Mantrap (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series) (9 page)

Others may have harbored similar thoughts. Meeka raised her eyebrows, and Chief Smith donned his blank, impenetrable cop face. Mordechai Dale looked as dyspeptic as ever.

“We’d all like to hear from Dario.” Deming’s tone was one inch short of snide. “Enlighten us, Ms. Brownne.”

After a brisk nod from Pert, Merlot spoke. “I was meditating. Worried about what happened yesterday.”

Heads swiveled with puzzled expressions, but the psychic ignored them. “Dario confirmed something that Persus already suspected.” She paused for dramatic effect. “He said that one of you murdered him.”

This time, silence spoke more eloquently than noise. I locked eyes with Deming and scanned the faces around us. Reactions ran the gamut from puzzled to petulant, but nowhere did I see guilt.

Mordechai Dale finally recalled his legal training. He wagged a bony finger at Merlot and made like a lawyer. “Listen here, Ms. Brownne. This commonwealth has severe penalties for defamation. I warn you . . .”

“Oh, stuff it, Morde.” Laird leaned forward, his whitened knuckles gripping the chair’s carved walnut arms. “Let’s hear her out. I for one have nothing to fear.”

“And I do? Watch yourself, Laird, unless you’re up for a slander suit.”

I expected steam to spew from Mordechai’s tufted ears. It didn’t happen, but the thought was comforting in a way. At least some blood flowed through those patrician veins.

“Laird! Morde! Stop this, please.” Pert rose and put her arm around the psychic. “Such poor manners! It’s ungentlemanly.”

Both men lowered their eyes like truant schoolboys. Persus Cantor never raised her voice, but her condemnation rang in our ears. Poor manners at a dinner party! There was no more egregious crime. Excluding murder, of course.

“Did Dario furnish specifics?” Deming asked. “Any details that Chief Smith might need?”

This time it was Merlot who averted her eyes. “Dario just said that it was someone close to him.” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “A friend or family member. He didn’t say which.”

She was lying. I knew that as surely as I knew Deming’s shoe size. Merlot Brownne hadn’t fabricated the entire tale. No sir. There were threads of truth in what she said, strands of fact, entwined with enough speculation to rattle a murderer’s cage. A prelude to blackmail, perhaps, or something else? It was a dangerous game, one that could easily turn deadly. That didn’t deter Merlot one bit. A woman who regularly bilked the bereaved wouldn’t shrink at the chance for a big payoff.

Pert trembled as she faced her friend. “Oh, Merlot,” she sobbed. “I’m so frightened for you.”

THE GATHERING WENT downhill from there. Merlot’s performance robbed everyone of an appetite for perfectly grilled tuna or polite conversation. Fortunately, I managed to book a coffee klatch with Meeka and a conference with Raylan Smith for the next day. The rest of Pert’s guests slunk off as soon as they decently could, leaving only Merlot to join us in the living room for a postprandial brandy from Lars’ excellent cellar.

Paloma curled up in a wing chair, legs folded beneath her, lips pressed firmly together. She studied Merlot warily through eyes that radiated suspicion.

“Why would my husband contact you? You didn’t even know him.”

Merlot leaned back against the velvet Recamier, took a healthy sip of brandy, and ignored her. “This is heavenly, Persus. Armagnac, isn’t it?”

Aunt Pert glowed at the opportunity to mention her beloved husband. “Yes, Lars adored Gelas Armagnac. His wine merchant was an absolute wizard about finding it. This is vintage. It was bottled the year that Lars and I first met, over sixty years ago.» Pert closed her eyes and smiled. “It is very special.”

I did some quick math and gasped. Good Lord! Lars was quite the cradle robber. Persus couldn’t have been more than fifteen when they met.

Deming cocked his head to one side. “You were just a baby, Aunty.”

Pert flushed. “I was fifteen when I met Lars. He was older. Almost twenty, but that didn’t matter. Love at first sight, that’s what it was.” She giggled at the frozen look on my face. “Oh, don’t worry, Eja. We waited three years. The day I turned eighteen, we were married and never apart until he passed.”

Paloma made a rude noise that startled us all. She crouched as if waiting to pounce on our psychic guest. “Answer my question, Miss High and Mighty. How did you know Dario?”

“I met him through his grandmother.” Merlot’s tone was minimally pleasant, as if good breeding imposed a heavy burden. “His aura was strong. Such a life force, virile and energetic.”

“What did he tell you about me? I have a right to know. I’m his wife.”

Typical Paloma. Forget the social graces. Even in death, everything was about her.

“Hmm,” Merlot said. “Let me think. You must understand that spirits are very independent. Dario . . . well, he knew his own mind. He focused on his grandmother, worried about her.”

“Whatever for?” Pert asked. “That dear, sweet boy needn’t have bothered about me.”

Deming gave his symphony wave. It was a peremptory flick of his fingers, suitable for conducting the Boston Pops or dismissing the peasantry. “Hold on. Dario told you he was murdered. Or did I get that wrong?”

Merlot nodded.

“Okay. Who did it?” Deming relished the occasional star turn as a prosecutor even though he practiced corporate law. He’d overdosed on courtroom dramas in his youth.

“That’s just it,” Merlot said. “Dario faded out. He said
they
did it. Set the mantrap, then attacked him after he fell.”

I was thankful for Merlot’s tact. Persus would collapse if she’d heard Cheech Saenz’s version of events. The vision of a killer bashing in Dario’s skull would have haunted his loving grandma to her grave. As it was, Persus leaned back on the loveseat, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

“Chief Smith seems intelligent,” I said. “You’ve shared your theory with him, I presume.”

Merlot’s fleeting smile mixed condescension with contempt. “Not at all. We understand each other, you see. His mother was a shaman. The Wampanoag are very spiritual people, but he is a cop. That trumps everything.” Her eyes darted to Deming. “Strange. Raylan seemed quite taken with Eja. He’s usually reticent around strangers.”

I met her glance and summoned my “aw shucks” grin. “Really? That’s flattering. He’s a mystery buff who likes my books.”

“Eja has so many admirers,” Pert gushed. “Beautiful women with brains are irresistible to most men. Right, Demmy?”

Deming nodded. “Absolutely. I’ve learned to sleep with one eye open when I’m with her.”

“Meeka Kyle was interesting,” I said, turning to Merlot. “What’s your take on her?”

The psychic smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her silken gown and shrugged. “Another brainy woman. Bayview is full of them, it seems. Meeka was keen on Dario’s plans for the town. Especially the community bike program. They always had their heads together discussing it.”

“She studied Urban Planning, you know. Even got her doctorate. Dario and I flew to Michigan for her graduation.” Pert beamed at the memory. “Ann Arbor is such a delightful town.”

Paloma, an alumna of the school of hard knocks, growled something unintelligible and leapt out of her chair. “I’m tired,” she said. Before anyone responded, she swept out the door and disappeared.

“Oh, dear. I hope I didn’t upset her.” Merlot spoke without a trace of sincerity. She rose gracefully and turned to her hostess. “I’d better leave now. Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“We’ll speak tomorrow,” Persus said. Once again, a conspiratorial look passed between them. I was certain that it hadn’t escaped Deming.

Some might dismiss Merlot as a small town fraud, but that explanation was too facile. She was shrewd and sophisticated, not someone to be trifled with. Unless I was mistaken, Merlot Brownne didn’t miss much that went on in Bayview. My challenge was to outmaneuver her and find out what she knew.

As soon as his aunt excused herself, Deming took my hand and led me to the stairwell. “Come along, Ms. Kane. We need to have an attorney-client conference.” He bent down and unfastened the clasp on my necklace.

“Very becoming, I must say. Fine jewelry suits you.” He lifted my hair and brushed his lips up and down my neck, slowly, sensuously. “Check your biology text, missy. Swanns mate for life. They don’t share what they love. I’m no good at it, especially where you’re concerned. Make sure your new admirer knows that.”

The discourse or possibly the brandy emboldened me. “Which admirer? I’m on a roll today.”

His fingers stole down the bodice of my dress. “Hmm. Cheeky minx. Keep that up, and I may have to spank you. Naturally I’ll defer to the better man and step aside if you choose Mordechai Dale.”

I tugged a lock of his shiny black hair until he yelped.

“What’s the matter, Counselor? Not so brave after all, are you? I happen to know that Krister carries a gun. Touch me again and I’ll scream.”

Deming took my hand and sucked each finger, one by one. “Scream away, my love. It won’t stop me. Nothing will.” His eyes sparkled as if the outcome was preordained. “You wouldn’t let me stop even if I wanted to.”

I followed Deming to my room, weak-kneed and fraught with longing. I’d never been a libertine. Sex was a diversion, self-control my watchword. Now his slightest glance or gentlest kiss transformed me from rational being to primitive creature. Tingling nerves and throbbing parts consumed my every thought. I sought release even as I pulled away.

“We can’t, Deming. They’ll hear. Your aunt, Paloma . . .”

He ignored my threats, touching me in every place and every way I’d ever dreamed of. His lips and tongue seared through my being, bringing sweet, unrelenting pleasure and pain. No one, not Paloma, Pert, or Krister heard my cries. Those sounds were just for Deming.

I AWAKENED THE next morning rested and ready to confront Meeka Kyle. Perhaps confront was too strong a word. After all, our conversation last night had been perfectly civil. Meeka seemed intelligent, poised, and conversant on any number of subjects. None of that really mattered to me. The only topic of interest today was Dario Peters and the reasons for his death. Murder was a stern, harsh word, and one that I was reluctant to use. Not yet. Self-serving hints by a psychic and the tears of a loving grandma weren’t enough for that. Deming had already brushed away any crumbs of doubt and started packing. I reserved judgment until after my chat with Meeka and Raylan Smith.

My first task required Anika’s deft touch. I knew from experience that her assessment of the locals would be measured but unsparing. Beneath her flawless exterior beat the heart of a surgeon who took a sharp scalpel to hypocrisy. To avoid complications, I dialed her private number while Deming was out of the room.

We exchanged pleasantries and jumped immediately to the bottom line.

“Tell me everything, Eja. I’ve been dying to know.” Anika chuckled. “Of course Bolin and Dem have been texting nonstop.”

“Really? What a sneak! Deming’s already made his decision. He can’t wait to leave.”

“You can handle him, darling. He’d never leave you there alone. Now, how can I help?”

I gave Anika a précis of our activities and the characters we met. “What’s your take on Meeka Kyle?” I asked. “Apparently she’s the lynchpin of everything big in Bayview.”

Anika hesitated. “She’s quite an extraordinary young woman. Beautiful and smart as a whip. Her family connections in the area go back to the nineteenth century. Someone, a great-great-great- grandfather was a freedman who moved to the Cape and became very successful. Shipping or fishing fleets. Something like that.”

Another voice sounded in the background. “Bolin says hello. By the way, have you met Aunt Pert’s suitor yet?”

“Laird Foster?”

Another chuckle from Anika. “That man’s been buzzing around Pert for years. Obsessed. He just doesn’t get the message. Lars is still the only one in Pert’s life. Dead or alive, he’s twice the man that Laird is.”

“Maybe it’s her land that he wants. Pert mentioned something about a development scheme Laird is pushing.”

“That’s old news,” Anika said. “I’ll check with Bolin, but I doubt that Laird or anyone else could wrest that land from her. It’s not like she needs the money.”

A sudden thought blazed through my mind like a comet. Laird couldn’t influence Pert, but Dario certainly could have. His plans for transforming Bayview might have required some of his grandma’s holdings. High-end real estate wouldn’t mix with hundreds of cyclists zooming through the property.

Before I probed further, Deming rapped on the door and rattled the knob.

“Eja. No more primping. Breakfast is ready, and Krister pouts when his meals are spoiled.”

I lowered my voice to covert ops level and whispered, “Gotta go, Anika. Call you later.”

Chapter Eight

HE LOOKED VERY lawyerly sitting at the head of the breakfast table, suited up in navy pinstripes and a rep tie. The addition of horn-rims made my sultry sweetie nearly irresistible. Paloma’s fluttering eyelashes confirmed my assessment.

“You look good,” she said, virtually licking her chops.

Deming gave a pleasant but decidedly neutral response. “I have some legal matters to attend to. Eja’s coming with me if you want to join us.”

He yelped as I speared his shin with my heel. The last thing I needed was Paloma, the malevolent albatross, around my neck. She’d sabotage any chance for a cozy chat with Meeka and probably stage a food fight. My tête-à-tête with Raylan would turn into an interrogation.

“Dario never wore a suit,” Paloma muttered. Her voice wasn’t wistful or melancholy. It was clipped and matter-of-fact. “We buried him in one though.”

Pert gripped her porcelain cup as if it were an anchor. A more fragile soul might have faltered, but Cantor women are made of sterner stuff. She managed her usual sweet smile as she turned to Paloma. “It’s our morning at the food bank, remember. They’re counting on us.”

Paloma’s face contorted into a seismic pout. “I don’t want to go. Poor people smell bad and look ugly.”

I bit my lip to quell a peal of laughter. Lady Bountiful never seemed appropriate for Paloma. Godiva was a much better fit.

Persus dabbed her mouth with a napkin and pointedly ignored the bad manners. “Come along, Paloma. With wealth comes obligation to your fellow beings. Dario was a big supporter of the food bank. He spent every Tuesday there.”

Paloma curled her lip in a mutinous sneer, but to my surprise she pushed back her chair and trailed meekly after Pert. The world of the widow Peters was a strange and murky place that I couldn’t navigate. Not yet.