Mantrap (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series) (13 page)

A discreet knock announced the arrival of Chief Smith. To his credit, he assessed the situation immediately and played everything low key.

“We were worried about you, Mrs. Cantor. Your friends—everyone.” He covered Pert’s tiny hand with his humongous one. “Any idea what happened?”

She sank back against her pillows and closed her eyes. “I’ve tried. Ever since I woke up, I’ve tried to remember. I feel so foolish.”

I grasped Deming’s arm to keep him quiet. Raylan was doing just fine.

“It’s normal to be confused, Mrs. Cantor. After all, Krister saved you from a very serious situation. Think for a moment. What made you leave your guests and go outside?”

Raylan got high marks for tact. “Serious situation” seemed far less traumatic than “near drowning,” or “attempted murder.” It also kept Pert focused on the topic at hand. After a moment she smiled up at him, the prize pupil reciting her lessons.

“I had to speak with Merlot. After that ugly scene . . .”

“What scene?” I couldn’t help myself even though both men gave me the evil eye.

“Nothing really. Paloma has never liked Merlot. She thought . . . that is, she believed that Dario was interested in Merlot.” Pert colored. “Sexually.”

“And was he?” Raylan asked.

Deming lurched forward, but Chief Smith kept that enigmatic smile painted on his face. Persus understood. She shook her finger as if Raylan were a naughty boy talking dirty.

“My grandson was a married man, Chief, devoted to Paloma. Of course he had friends of both sexes, but Merlot and he were never intimate. I’d have known. From the time he was a child, Dario could never hide things from me. Even when he tried to.”

Raylan nodded. “You accompanied Ms. Brownne outside. Was anyone else around when you fell?”

“I didn’t see anyone. Merlot left immediately, and I stayed, looking at the water.” Pert shrugged. “It was cowardly of me, but I didn’t want to go back in. Quarrels upset me.”

Deming patted his aunt’s shoulder but said nothing. He perched on the edge of his seat like a jungle beast ready to pounce. An especially sexy jungle beast if I do say so myself.

Pert took a measured sip of water. “I’m not quite sure how it happened. Maybe I tripped or had a dizzy spell.”

“You often faint, ma’am?” Raylan asked. His face had doubt written all over it.

The silence in the little room was an oppressive presence that consumed me. We said nothing as we waited for her answer. Pert clutched the bed linens in a fierce grip then slowly met his eyes.

“I’m remarkably fit for my age, Chief, and not at all fanciful. To tell the truth, I do believe that someone pushed me.”

It wasn’t surprising, but still I gasped. Writers perfect the concept of violence. Confronting the reality of it is darker and far different. In a practiced ritual, Deming flexed his hand to forestall another bout of knuckle mayhem. Raylan was the cool one. He never moved a muscle or changed his tone.

“Think for a moment, Mrs. Cantor. What seemed out of place—sounds, smells, anything at all?”

“This probably doesn’t mean anything, but I caught a whiff of tobacco. Not the fine blends that Lars used in his pipe, but something sharp and acrid. Cigarettes, definitely cigarettes.”

Deming and I locked eyes. I envisioned those butts surrounding the mantrap, and I knew that the same memory was troubling him.

“No one smokes much anymore,” Pert said. “At least, most of my friends don’t. I’m afraid that’s not much help, Chief.”

Raylan rose to his feet in one fluid motion. “On the contrary, ma’am. That’s very helpful indeed. I’ll let you rest now, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Deming leapt up and bolted out the door close on the heels of the police chief.

“Poor Demmy,” Pert said. “So solicitous. He’ll always take good care of you and your whole family. Such a fine boy.” She dimpled. “Sometimes I forget that he’s a grown man. I’d always hoped that Dario would be more like Demmy. Less self-absorbed, more loving. It was my fault, of course. Lars was so stern, but I indulged the boy, tried to compensate for his loss.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “When my daughter died, it devastated all of us. That’s something a child never truly recovers from, Eja. Losing his mother.” Tears streamed down Pert’s face. “And a mother never stops grieving for her child.”

I turned away before my own tears reached flood stage. My mother had passed five years before. Even though I’d been an adult, I still felt bereft. I would always feel that ache.

“Was he happy with Paloma?” I asked. “She always seems mad at the world, like she has some score to settle. Maybe she just misses him.”

Persus tilted her head to one side and smiled. “You won’t believe this, I’m sure, but Paloma loved my grandson. Passionately. Her life was a fairy tale. You know, impoverished girl whisked away by the charming prince. Then it all vanished and she feels cheated. Understandable, I guess.”

Money. Maybe it all came down to filthy lucre. Without Deming breathing down my neck, I felt emboldened. Time for some straight talk with Aunt Pert.

“She’ll be a wealthy woman now, won’t she? I presume that Dario left her well provided for.”

Pert’s laugh had a musical sound more befitting a girl than a senior citizen. “Forgive me, Eja, it’s just that humor is the antidote to grief, or so I’m told. Paloma will be provided for, of course, but she won’t be wealthy.” A shard of steel poked through the girlishness. “I’ve arranged a lifetime annuity for her, more than she could ever earn, of course, but not enough to tempt anyone. She’ll receive a six-figure income, dispensed through my attorney. Deming Swann.”

My jaw dropped, but somehow I managed to recover. My next question straddled the line between curious and nosey.

“Deming couldn’t tell me this, but I hope you will. It may help us find out who murdered Dario. There’s no polite way to ask, so here it is. With Dario gone, who inherits your estate?”

Persus Cantor had iron self-control, and her poker face could shame a cardsharp. “You’re everything Anika promised and more, my dear, a shot in the arm for an old lady. I should have discussed this with you straight away. I meant to, especially with Demmy here. I’m so old-fashioned. A real fuddy-duddy at times when it comes to money.”

“Did someone mention my name, or is this girl talk?” Deming appeared in the doorway like a spectral image.

“Sit down, dear. You’re always welcome.” Pert offered her cheek for a kiss.

“We’re discussing your favorite subject,” I said. “Money.”

He raised one eyebrow and perched on the foot of the bed. “Okay.”

“Dario was my heir as I think you know,” Pert said. “I have substantial holdings that would have been his—stocks, bonds, investments, those kinds of things. My Lars was an excellent businessman. There was just one stipulation: he loved Brokind and wanted to preserve it intact.” She flushed. “Dario and I disagreed about that. You know how impetuous he could be. He had such big plans.”

I swallowed my guilt for reminding a grieving grandma of her loss. Remorse had no place in what might well be a life or death discussion.

Persus brushed away a tear and continued. “At Deming’s suggestion, I amended my will when Dario passed and placed my estate in the Swann Family Trust. Just a temporary measure until we sort things out.”

“Wow!” My comment was concise if not elegant. Today’s incident—attack—proved the need to secure Pert’s assets.

“It makes sense,” Deming said. “When Dad and Mother arrive we can discuss other options for Aunt Persus to consider.”

I couldn’t dispute the wisdom of his actions, just the adequacy. Protecting her assets was smart; safeguarding her life was essential. I tried to broach the subject delicately, but Deming saw right through me.

“If you hadn’t changed things, would Paloma have inherited?”

Deming frowned. “Unlikely. She’s not a blood relation, and since Dario pre-deceased Aunt Pert, my mother is next in line. Not that she needs more money.”

I heaved a big sigh. “Not everyone would know that. Persus might be a tempting target.”

“And your point is?” Deming’s hazel eyes flashed a warning that I ignored.

“My point, attorney Swann, is that we need to make a preemptive strike. Let Pert’s nearest and dearest know about her will.”

Persus sat up, twisting the bedcovers into a tortured knot. “Must we? It’s so ill-bred to discuss money, even among friends.”

“Manners, be damned. It just might save your life.” My vehemence surprised even me. Still, Persus had deputized us, and that conferred some rights. At least I hoped so.

“She’s right, Aunty. Don’t worry. We can be subtle, just sprinkle our conversations with it. Very judiciously.” Deming walked over to me and hugged my neck. “Anything else, Sherlock?”

“One thing.” I leaned toward Persus. “Who’s the biggest gossip in town?”

She shrugged, unwilling to damn her fellow citizens.

“I’d start with Laird Foster,” Deming said. “He chatters about everything, especially when money’s involved. Then we’ll move on to the other players. My parents can help.” He gave me the evil eye. “You know how Mom loves those stunts you pull.”

“But Demmy,” Pert begged. “Shouldn’t we consult Chief Smith first?”

The look on my beloved’s face was priceless. “Not a word to him, Aunty, or anyone else. As of now they’re all suspects.”

IT WAS ALMOST midnight when I eased into my comfy Brokind bed. Krister drove me back in the station wagon even though the Porsche was right there in the parking lot. Meanwhile, Deming ignored Pert’s protests, propped himself up in the only comfortable chair, and stretched out for a night of guard duty.

“No way will I let her stay here alone,” he said. “Tomorrow she’ll be back at that mausoleum, with plenty of us to watch over her.”

As I snuggled under the covers, a stray thought assailed me. I’d crossed the Rubicon today. No longer did I ask “if” Dario had been murdered. The question now was “why” and “by whom.”

I’M NOT A MORNING person, even when I try my best. The following day, sunlight mounted a frontal assault on my bedroom, overwhelming my pitiful defenses and energizing Cato. In deference to the Swanns, I succumbed to Cato’s whining, leapt into the shower, and fussed with my appearance. The results pleased me, modest though they were. My hair and makeup looked passable; my floral frock showed a hint of style, and my mind was razor sharp. All things considered, today I scored a comfortable 6.5 on the beauty index.

Cato and Ibsen brokered a fragile truce that allowed me to exercise them without risking life or limb. Ibsen loped gracefully over the paths to the ocean with Cato trotting gamely at his heels. Brokind’s manicured twenty-six acres were a canine paradise filled with twisty trails, mature plantings, and the occasional hare. The dogs reveled in it, but I was indifferent, too obsessed by death to enjoy life in the verdant beauty.

My instincts said that Pert’s oceanside acres were the catalyst for murder and that Dario’s cycling plans were only a sideshow. Money was a simple motive as common as love and hate and equally deadly. Too simple. Dario was a complex man spinning a tangled web of relationships. Somewhere in those silky threads lay the motive for murder.

A glimpse of flying fur scrambled my thoughts as Ibsen and Cato sped toward home. I tried to keep pace but failed miserably. Unlike Deming, I’m athletically challenged, willing but maladroit. As I lurched through the clearing gasping for breath, I spied the unmistakable outline of Bolin’s car in the driveway. “Car” is an inadequate description of a Bentley Mulsanne. The proper term is “grand touring sedan,” and that steel grey contraption had every bell and whistle imaginable. It didn’t awe me, quite the opposite. Despite its sky-high price tag, I thought the Bentley was stodgy and ho hum. Not what I would have chosen if price were not an issue.

Neither of those adjectives applied to its owners. Bolin Swann, that glorious triumph of Eurasian genes, stood patiently with his arm around Anika as Cato and Ibsen pummeled them with damp paws and doggy drool.

“I thought you’d be somewhere in the vicinity,” Anika said. “You and Cato are a package deal, Eja.”

“More’s the pity,” I said. “Want to go inside? I don’t think they’re back from the hospital yet, but they’ll be along soon. Deming wanted Aunt Pert to get one last checkup.”

Anika patted her chignon and grinned. “Good. We’ll have a chance to plot our next move without Dem’s interference. My son can be awfully stuffy at times. Tell me everything,” Anika said. “What’s going on here?”

Chapter Eleven

WE SETTLED IN the morning room where Krister had arranged a proper English tea. Anika clutched a steaming mug of Darjeeling and laid her head on the back of the wing chair. “I’m really frightened for Persus. She’s so vulnerable.”

Bolin stayed silent as he swirled amber cognac in its snifter. I nibbled at a canapé, lauding my decision to avoid the mini-tarts and butter cookies that lurked near the sides of the platter.

“Any conclusions yet?” Bolin asked. “Dem seems neutral.”

I collected my thoughts and plunged right in. “You know how lawyers are, no offense. So cautious. There’s no proof, of course, and the police chief won’t divulge anything. That said, I agree with Pert. Dario was murdered; I’m sure of it.”

Bolin sipped his drink, but his eyes never left his wife. Perhaps he was recalling our past exploits. Bad luck and my overconfidence had left Anika and me in desperate straits last year. Things were different now. I’d grown wiser in the ways of detection, and nothing in Bayview seemed sinister to me.

“What can we do to help?” Anika asked. “I know you’ve got ideas, Eja. Bolin has a little time, but I can stay all week.”

“We struck out with the locals,” I said. “They gave us an emphatic, very polite cold shoulder. You both are fixtures in Bayview. Maybe you could loosen them up.”

Anika’s eyes sparkled. “Count me in. What do you have in mind?”

Even though Deming would loom over us like a marauding hawk, we’d find a way to outmaneuver him. I shared my plan for a girls’ night out with Merlot Brownne, followed by another chat with Meeka Kyle. Persus deserved a social life after all.

“What about me?” Bolin asked. “Lawyers are pretty good at getting information. Think of Perry Mason.”

“I thought we’d leverage your skills. Lots of rumors around here about variances, zoning laws, and even a native casino near Bayview. There must be a paper trail somewhere. Of course, if you’re really brave, you and Deming might pal around with Mordechai Dale and Laird Foster.”