Free Gilt Trip (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series Book 3) by Arlene Kay Page A

long, Deming would join the mix, and the entire incident would escalate into a Swann-sized mess. My big scoop wouldn’t matter if Deming brawled with Justin Ming.
    “Wait! I overreacted, Anika. Everything’s fine.”
    She sighed. “Are you sure? Po can drive me over. It’s no big deal.”
    I filled a brandy snifter and drained the glass. “There. I’m much better. Besides, we’ll see each other tomorrow night. You’ll be at Horty’s party, I hope.”
    “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Anika giggled. “Bolin tried to bow out, but I insisted. Horton’s mother was a fine woman who was very kind to me. Just think. With a little luck, we might uncover a murderer.”
    Her euphoria froze me in my tracks. Horton Exley had the big three in the crime pantheon—motive, means, and opportunity. His mama wouldn’t care for that.
    “Does he know what we’re up to?” I asked.
    “Who, dear?”
    “Bolin. Deming knows some of it, but not what happened tonight. You know him. He’d go berserk. He’s already suspicious of Justin Ming.”
    Another laugh from Anika. “So sweet. That boy adores you, Eja. He takes after his father that way. Bolin protects those he loves at all costs.”
    “How well do you know Heather? I’ve never really spoken to her.” I discounted the nasty looks that Mrs. Horton shot my way and her imperious snubs.
    Anika paused. “Not well. Just social chitchat at different functions. I seem to recall that she is wild about fashion. That might be an opening.”
    “For you, maybe, not me. I met Horton’s brother years ago at some literary mixer that Brown hosted. Ames seemed nice enough, and he was really into creative writing. Plays, I think. Maybe I can build on that.”
    “Just be careful, Eja, and remember, I’ve got your back.”
    Once again I thanked the Heavens for Anika Swann, my sleuthing partner and so much more. “Don’t worry. I’ll plot tomorrow’s strategy and fill you in.”
    I heard Bolin call Anika up to bed. After we said our goodnights, I checked my watch. Eleven o’clock. Deming had had enough time to discuss and restructure the entire tax code with Fleur Pixley. Good thing I’m not the jealous type.
    Armed with my Surefire Defender flashlight, I hustled Cato outdoors for his evening constitutional. Commonwealth Avenue was deserted beneath a magical sky carpeted with stars. The beauty of the night trivialized my fears, especially those of Justin Ming. He might be a high-end rent boy, but that didn’t make him a murderer. Besides, in a contest between Phaedra’s word and a respected sifu’s, Master Moore would surely believe Justin.
    Unless she had proof. If Phaedra Jones was wily enough to fleece men of their money, she might easily have kept a souvenir or two. That would up the stakes for both Justin and Horty, not to mention those private clients she rounded up. I crawled into bed and fell asleep counting motives.
    FLEUR PIXLEY CALLED the next morning before I’d finished my espresso. It was still early, although to a bureaucrat, 9:00 a.m. might seem like the shank of the day. We spent a few minutes in meaningless chatter before she came to the point.
    “I had dinner with Deming last night. He’s so charming and better looking than ever.”
    “Indeed.” I didn’t trust myself to say much—spiteful comments were unworthy of me. I could picture Fleur fluffing her pixie cut as she sat entombed in her federal cubicle. The poor dear probably appreciated a good meal at a fine establishment.
    “Have you set the date yet?” she purred. “I couldn’t get any specifics from Deming.”
    “Soon. Very soon. Deming loathes fuss. He’d just as soon elope tonight, but his mother has other ideas.” I kept my voice friendly, as if my former classmate’s agenda were a total mystery.
    “Oh. You lucky thing. He’s a divine dancer, but I don’t have to tell you that.”
    Actually, Deming and I seldom went dancing. Make that never. I love music but