Swann Songs (The Boston Uncommon Mysteries Book 4) (12 page)

Promptly at five, I grabbed my backpack and keys, hustled out the door, and ran smack into Deming.

“What`s your hurry?” he asked.

“Tonight`s my presentation. I have to leave now to make it by six.”

He brushed the hair from my eyes and pulled me close. “Slow down, Mrs. Swann. Your trusty steed has arrived. The Porsche is parked in front ready to roll. Just give me a minute to grab some water and we`ll be off.”

“You`re coming too?”

“Wouldn`t miss it.” He scowled at Cato and laid his briefcase on the commode in the anteroom. “I wasn`t kidding about this partner stuff. Besides, I have a progress report.” His eyes twinkled. “Even Lord Peter couldn`t have done any better.”

Right then, I knew I had created a monster. Deming is a ruthless competitor who plays every game to win. As school children, Deming, CeCe, and I had snared most academic prizes. Whenever I beat him—which I often did—Deming was desolate. Swanns don’t like second place.

READING AT THE Boston Public Library, one of the nation`s most revered institutions, is an honor accorded to very few. I enjoyed making presentations, but the fear of speaking to an empty room has always haunted me. The Commonwealth Salon seats eighty people, a daunting prospect if the room were empty. Deming dropped my books and me at the main entrance while he parked the Porsche. Fortunately, the room was located on the library’s ground floor, only a short trek from the circulation desk. To my surprise and joy, it was already half-filled! I adjusted the microphone and waved to Anika who sat front row center. Deming gave his mother a hug and slid into the seat next to her just as the program commenced.

After a thirty-minute reading, the presentation was opened for questions. Most were routine until a participant in the last row stood up, ending the monotony.

“Please comment on the recent murders at Concord University,” she said.

It took a second for me to recognize her. Zarina, head honcho of COWE, stood soldier-straight, arms folded and defiant.

I fended off the question by invoking Keegan’s ongoing investigation. That wasn`t enough for Zarina. She fired off a follow-up question before I could look away.

“Your novels demean women by touting appearance and sex. How can you justify that?”

“Is there a question somewhere?” I asked with a smile. “Must have missed it.”

Zarina raised her voice. “Just this. Were the lives of Duff Ryder and Sonia Reyes sacrificed on the altar of commercial fiction? I`d like your comment on that.”

I refused to be provoked, especially since she might be on to something. What reaction would COWE have to a steamy read like
Worm in the Apple
? Zarina was a large, muscular woman with a temper. Bopping Sonia with a trophy was well within her skill set and temperament. I dug into my small supply of girlish charm and sprinkled it into the conversation like fairy dust.

“I`m afraid we`ll have to disagree about my novels. As for the murders, I`m committed to finding the truth and will write a true crime account of the tragedy. Who knows where it will lead?”

To forestall further problems, the librarian invited the audience to step forward and purchase signed copies of my books. The response was gratifying, and for the next half hour I forgot all about the intrusive Zarina. Fortunately, Deming did not. I peered over the podium and saw him in an animated exchange with my tormentor. Zarina didn`t appear hostile now. Quite the opposite. To my surprise, she displayed the head tossing, chest thrusting moves of a woman on the make.

“You have a rival,” Anika said. “Swann men are so naughty about that. They know how to charm a woman. Eight or eighty, it doesn`t matter.”

“Bolin too?”

She chuckled. “Lord, yes. You should see him at these charity events. Lethal. Harmless though. He`s loyal to the core, just like Dem.” She winked at me. “Watch out. Here he comes.”

Deming sauntered over, looking pleased with himself. “Okay, I`m starving. Let`s find someplace to eat.”

Anika tapped her son`s arm. “Take me home and I`ll feed you. Your dad just texted me. He escaped some dreary meeting and wants in on our discussion.”

That brightened up my evening. “Sounds good to me. Bolin is a great sounding board. He may see something we missed.”

Twenty minutes later we were sipping cocktails and savoring snacks in the Swanns’ elegant dining room. Deming dove into the shrimp, crab, and lobster as if it were manna from heaven. He and Bolin wore similar navy suits with formfitting baby blue shirts—a spectator`s delight, a wife’s pride and joy.

“Let`s hear what you found,” I said. “Okay, Lord Peter. You`re up.”

Deming stopped crunching long enough to brag a bit. “Actually, I have two things to report. First, I spent a dreary two hours with Fess Paskert.” He rolled his eyes. “That man is an affable dolt if ever I met one. At least when it comes to business. Anyhow, after much hemming and hawing on his part, here`s what I found. Some anonymous caller spilled the beans about
Worm in the Apple.
Fess swears he only read selected excerpts of the thing, but that was enough. He and Sonia had a big blowup about it, and he ordered her to cease and desist.”

“She agreed?” I asked.

“Nope. Apparently she played the academic freedom card and refused to back down. He didn`t know about Duff Ryder’s involvement, or so he said. Anyhow, Sonia referred him to her agent and stormed out of his office.”

Bolin tapped his fingers on the table. “Hmm. Awfully convenient. Why was his reaction so violent?”

“It degraded Concord’s reputation, according to Fess. He didn`t look me in the eye when he said that. But here`s something else you might find interesting.”

“What?” Anika leaned forward in her chair.

“Fess Paskert was originally a chemistry professor. He`s very familiar with poisons.”

Chapter Thirteen

“THERE`S MORE,” Deming said, “but I`ll wait my turn.”

Anika’s cheeks flushed a very becoming shade of pink. “I guess I`m next. My assignment, as you know, was Sorrel Yeagan. He`s a lovely man, by the way, even if he turns out to be a murderer.”

“Mom!” Deming squeaked with outrage. “For crying out loud!”

Bolin took everything in stride. “Don`t tease him, Leda. What happened?”

Assigning Anika to a grieving man was perfect casting, if I do say so myself. Natural empathy plus spectacular beauty were an unbeatable combination. She barely had to ask.

“First of all,” Anika said, “let`s be clear. This man is grieving. He adored Sonia, almost to the point of idolatry. He showed me his collection of tintypes. They were quite beautiful and all of Sonia naturally. Apparently Sorrel does all that work himself as a type of hobby. He`s really quite an artist.”

Deming curled his lip. “Tintypes! Hardly the kind of thing to excite a woman like Sonia. She seemed more like a thrill-seeker. Skydiving, bank robbery, that sort of thing.”

“Perhaps,” Anika said, “but Sorrel has an intensity about him that is quite appealing. He and Sonia stayed together a long time.”

I knew that their relationship was platonic, or at least, fairly chaste. Apparently Sorrel spilled that secret to Anika too. When she mentioned it, two virile Swann men gulped.

“No wonder he let her screw around,” Deming said. “After all, if you have no cards, you can`t play the game.”

Bolin’s response was more sympathetic. “Still, that must have been very difficult for him. Watching the woman he loved with others. By the way, did he mention who some of the others were?”

“Not directly,” Anika said. “Gabriel of course. The publicity made that pretty clear, and Sorrel didn`t deny it. He hinted there was someone else from the university. My guess is Dr. Paskert.”

Deming clutched his throat. “Ugh! She must really have been desperate to screw Paskert.”

Anika scolded her son. “Language, Dem. Children pick up these things. Start practicing now.”

A full body flush consumed me. Anika had never mentioned that before.

“Who`s next?” I asked, desperate to change the subject. “If only I had a copy of that damn book. It`s the secret to everything. I know it.”

“Why didn`t you say so?” Anika asked. “I got a copy from Sorrel. Made another one for myself. No pressure whatsoever. All I had to do was ask.”

Chapter Fourteen

IT LOOKED INNOCUOUS enough. Anika’s prize was an advanced review copy of
Worm in
the Apple
, hot off the press. I forced myself to remain calm. No need to spring at my mother-in-law and rip the copy from her manicured hands. It was only a book in a plain vanilla wrapper. So what if it had sparked a murder.

“Have you taken a peek?” Deming asked. “It`s pretty racy stuff from the little bit I saw. Not your sort of thing, Mom.”

Anika blew her son a kiss. “I`ve read naughty novels before, Dem. After all,
Lady Chatterley`s Lover
is a classic, and it gets pretty raunchy.” Her saucy grin made Bolin throw his head back and roar. “I have just a couple of things more to report,” Anika said. “Sorrel believes that the affair between Sonia and Gabriel hit a speed bump when his wife found out. From what I`ve heard about Melanie’s temper I believe that.”

“Wait a minute!” Suddenly Deming went all lawyer on her. “You said Sorrel didn`t name names. Maybe this was another of Sonia’s suitors. After all, most wives would object to those shenanigans.” His hazel eyes had a devilish glint in them as they met mine.

“I wonder if Dr. Paskert is married?” I said. “I don`t suppose anyone found out.”

Anika raised her hand like the smartest kid in the class. “I can answer that one. According to Sorrel, Mrs. Paskert is deeply committed to her faith, whatever it may be. Paskert warned Sonia about that. Said his wife would implode if that book was published.”

My first reaction was uncharitable. If Fess Paskert was tangled in Sonia’s web, that gave him yet another reason to dispose of her. The church ladies would frown on hanky panky between the department chair and his subordinates. The president of Concord University might feel the same.

I was still mulling over the news when Deming claimed the spotlight again.

“Seems like I`ve done the heavy lifting on this today. At the library, despite risk to life and limb, I managed to chat up Zarina, lead Amazon of COWE.” He smirked at his witticism. “Strange acronym for an organization, wouldn`t you say?”

“And . . .? Spit it out, Counselor. We don`t have all night.” Normally I indulge Deming’s windy explanations, but tonight was the exception.

“Very well. Zarina blamed Sonia for corrupting Duff Ryder.”

“Corrupting?” Bolin said. “That`s rather strong, isn`t it, Son?”

“I`m quoting, Dad. It seems Duff got more and more under Sonia’s spell. Zarina even hinted at some kinky stuff like that FetLife website.” He gave Bolin a nod.

“What`s that?” Anika asked.

“Later, Leda. I`ll show you when the kids leave.”

Bolin could barely contain his glee. I knew for a fact that he and Anika enjoyed an intensely passionate relationship. That Leda and the Swan business was a longstanding family joke.

Suddenly I flashed back to my first meeting with Sonia. The lobby was filled with partisans from the Bella Brigade and COWE, and Zarina had been among them. I didn`t know who she was then, but her size and air of authority were quite unforgettable. Had she entered Sonia’s room on some pretext and spiked the throat rinse?

After that blockbuster news, my two cents were less impressive. I recounted the discussion with Nadia, including the part about Duff interrupting Gabriel and Sonia.

“Ah, so they were actually doing the deed,” Deming said. “Rather risky in a hotel suite, unless of course that was the point. Some people thrive on adrenaline highs.”

“Someone else may have seen them too,” Bolin said. “Sorrel, Melanie, or Dr. Paskert. Not a smart play at all. I wonder if Lieutenant Keegan knows all this.”

With two of the principals dead, only one person could tell us what really happened that day. I couldn`t ask Gabriel. It wasn`t possible. Pamela Schwartz would eviscerate me, and Deming would join right in.

“Would Pam ask him for us?” My voice sounded timid even to me.

“Who?” Deming knew the answer, but he was testing me. Always testing.

Anika scolded her son. “Don`t be obtuse, Dem. Gabriel is the one who knows what happened, if he`ll tell the truth, that is. I sometimes wonder if he even knows fact from fantasy.”

I had already plotted my next move—a casual encounter with Melanie Hunt was in order. After all, she had begged for my help. She even forced Pamela Schwartz to give me access to Gabriel. It was a delicate maneuver but a necessary one. I could have phoned her and arranged something formal, but I hoped to catch her off guard. When the need arises, I excel at duplicity. Any writer worth her salt can lie without compunction. After all, we live our lives in a fantasy world.

As we drove home, I feigned sleep. It bought me some thinking room even though it didn`t deceive Deming at all.

“Okay, Sherlock, what schemes are you cooking up in that beautiful mind of yours?”

“You know how devoted I am to self-improvement. Tomorrow is drop in day at the local yoga studio. I`ll brush up on the poses and join the yoga class. It re-establishes the body/mind connection, you know.”

That was a bald-faced lie, and he knew it. My mind is a highly tuned instrument, my body, not so much.

Deming shook his head. “Let me guess. Unless I`m way off base, Melanie Hunt also frequents that place. If you should happen to run into her it would be kismet. Very Zen of you, Eja.”

I exercised my right to remain silent. Marriage to a lawyer makes the Constitution a true living document, and the wise woman brushes up on it.

Deming helped me out of the Porsche, keeping a tight grip on my arm. “Wait a minute,” he said, stopping at the entryway. “How do you know where Melanie goes to yoga? You`ve barely met the woman.”

I took a moment to savor his Byronic frown and chiseled features. Definitely a sight worth seeing.

“I`m waiting, Eja.” Deming’s tough guy act failed miserably.

“Okay, I`ll confess. I read about it in the
Boston Globe
, metro section. Melanie is one of the financial backers of Yoga-rama, right over on Temple Street. You can learn a lot from the society page, buster.”

Deming grunted something rude. “Swann Industries pays to keep our names out of the newspaper. Less notoriety.”

That gave me pause for thought. “Maybe that`s part of the problem.”

TRACKING MELANIE’S schedule was child`s play. I phoned Yoga-rama promptly the next morning and asked to speak with her. The helpful soul on the other end told me that although Ms. Hunt wasn`t in, they expected her for the 9 a.m. Bikram class.

“She leads it, you know,” the woman gushed. “Has her certification and everything. Not everyone can do hot yoga. It`s very competitive.”

I am extremely sensitive to heat and avoid sweating at all costs. Combine it with high intensity exercise, and I`m likely to swoon. “You maintain the proper temperature, don`t you?” I asked.

“Absolutely. Always one hundred five degrees. Such a healing process. Shall I pencil you in?”

My gulp could be heard in Hartford. “Perhaps I`ll just observe today if Mrs. Mann doesn`t object.”

“Mrs. Mann?” She sounded genuinely confused. “Don`t think I know her.”

“I get it. She goes by her professional name. I mean Ms. Hunt.”

“Yes, of course.” Her voice swelled with relief. “And your name, please.”

Time to submerge my identity in the bonds of marriage.

“I`m Mrs. Swann. Mrs. Deming Swann.”

AFTER SQUEEZING into an ancient pair of lululemon yoga pants and a relatively modest crop top, I grabbed my jacket and went to meet my fate. Deming had left for work, and only Cato was there to give me a semi-snarl. The little critter sniffs out hypocrisy at one hundred paces, so I could hardly blame him for turning his back.

I slowly jogged the two blocks from Newberry Street to the studio. Beacon Hill is relatively tranquil in early morning, but a line of preternaturally fit women milled around in front of Yoga-rama like junkies clamoring for a fix. Although their ages, races, and hair coloring differed, I noted the same fanatical gleam in each woman`s eyes. Insecurity welled up within me as I compared thighs with those zealots. These semi-starved specimens reminded me of the women who had shared Deming’s love life not long ago. Even with silicone-enhanced body parts, they had the look I had always aspired to and never attained. To my surprise, one member of the pack approached me, grinning broadly. It was Nadia, my buddy from Concord University.

“Ms. Kane. I haven`t see you here before.” Her glowing skin and clear eyes made Nadia a poster girl for virtuous living. Devotion to exercise might explain it, but most likely it had something to do with being twenty-one.

Promptly at nine, the crowd parted, and Melanie Hunt appeared. She dispensed a friendly greeting or word of praise to each of them until she spied me.

“Eja Kane. This is a surprise.” Melanie’s lips twisted into a semi-sneer. “I didn`t think you were the hot yoga type.”

“I`m not, Melanie. Mind if I just observe? It`s background for a novel I`m working on.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits more suited to a serpent than a socialite.

“Of course not,” she said, “but didn`t you tell me you were working on a true crime book? We`ve never had a murder here.”

Since she raised the issue, I pounced. “Afterwards, I`d like a chat with you. It was something Lieutenant Keegan said . . .”

Melanie braced herself against the doorframe as her complexion paled. “Of course. Please join us.”

What followed was one of the most excruciating hours of my life. I positioned myself in a corner while the class twisted, turned, and gyrated to a pulsating beat. Thrashing about in one hundred five-degree heat seemed to motivate them to do more. The ethos of the place was positively Darwinian, one that I would never survive.

When Melanie called time, the women toweled off and headed for the showers while I remained glued to my metal chair seat in a puddle of sweat. Nadia, looking more radiant than ever, waved to me on her way out. At her age, I had been focused on my career, happily immersed in academia and Gabriel. Fortunately, the former passion still survived. Until last week, Gabriel had mercifully faded from my memory banks.

“Ready, Eja?” Melanie asked. “There`s a great café right down the block. But I`m sure you know that. After all, this is your neighborhood.” She had slipped into a slinky red jumpsuit that heightened her dark beauty. No doubt about it, Melanie Hunt was as close to perfect as most women get, far closer than I had ever been. Yet even she hadn`t been enough for Gabriel. His ego demanded constant conquests, each one younger and more doting than the last. That`s why his liaison with Sonia was so anomalous. Say what you will, Sonia Reyes was an accomplished woman with beauty, brains, and spirit to spare. In some ways, she was much like Gabriel himself, an egotist with no compunctions.

I followed Melanie as she took a quick turn to Bowdoin Street. By then I knew our destination. Had to be the Capitol Coffee House, a Beacon Hill tradition with a big reputation and a modest interior.

“The espresso here is divine,” she said. “And the pancakes—not to be missed.”

She was right about that. I`d watched Deming inhale two stacks of blueberry pancakes without even blinking. My only surprise was that Melanie did the same.

She motioned me to the back of the room where six tables were located. Fortunately, we`d arrived during a lull in traffic and were able to snag a space well away from eavesdroppers.

“Now. What`s this all about?” Melanie asked. “With Sonia dead, I expect that Gabriel is in the clear.” Her superior smirk said that the Hunts of this world were above sordid things like murder. She irked me.

“Is that what Pamela told you?” I asked.

“Not exactly. There was some unpleasantness about Gabriel’s whereabouts.”

I leaned forward and stared at her. “You mean his alibi, don`t you?”

Melanie edged backward. “Yes. I guess that`s correct.”

“Keegan told me that there`s a time gap. Apparently Gabriel’s alibi isn`t solid. Do you know anything?”

Our breakfast arrived, and Melanie applied herself to a steaming stack of hotcakes drenched with syrup. It wasn`t fair. It just wasn`t fair.

“Which student was he counseling?” I asked. Espresso and wheat toast were a poor substitute for substantive fare. Hunger made me mean. “Gabriel’s office door was locked. At least that`s what Keegan said.”

Melanie waved her fork as if she were conducting a symphony. “So what. My husband is a dedicated teacher, Ms. Kane. But I don`t have to tell you that.”

“I know your husband’s habits very well. That`s why I asked which student he was with.”

The Hunt fortune came from generations of mill operators who ruthlessly suppressed rebellion. Melanie was made of stern stuff—it was hardwired into her DNA. She shrugged and washed down her breakfast with a swig of latte.

“Ask her yourself. Gabriel was with Nadia Pinsky. You were talking to her just a minute ago.”

“Nadia? I had no idea she was his student.”

Now that I thought of it, Nadia was just his type: petite, slightly sophomoric, and easily impressed. Probably thought those emails that flooded the Internet about dubious inheritances were the real deal too. I had no doubt that she also subscribed to Publishers Clearing House and eagerly awaited their knock on her door. No wonder Gabriel hedged about his alibi. The
counselling
session was a tough sell to a hard-nosed cop like Phineas Keegan.

“You knew Duff Ryder fairly well, I suppose.”

Melanie bristled. “Why would you say that? I hardly met the girl.”

Time for a liberal dose of soft soap. “Forgive me. Deming said you two acted very friendly. You know lawyers—always making assumptions.”