Mantrap (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series) (15 page)

Paloma shook her head as if we were all too dense and feeble to get it. “Anyone can get inked, but Dario did it special. Just for me.” She sighed as if the memory was especially sweet.

“Didn›t that hurt?» I asked.

Paloma laughed. «Pain don›t bother me. Dario knew that better than anyone. Don›t you get it? I belonged to him. He could do anything he wanted to me. I liked it.»

Chapter Twelve

IN WHAT UNIVERSE did carving your wife constitute love? Anika and I shared that thought with covert glances and our special telepathy. I thought of Bolin’s tenderness toward his wife and Deming’s gentle kisses. Unlike Dario, they knew the difference between passion and possession. Was he auditioning for a prison gig, or had the late Mr. Peters enjoyed inflicting pain on his wife?

Persus sat in silence, drained of color and words, paler than the Twinflower of her native land. She seemed stunned, leveled by a posthumous body blow from the boy she had loved. A woman pushing eighty has a right to fond memories and illusions. One by one, Persus Cantor had lost them as reality played its merciless tricks.

When the Swann men rejoined us, they found a somber group. Persus repaired to her bedroom, pleading exhaustion; Paloma flounced out the door in search of fresh air. Anika held her head in her hands, as if it bore the weight of the world.

“What happened in here?” Deming asked. “It’s like a wake.”

I blinked sleep from my eyes and yawned. “Everyone’s tired. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”

“Anyone want a brandy?” Bolin asked. “I know I could use one.”

Anika kissed her husband’s cheek. “I’ll get ready for bed, darling. Take your time.”

That sounded like a good idea. After a brief scuffle, I captured Cato and dragged him up the steep staircase to slumberland.

SOMETIME LATER, my bedroom door creaked. Through shards of light peeping through the drapes, I watched Deming shed his clothes, pull back the bedcovers, and slip in beside me. I was tired, loathe to awaken, but longing for his touch. The faint scent of Creed and a whiff of brandy enveloped me as he clasped me in a tight embrace. I rubbed my back against his chest, feeling rock hard muscle touch my spine. A warm sensation, part love, part lust, engulfed me. I felt safe and cherished in his arms, far away from the brutal acts of Dario and his bride.

Deming’s lips swept slowly down my shoulder, thrilling every inch of exposed flesh. His tongue danced over elbows, knees and thighs, pausing when I begged for more.

“Feels so good,” he whispered. “Your soft, beautiful skin. All day long I thought of this.” He stroked my hair, wrapping errant curls around his fingertips.

My cries were muffled by sleep, passion, and a conscious dread of rousing his parents. I took long, slow breaths, reveling in sensation, living for the moment.

Just before dawn, I heard him say, “Love you, Eja. Love you so much.”

SATURDAY BREAKFAST was a somber affair. I felt the chill as I bounded down to the morning room, awash with the rosy afterglow of incredible sex. That hearty dose of Deming had enlivened my appetite for food and life. Despite the intoxicating smells wafting from the buffet table, the ladies of the household seemed to be in a major funk. Persus absently stirred her tea and crumbled a pastry on her plate; Anika grazed on fruit and yoghurt; Paloma mainlined espresso. They greeted me with varying degrees of enthusiasm from a sweet smile to a scowl.

I was ravenous, pulled toward the eggs Florentine with unseemly force. As I scooped up two of the heavenly muffin halves, the gentlemen entered.

“Quite an appetite you’ve got, Ms. Kane.” Deming’s lupine leer and double entendre fooled no one, especially his mother.

Persus immediately sprang into hostess mode. “Help yourself, Demmy. A man needs a hearty breakfast. Lars and Dario loved eggs with rashers of bacon.” Her cheeks flushed as if happier times had momentarily returned.

“Does that go for me too, Persus?” Bolin appeared in the doorway behind his son dressed almost identically in jeans and cashmere pullover.

I blinked, marveling at my good fortune. Swann men set impossibly high standards for male brains and beauty. I was now part of their charmed circle, living the fantasy in real time.

“Yo, Eja! Are you in a trance or what?” Deming folded his arms in take-charge mode.

“I’m fine, daddy dearest.” I gave him a saucy grin and forked eggs into my mouth. Despite insecurities about body image, I proceeded to gobble every succulent morsel on my plate. After all, Krister was a national treasure whose culinary skills made me swoon. Ignoring his food would be treasonous or at least impolite.

Bolin’s menu choice proved again how abstemious he was—coffee, eggs, and fruit for the head of the Swann clan. He sat down next to his wife and kissed her cheek. “What’s on your agenda today, son?”

“Eja and I are going for a walk. Exercise clears the mind and tones the body.” Deming ignored my groan as if he hadn’t heard it.

“Well, Persus and I have some party plans to make.” Anika smiled at her aunt. “Next Saturday’s our big event. We’ve got lots to do.”

Bolin took a sip of espresso. “Maybe I’ll look up Laird Foster.”

“Laird! Why him, Bolin?” Persus gripped her spoon as if it were a talisman. “He might get the wrong idea.”

“Don’t worry, discretion is my middle name.” Bolin grinned. “He’ll be glad to see me. After all, he’s in real estate, and Anika and I might be in the market for something on the Cape.”

I applauded Swann senior’s tactics. There was just enough truth in them to tempt an avaricious realtor on the make. No doubt Laird Foster was already salivating over Bolin’s net worth, devising a plan to target him. Turnabout was fair play.

Meanwhile, my frustration was mounting. Despite our efforts, Deming and I had learned very little about Dario’s murder and more than we cared to know about Dario himself. On balance, he was an odious man who could easily inspire mayhem. Hell, had I known him better I’d have been tempted to bump him off myself!

At least five locals were viable suspects not counting Chief Raylan Smith. Each had a plausible motive to eliminate Dario, ranging from love to hatred to profit margin. Our days at Brokind were drawing to a close, and the Swann/Kane team had failed miserably. Something had to change.

“Let’s see Merlot this afternoon,” I said. “She might have some ideas about Pert’s accident.”

Deming came close to pouting. “Ugh! You mean insights from the world beyond, don’t you? Besides, your pal the sheriff must have already questioned her. You know how I feel about that flimflam stuff.”

I pinched his cheek. “Not to worry. I’ll go see her myself.”

Anika sprang from her chair. “Count me in, Eja. The occult fascinates me.”

Deming sputtered like a faulty engine. “Not so fast, Mom. Remember your party planning.” He folded his arms and frowned. “As for you, Ms. Kane, until we find out what’s going on here, I plan to stay by your side. Gorilla Glue, remember?”

“Okay, King Kong. I get it. We’ll never be apart. Now, finish your breakfast, and let’s get sweaty.” I excused myself, leashed Cato, and grabbed my purse.

CAPE COD WEATHER can be tricky, especially in the weeks preceding Memorial Day. A gusty ocean breeze made me shiver despite the heavy cotton cardigan I wore. As Deming sprinted toward the Porsche, I trotted behind, wrangling Cato into semi-civilized behavior.

“That mutt is a disgrace,” Deming fumed. “I thought you trained him.”

Easier said than done. A crusty canine with an independent streak can frustrate any training plan. Despite his faults, I felt obliged to defend Cato.

“He’s a pedigreed cocker spaniel, not a mongrel, and his trainer says he has loads of potential.”

“Huh! Potential to attack someone. Mark my words, he’s a lawsuit in the making.”

When Deming starts a rant, my only recourse is to humor him. “Good thing I know a brilliant lawyer, isn’t it? Cato’s had a lot of trauma in his life. No wonder he acts out.”

In truth, Cato’s uncertain disposition and aggressive tendencies make him hard to love. But CeCe, my dearest friend and Deming’s twin, had been devoted to the little cuss. Cato was now mine to care for, and I’d vowed to do so.

After we were buckled into the Porsche, Deming adjusted his sunglasses and gave me a searing glance that blended lust with tenderness. “I meant what I told you last night. You must know it by now, but just in case.”

I played it cool. “Know what?”

He kissed my engagement ring, slowly and sensuously. “I love you, Eja Kane, even though you try my patience.”

I gave him the big-eyed look. “No kidding? I thought it was all an act. After all, Meeka Kyle and a slew of other women wait in the wings.”

Deming ignored my teasing and fired up his car. “That just earned you a brisk five mile walk. I thought we’d drop by the bike store on the way. Cheech had Dario’s machine retrofitted for me.”

“Fine with me.” I shrugged. “You can bike it back to Brokind while Cato and I handle the Porsche.”

He guffawed, a nice, hearty masculine sound. “Whoa. Not so fast. See that rack on the Porsche? It’s perfect for the bike. We’ll fix it up and go tackle your other errands.”

Not quite what I had in mind. Merlot Brownne might be skittish around a skeptic like Deming. On the other hand, he was a lawyer, and duplicity was hardwired into his genes.

BUSINESS WAS BRISK at Bayview Bikes. A family group was clustered around the rentals, debating the merits of several models while a gaggle of pre-teens studied the spandex selections as though they were Renoirs on display.

The moment we entered, Cheech Saenz flashed a toothy grin and sped over to Deming. “Hey, Mr. Swann, your order just came in. Looks real nice, too.” He turned my way and nodded. “Ms. Kane.”

“Is this a bad time?” Deming asked. “I thought I’d take her for a spin.”

“No problem. Come around the back, and I’ll go over everything with you. You got your helmet and gear with you?”

“I do.”

Deming followed him into the storeroom while I scoped out the spandex, trying to visualize myself in biking garb. The tank tops and cycling jerseys didn’t bother me, although they left very little to the imagination. Capris and shorts were another story. They were lethal, guaranteed to accentuate every bulge and hint of cellulite and create a few that hadn’t even been there. I don’t do shorts—case closed.

“Going riding, Eja?”

The cultured, slightly nasal tones of Meeka Kyle wafted my way. She stood behind me, clad head to toe in serious cycling duds that showcased her shapely legs. No unsightly bulges for that girl, no sir, although her windbreaker was zipped up all the way.

I stretched my lips into a tortured smile. “Oh, no. Not me. I’m just waiting for Deming.”

Meeka looked around and lowered her voice. “I heard about Persus. Terrible! So glad she’s recovered. Raylan told me.”

A revelation struck me with the force of a body blow. Despite her Ivy League gloss and monied pedigree, there was something unsettling about this woman. Meeka Kyle was hiding something, and I meant to find out what it was.

“You’re a serious cyclist, I see.” I motioned toward her bodysuit. “Paloma mentioned something about it last night.”

“Really? I’m surprised she noticed.” Meeka’s smile was poisonous. “But yes, to answer your question, I am very committed to cycling. Dario and I shared that.”

I took a risk. “You’re an environmentalist, I bet. With your connections, the state EPA might have supported your bike project.”

Meeka’s reaction teetered between exquisitely polite and snarky. “Ecology and recreation can coexist, Ms. Kane. The green movement is alive and well on Cape Cod. Dario and I were on the same page or close to it.”

“I wonder what page his grandmother was on? Persus planned to honor Lars’ plans to preserve Brokind. No development including bike trails. She told me so herself.”

She blinked, and for a moment the famously calm Ms. Kyle lost her poise. “I’m sure Persus would have changed her mind. Dario could be very persuasive.”

“Maybe. But that woman reveres her late husband. His word is still law to Persus.”

The arrival of Deming and Cheech ended our discussion. I was happy to get the last shot in and particularly pleased at the stunned look in Meeka’s eyes. Score one for the proletariat!

“Hey, Ms. Kyle, those sunglasses just came in. Let me go get it.”

Cheech scurried off like a well-trained serf while Meeka ignored me and gaped at Deming. I couldn’t really blame her. He’d changed into a pair of black bib shorts and a sleek spandex jersey that showcased his manly form. If
Sports Illustrated
needed a male cover model, Deming Swann was their guy.

“Excuse me, ladies, I’m going to take this out for a spin.” Deming wheeled the shiny cycle toward the door and gave it a final check.

In a display of emotion that seemed genuine, Meeka clutched her throat. “Oh Lord! That’s the Pegoretti—Dario’s dream bike.” She tapped the shiny red frame as if it were alive. “He insisted on something bright. Said he’d stand out in a crowd that way.”

A pall of silence descended upon us. Bright colors hadn’t helped Dario one bit with that mantrap. We averted our eyes. There was nothing else to say.

Fortunately Cheech bounded back from the storeroom clutching Meeka’s sunglasses. “Here you go, ma’am. Straight from Switzerland. Gonna try them out now?”