow I’d made during that awful siege. No more fear of pain or hurt feelings. Restraint and caution flew to the winds as I found Deming’s arms.
Twenty-Four
UNRAVELING THE skein of three deaths can be tricky. After Jake Harris pressured her, Lieutenant Bates agreed to join us at the Swann manse and save the formal
proceedings for the next day. “They’re in shock,” Jake said. “As their physician I insist both ladies remain at home. They really should be sedated.”
Deming squeezed my hand to distract me. “You’re absolutely right, Dr. Harris. They should go right to bed.”
Despite coming within inches of death I still had my wits about me. Deming’s eyes twinkled with mischief.
“No way,” I protested. “I’ll never rest without knowing how you got there.” I glanced at Anika and saw her nod. “It won’t take long.”
That’s how we landed in Bolin’s study cosseted by cashmere throws and cognac.
Euphemia Bates leaned back in the wing chair and sighed. After trading Kevlar for a stylish pantsuit of palomino-colored wool she sipped daintily from her beverage of choice, a mug of tea.
“Dr. Harris is the hero,” she said. “He sounded the alarm.”
I did a slow-motion replay of the scene in the garage. Of course! Jake drove the silver Jeep that had rammed our bumper.
“Anika called me when Malcolm didn’t show. Before I could get there, she rushed back into that building looking for you.” Jake shook his head. “I was just about to pull the fire alarm when the cavalry arrived. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”
Anika rested her head on Bolin’s shoulder. “I’d already lost one daughter. I couldn’t lose another.”
“This little fellow came in handy,” Deming said, fingering the gold pin on my lapel. “We could hear everything, especially when you screeched about the garage.”
“Screeched? I was desperate. Didn’t even know if you guys could hear me.”
Bolin smiled fondly at Anika. “Guess you didn’t know my wife was wired for sound too.” He pointed to her diamond watch. “I had that made for her last year after she fainted on Newbury Street. It’s got a GPS that beeps Jake and me.”
“We’ll need that at the trial,” Euphemia said, “although Jem Russell is bleating like a lamb. He’s willing to testify if we take murder one off the table for him.” She sighed. “They both want a deal.”
“But he did it,” I said. “He murdered CeCe. It’s on the recording.”
Deming tightened his grip on my hand. “Let it go, Eja. Jem Russell won’t escape justice. Trust the system.”
Euphemia Bates gave him a strange look that I couldn’t decipher. “Well said, Mr. Swann. With Meribeth dead, her sister and Jem both swear she was the mastermind and they were minor players.” She shuffled some papers. “One more thing. Both of them say that you shot Ms. Foye without provocation, Mrs. Swann. Be prepared for the media. They’ll swarm when they get wind of that tidbit.”
Bolin tightened his grip around Anika. “We should consult our attorney, Leda. Just to be safe.”
“Of course, Bolin. Whatever you say.” Anika dabbed at her eyes with a lace hanky. Her voice shook as she recounted the story. “It’s all a blur right now. Guns frighten me, and I panicked. That Foye woman had some kind of weapon. A gun. She threatened us with it in the office, didn’t she, Eja?”
An image flashed through my mind like quicksilver. Anika the crack shot had been trained by experts to defend herself and her family. She’d dispatched Meribeth as coolly and professionally as any assassin. This shattered woman cowering in her husband’s arms was a total stranger and a charade. Well played, Anika!
Deming elbowed me back to reality. “We’re waiting, Eja.”
“Sorry. It’s so painful to even think about. I just knew we were going to die. The three of them were killers. We had no weapons and no hope until Jake rammed the van. I wacked Jem with the flashlight and . . .” My voice broke, and I stifled a sob. “That’s all I recall.”
Mia tapped her iPad and frowned. “I wouldn’t worry about it. You can give your formal statement tomorrow. Funny thing, though. We’ve got most of the evidence from the blackmail scheme, but nothing involving you, Mrs. Swann. Jem swears it was all there. He gave quite a vivid description.” Mia smiled. “Of course, he’s a proven liar. Totally unreliable.”
I lowered my eyes and shrank back on the couch, comforted by its downy cushions and the sharp edge of the CD in my pocket.
IN THE WEEKS that followed, CeCe’s murder faded from the public eye. Not for those who loved her but for the curious masses who sought entertainment in grisly crimes and hapless victims. I joined the Swanns at the preliminary hearing where both Jem and Brenda pled guilty to extortion and manslaughter. Meribeth’s death had already been ruled justifiable homicide.
Prison had taken its toll on their bodies if not their spirits. Brenda’s puffy face was eloquent testament to carb-laden jail fare. Jem’s luxuriant mane had been shaved down to a buzz cut. She stared straight ahead as the bailiff ushered her through the courtroom. He swiveled his head our way and winked at Anika. Deming half-rose from his seat until Bolin squeezed his arm and shook his head. No scenes by the Swann family would feed the tabloids.
The process was a stiff, inglorious end to the life of my vibrant friend. Justice prevailed, but she was gone forever. I ached for CeCe as if a part of my own body had been severed.
Soon afterward, Bolin negotiated the sale of my studio, and Cato and I took possession of CeCe’s condo. My vow to avenge her had been honored, and the legacy no longer troubled me.
As summer faded to autumn and another winter passed, Deming slowly slipped away from me. He spent time abroad and ducked my phone calls. We became casual, polite strangers who neither laughed, quarreled, nor made love. Without drama or tears I resigned myself to solitude once more.
Deming was far from lonely. His image accompanied by one svelte beauty after another regularly graced the Metro section of the Boston Globe. I wept at first, but eventually the pain subsided as did any hope of sharing his life.
I didn’t brood. Wouldn’t admit to anyone—even myself—how empty I felt. An occasional dinner with Jake and regular visits to the Swanns kept me occupied if not fulfilled. I even endured a few disastrous blind dates.
With a stipend from the Swann foundation, I wrote a blistering account of CeCe’s murder that spared no one, least of all me. It was a catharsis, or it should have been. Jem Russell basked in the spotlight for a time, reciting his version of events to Sixty Minutes and Dateline. His glory was short-lived however. A well-placed shiv during a prison brawl ended everything. Jem was found alone in the exercise yard with his carotid artery severed. Despite the warden’s vigorous inquiry, no one confessed to the crime. There was no evidence.
His story had a macabre ending, but with all the excitement I’m sure Jem never knew what hit him. Just like CeCe.
Critics raved about my book, calling Swann Dive, “brilliant” and “riveting.” It was nominated for both an Anthony and an Edgar award.
Book signings were different now. Fans lined up to see me, sales exceeded every expectation, and Eja Kane became a media darling. My life was a writer’s dream, but it was cold comfort without Deming by my side.
One evening after a particularly hectic event in Back Bay, I gathered up my bookmarks, business cards, and trifles and heaved them into my backpack—CeCe’s backpack, actually. I could never bring myself to hand Louis Vuitton that kind of money even though sales had been brisk. Better than good. I was tired but satisfied as I calculated the take.
“Sign one more, lady?”
I whirled around to face him, trying desperately to control the flush that stained my cheeks. Deming Swann, a vision in those tight black jeans and a white knit sweater, gazed down at me with a look that seared my soul.
I fought tears by faking a sneeze. “Deming. What a surprise. Good to see you.”
My brittle words didn’t faze him at all. He aimed a tender smile at me instead. “We have a date, don’t we? Nine sharp, Parker House, pumpkin martinis.”
I forced myself to stare straight into those hazel eyes. “Don’t do thi
s to me, Deming. Please. I just can’t take it.”
Pride flew out the window as my body shook with sobs. I fled the store and sped up Arlington Street toward the Common. He caught me at the traffic light, enveloping me in a hug so fierce it took my breath away.
“I missed you,” Deming said. “Missed you so much.” He gently stroked my hair. “New hair style. Nice. Mom says you’re a big hit.”
I swallowed my tears and said nothing. I’d seen the women he dated. Svelte, shiny debs with big trust funds and bright futures. No amount of hair gel or designer clothing could transform me into that. I’d never make the grade as Deming’s companion.
“I sent you the book. About CeCe, I mean. You probably haven’t read it. I know you’ve been busy.” My voice was steady and unemotional. I was proud of that.
He traced the outline of my lips and kissed my forehead. “Read it? I’ve practically memorized every word. It’s good, Eja. Better than good. Congratulations. You’re on your way.”
Truth spoke where I could not. “Am I? Everything feels so empty.”
Deming took my hand and slowly kissed each finger. “I know all about emptiness. I haven’t felt whole since you left me.”
I wanted to scream, shout, or shake him senseless. Instead, I kicked him. Hard.
“What the fuck! You’re insane. Always have been.” He nursed his ankle, wailing like an infant.
“My face wasn’t spread all over the Globe. I didn’t flee the country. That’s your specialty.”
Deming’s scowl morphed into a dazzling smile. “Seems like old times, doesn’t it?” He pulled me to his side. “Truce?”
Courage born of desperation fueled my anger. “I can’t be your friend, Deming. It hurts too much.”
I stifled the urge to touch his face and run my fingers through those thick curls. I’d come to terms with losing him, admitted only to myself how much I ached for him. I wouldn’t survive a return engagement. Couldn’t risk it.
“You don’t get it, do you? I love you. Always have. I told you that already.” He folded his arms as if that settled everything. “I let you down. You and my mom could have died, and I wasn’t there to protect you. I had to do something for my sister.”
