Read Mantrap (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series) Online
Authors: Arlene Kay
It was time to confront the issue, no matter what the consequences.
“Something happened the other day,” I said.
His body stiffened as all his senses went on alert. “Yeah?”
“My publisher texted me about something. An opportunity.”
Deming stayed statue-still, waiting for me to make my move. He looked like a sculpture, something beautiful by Donatello, my personal Renaissance favorite.
“They offered me a European tour. Lectures, signings—the whole works. They’ve just sold my book rights to the E.U. countries, so the timing’s good. I might even get a stint at Oxford, can you believe it! Oxford, home of Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane, not to mention Inspector Morse.”
He took my hand and kissed it. “That’s great. You’ve earned it. You’ve worked hard enough.”
I stared at him, wishing that I had superpowers. If only I could scan his heart, read his mind with x-ray vision. Was he being noble, or did he just not care?
“You’re okay with that?” I asked. “It’s almost unheard of these days with all the austerity cuts. I still can’t believe it.”
Deming shrugged. “Sure. I’m not surprised at all. Your last book was a big hit. People love reading about the shenanigans of the rich and famous. Anyway, it won’t be forever. How long will you be gone?”
My throat felt parched. I couldn’t speak until I’d swallowed a full glass of Pellegrino.
“Stop stalling, Eja. How much time are we talking about?”
“I’m not sure. Six months, maybe a year. It depends on how well the new book does.”
He gave me that inscrutable lawyer’s look. I’ve always maintained that Harvard imprints it on law students through some strange brand of alchemy. Unlike me, Deming was an excellent card player who never showed his hand.
“Wow!” he said. “I’ll miss you, of course, but you have to go. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. You’d never forgive yourself or me if you turned it down.” He refilled his brandy snifter and made a half toast. “Besides, Europe’s not that far away. I can hop on a plane anytime and be there in six hours.”
We exchanged pained smiles that masked the truth. Despite the promises and good intentions, most long distance relationships don’t last. Ours would be just another casualty of career-fueled ambition and too many miles apart.
AFTER THAT, EVERYTHING happened at warp speed. I signed a contract, packed my belongings, and hustled Cato over to stay with Anika. He didn’t whimper once, the little traitor. The lifestyle upgrade and the chance to live in splendor seemed to thrill him.
Deming had a court date, so I made the trip to Logan Airport by myself. There was a terrible sense of finality to my departure as if an important chapter of my life had slammed shut.
At Bolin’s insistence, I’d accepted an upgrade to first class on British Airways. It seemed like a scandalous waste of money, but he and Anika insisted that there was no other way to travel.
I hovered in the lounge, two hours early for my flight, fighting a stubborn urge to bawl my eyes out. I have to admit that I scanned the gate area in case Deming had managed to slip away. When the flight was announced, I queued up with other privileged fliers, pretending that I always went first class. Was that a metaphor for my whole experience with the Swanns—pretending to be something I never was or could be?
I adjusted my oversize sunglasses and boarded the plane as if I were embarking on a brand new life, an adventure that could take me anywhere. Anywhere except the one place that I wanted to be—with him.
My seat was made of plump, comfy leather, perfect for curling up and taking a nap. I lowered the window shade and proceeded to do just that until another passenger elbowed in and claimed the seat next to me.
“Pardon me, miss,” Deming said. “I think that’s my armrest.”
I believe in miracles; otherwise I’d be headed for the psych ward at McLean Hospital. Why analyze motives or project the future? Against all odds, he was here, and that was enough for me.
“How did you get away?” I asked, flinging myself into his arms. “Am I dreaming?”
“No, baby,” he said. “No way was I going to be without you for a year or even a week. Think of the mischief you’d get into without me there to keep you straight. You’re stuck with me for the duration.”
“But your job, your clients . . .”
Deming tickled my chin. “You may not know this, but Swann Industries has offices all over Europe. I’m the new managing partner for European interests. I have pull with the owner, you see. He treats me like a son.”
I got a flash of insight that explained my good fortune and the publisher’s largesse. Of course! I sensed the subtle hand of Bolin Swann, with an able assist from Anika. He’d probably financed the venture. Hell, he may have bought my publisher for all I knew.
“But . . .”
“No buts. We’re in this thing together. It’s not such a bad idea to get away for a while, is it? And when you’re ready to marry me, I’ll be right there by your side. No pressure.”
I was speechless, a condition that rarely afflicts me.
Deming seized the opportunity to stretch his long legs and grab half my seating area. “I told you before. We’ve been part of each other since we were kids, and we’ll be that way forever.” He squeezed my hand. “If you still want me, that is.”
“Want you?” I thought of the legion of women who would kill for that choice and of CeCe Swann, my dearest friend. She’d always predicted it, swore that Deming and I were destined for each other even when I hotly denied it. In that, as in so many things, she was right.
“Want you? Of course, I want you. If we can survive Brokind, anything’s possible.”
Deming reached into his pocket and produced an envelope and a silver key ring with a giant
S
encrusted with colorful stones. “Here, take this. It’s a pre-wedding present. Take your time. Just don’t rip the damn thing open and destroy it.”
I used extra care in opening the manila envelope, even though it didn’t look that special. Deming’s feelings could be easily wounded, especially where gifts were concerned.
The paper looked official, like a certificate or a deed. Deed!
“That’s for you, Ms. Kane. Our Cape Cod honeymoon house fresh from the grubby paws of Laird Foster. See, it’s in your name. That way if you dump me you’ll still own the place.”
“But . . .”
He laughed. “No buts about it. It’s a sound investment. Besides, we owed Laird something after Dario snookered him for all that money.” He placed his finger over my lips. “Before you ask, Persus will make restitution to any other investors who were damaged. Dad and I have already handled it.”
“How did you explain that to her? About Dario, I mean.”
Deming tucked his arm into mine. “Let’s just say, Persus knows that Dario wasn’t much of a businessman. Who knows what she really thinks, but that’s our story. She loved Dario and always will. You can understand that, can’t you? Love makes everything possible.” He adjusted his seatbelt and sighed. “Anyhow, she and Meeka are busy with the Peters Foundation.”
Ah yes, The Peters Foundation, the monument to a man steeped in malice. For once, I zipped my lip and disciplined myself, knowing that there was no upside to venting. My mother always said that while it was fine to harbor opinions on almost everything it was unnecessary to always share them.
Philanthropy touches many lives, and much good would come from this venture too no matter whose name it bore. Environmentalists, local residents, and cyclists from around the world would applaud Pert’s commitment and the infusion of cash. In the supreme irony, the evil, not the good, would be interred with Dario’s bones. A fanciful version of him would live on forever.
“Don’t forget Dario Junior,” I said. “We’d better show up for his christening.”
Deming’s eyes had a devilish sparkle that was hard to define. “Family. It’s all about family, Eja. You’ll find out.”
I leaned back in my seat, raised the window shade, and gazed at the tranquil azure sky. My life had taken some unexpected turns that both anguished and exhilarated me. I’d grown stronger, wiser, and less naïve. That wisdom came at a terrible price.
“What’s past is prologue,” said the Bard, a man who knew more about the human condition than any mortal before or since. For Deming and me, it was a warning and a prediction that wherever we might go, intrigue, murder, and love would visit us again.
The End
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About the Author
Arlene Kay, the author of INTRUSION and DIE LAUGHING, was a senior executive with one of those alphabet agencies that strikes terror into the hearts of all Americans.
Since moving to Cape Cod, she abandoned federal government work to craft fiendishly clever mysteries with a touch of mayhem and a splash of romance. Her previous works also include five novels in the Grace Quinn/Patrick Fong mystery series.
She is now writing the Boston Uncommons Mysteries series, featuring two intrepid sleuths who live the good life while vanquishing criminals in the very blue state of Massachusetts.