Swann Songs (The Boston Uncommon Mysteries Book 4) Read online

  “What happened to Anika?” I asked.

  “What else? Po fetched her. She and Dad have some kind of plans for tonight. But you and I, my love, are free to roam.” He raised his brows in a misplaced leer. “Come on. The Porsche is parked in a tow zone, and I`ll be very unhappy if it`s gone.”

  I gave him my best Sonia imitation. “I`m putty in your hands, Romeo. You know how I love men with big, big brains. Those horn-rimmed glasses turn me on.”

  “Good to know,” he said. “I`ll remember to keep them close.”

  As he navigated the mean streets of Cambridge, Deming hummed along to a steady stream of cool jazz, his planning music of choice. He ignored my questions, so I peered into the GPS. Our destination was unfamiliar as was the street.

  “Where are we going?” I asked. “What is this—the Magical Mystery Tour?”

  He checked his watch. “If we hurry we`ll make it just in time.” He wrenched the Porsche into a hard right turn and parked beside a low-rise building on Broadway Street. I`d never been inside, but the Cambridge Insight Meditation Center was a haunt of many writer friends. CIMC, as its patrons called it, drew a well-intentioned, educated crowd with a theoretical commitment to the common good. Like all human endeavors, it had some backsliders and naysayers but overall, ethical behavior was promoted, and the Buddhist practice of Sila prevailed.

  “We`re going to meditate?” I asked.

  Deming opened the door and handed me out of the car. It was a tender gesture, a marked contrast to his sometimes-brusque manner. Strangers were confused, but I knew his secret—at heart my husband was a big softie.

  Before moving, I crossed my arms and gave him my mean teacher frown. “Stop! Not one more step until you explain yourself.”

  He sighed and checked his watch once more. “Very well. A remembrance ceremony is scheduled in ten minutes. You and I are invited guests.”

  “You mean . . .?”

  “Yes, Eja. The spirit of Duff Ryder will be memorialized by her colleagues at CIMC, COWE, and the Bella Brigade.”

  “But Sonia didn`t say a word about this.”

  He patted my head. “Score one, bright girl. Sonia wasn`t invited. Curious, wouldn`t you say?”

  Before I marshaled my thoughts, he herded me through the door and removed his shoes and overcoat. “Shoe rack,” Deming said, pointing under the front hallway stairs. “And make sure to turn off your cell phone.”

  “How come you know so much?”

  He tapped his forehead. “Website and smartphone. Everything you need to prosper in the modern age.”

  We followed a group up the stairwell to the Meditation Hall and joined the circle of women sitting cross-legged on large round cushions.

  “Zabutons,” Deming said, pointing to a large mat. “Unless you prefer the zafu.”

  “Enlighten me, mister know-it-all. What the hell is a zafu?”

  A sweet-faced young woman with long golden hair and blue eyes sprang up and pointed downward. “That`s the round pillow,” she said. “Really soft and comfy.”

  I took her advice and lowered myself to the floor. Deming claimed his zabuton with one deft movement that drew approving stares from several participants.

  Almost immediately a middle-aged woman wearing a brown flowing garment rose. Like most of the flock her face was unadorned, and her hair was bound in a white ribbon. Despite that, she exuded something—call it charm, charisma, or animal magnetism—that commanded attention.

  “I am Zarina, president of COWE. Tonight we are here to recall our sister Duff in this place that she loved so much. Those who wish to speak please step into the center of the circle now.”

  Chapter Nine

  THE FRIENDS AND associates of Duff Ryder claimed the next hour to honor her, painting a vivid portrait of a somewhat naïve young woman with courage and heart to spare. Afterwards, tears were dried, and the group reassembled in the Reclining Buddha room to hoist a cup of tea in her memory.

  “Tea?” Deming said in a furious whisper. “That`s uncivilized!”

  “Adapt,” I growled. “This whole thing was your idea, remember. Why don`t you tackle Zarina while I make the rounds.”

  I sidled up to Nadia, the helpful young woman with the zafu. “Very moving tribute,” I said, sipping an herbal brew. “I had no idea Duff was so popular.”

  She bit her lip and faced me. “Everyone loved her, even those who disagreed with Duff. You must not have known her very well.”

  “We met quite recently,” I said, shrugging. “But she impressed me. My husband and I were there when she died.”

  The girl put her hand over her mouth and embraced me. “Forgive me. I`m usually not that hateful. It`s just that this whole nightmare is so unbelievable. And to think it was all a mistake.”

  “Sonia was devastated,” I said. “She adored Duff.”

  Nadia narrowed her eyes. “Is that what she told you? Don`t believe it.”

  A flood of tears made Nadia turn her head away. I offered her my handkerchief, glad that for once I had packed a spare.

  “Sonia Reyes is good for COWE and the Bella Brigade, but she worked Duff like a field hand. Never appreciated anything that girl did. Duff was brilliant but never out of Sonia’s shadow or from under her thumb.” No more gentle Buddhist, Nadia was a tigress, tensed and ready to spring.

  I squeezed her hand. “Duff was a talented writer, wasn`t she? I read parts of Worm in the Apple.”

  The girl stiffened and backed away. “Don`t judge Duff because of that thing. She was always a truth-teller. Sonia heard about it and exploded. Called Duff vile names and threatened to fire her. Don`t tell me how devastated the dear professor was. The woman is poison.”

  Nadia was vulnerable, so I took a chance. Carpe diem as they say. “Why did you go to that fundraiser? It must have galled you hearing everyone lionize Sonia.”

  “What?” Nadia gasped. “You don`t understand. I had no choice. That event was work for me. Dr. Paskert insisted that we be there. When Sonia had a meltdown over that damned spray, she told me to fetch it.” Nadia stifled a sob. “Duff offered to go in my place, and I let her. Don`t you see? She`d be alive if I`d just done my job.”

  Now I knew why Nadia looked so familiar. Her desk was strategically placed outside the inner sanctum of Paskert’s office. No wonder Sonia was paranoid—Duff had spies everywhere.

  I patted the girl’s shoulder. “Don`t blame yourself. After all, Duff used the spray. You couldn`t know that would happen.”

  Nadia mopped her tears and balled up my handkerchief. “Do you believe in temptation, Ms. Kane? Sonia Reyes cast a spell on Duff. She was never the same after getting involved with those people.”

  “What people? You mean the lookism group. The Bella Brigade?”

  Nadia’s tears had turned to rage. “Duff really cared about social issues. Sonia uses them to advance her own interests, and Sorrel Yeagan is her hatchet man. I hate them both.” Nadia tossed her golden mane and lurched out of the room without another word.

  “Still charming the natives, Eja.” Deming was at my side before I could process what had happened. “Looks like this shindig is breaking up anyway. Come on. I have lots to tell you.”

  WE PICKED UP takeout from 75 Chestnut and hunkered down in the living room with Cato at our feet. Thank goodness our reliable dog walker had also fed him. Otherwise the little devil would have gnawed on everything in sight.

  Deming poured each of us a brandy and raised a toast to the departed. “To Duff Ryder, who died much too young.”

  We clinked glasses and munched crab cakes while reviewing the day`s events. As usual, Deming played it cagey, forcing me to pry tidbits of information from him. I shared Nadia’s reaction, but Deming was unimpressed.

  “Big deal,” he said, yawning. “That gets us nowhere. We already knew tha
t Sonia was a slave driver, and as for Worm in the Apple I can`t say that surprises me either. Not everyone enjoys the kinky stuff.”

  “Okay, Lord Peter, what pearls of wisdom did you find?”

  Deming puffed up his chest, flattered by the comparison to the legendary Peter Wimsey.

  “Zarina—odd name that—was very candid. Chatty, actually. She painted a different picture of Duff. Brooding, unhappy with her situation, and a tad vindictive. I suspect she enjoyed playing the drudge while skewering Sonia in private.”

  That bit of gossip intrigued me especially since Deming had once again proven his mad sleuthing skills. Women, even smart, sophisticated ones like Zarina, were vulnerable to a gorgeous man who asked leading questions and feigned interest in them. If those tidbits were accurate, Duff might easily have sampled Sonia’s precious throat spray in an act of defiance. Perhaps she was a quisling, not the humble serf who hung on Sonia’s every word. After all, the leading vixen of Worm in the Apple was a Sonia clone sure to draw unwelcome comparisons. Tenure, the glittering prize, was suspended by the slender thread of reputation and scholarship. If word got out about Sonia, Gabriel would gloat all the way to the bank.

  Deming gobbled up the last crab cake, washing it down with a swig of Pellegrino. “Yum!” he said. “Now at least one of my appetites is satiated.” He waved his hand in front of my eyes. “Hello in there. Anyone home?”

  “Sorry to brood, but I`m still debating something.”

  He gathered our dishes and trundled them into the kitchen. When he returned, Deming folded his arms and faced me. “Okay. Out with it. What`s the problem?”

  Try as I might I couldn`t fool him. Ever since preschool we could sense each other`s moods and quite often our thoughts as well.

  “Initially I understood Duff Ryder or thought I did. I felt sorry for her. Now I`m not so sure. All along I thought she was a hapless victim in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Deming moved forward and stroked my cheek. “And now?”

  “She might have been targeted. Who knows what enemies Duff had? The endowment and my book—maybe they`re misplaced.”

  “Oh. Let me get this straight. Duff doesn`t deserve them because she was human?” Deming laughed.

  “Don`t scoff at me,” I said. “It`s a very annoying habit.”

  He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Writers! Who else would say scoff? I guess I should be used to it by now. Most people would just tell me to shut up.” Deming took my hands and kissed them. “Eja, nothing has changed. You got entangled in this because of Gabriel. I`ll bet Keegan has already figured out that Duff couldn`t be the intended victim. Who knew that she would filch the spray? Sonia made such a big deal about it.”

  He was right even though I hated to admit it. Sonia had to be the intended victim no matter how unsavory Duff Ryder’s actions were. There was one other possibility that I could explore. Perhaps the murderer knew Duff’s enmity toward Sonia and used it to trap her. Duff might respond to a taunt or a dare. But motive was still a problem. Why would anyone eliminate a bumptious but relatively unimportant character like Duff?

  “I`m still committed to the project,” I said, “even though my eyes are wide open.”

  Deming gave me that cynical lawyer`s look. “Good. I feel much better when you`re cautious. Don`t always lead with you heart, my love. Use that megamind of yours.”

  That reminded me of my mother who scolded me for the very same thing. “Use your head for something besides a hat rack, Eja. Think before acting.” Her voice rang in my ears as clearly as it had two decades before.

  Deming droned on about some arcane theory or another until his deep baritone lulled me to sleep. I awakened with a start, cleansed of doubt and ready for action.

  “Tomorrow is a big day,” I said. “Wait till your mother hears about this.”

  ANIKA HAD HER own news to report. We met at Simon`s iconic coffee shop in Porter Square to compare notes and sample scones. As usual the place was jammed with anxious students, bored professors, and general layabouts. Despite the crowd, Anika managed to snag a prime booth near the back of the establishment. After watching her in action over the years, I wasn`t even surprised.

  “I ordered you a blueberry scone,” Anika said. “Try it, Eja.”

  She nibbled hers with the delicacy of an empress while I hung tough, forcing myself to take measured bites rather than gobble each precious morsel.

  “Let`s compare notes,” I said. “You first.”

  Anika and Bolin had attended an event the night before at the Boston Center for the Arts on Tremont Street. Typical of these soirees, a posh and highbrow crowd with very deep pockets salivated over the triptychs and other masterpieces arrayed there. Substantial donations of cold, hard cash accompanied the snacks.

  “It was held in the Cyclorama,” Anika gushed. “Absolutely exquisite. Of course that`s not my big news. I know you young people prefer something a bit livelier.” She sipped her latte, teasing me a bit. “Guess who we ran into? Actually, Bolin spotted him, but I followed up.”

  “You stumped me. I give up.”

  “Dean Paskert! He was alone, so I invited him to join us. Naturally he fell all over Bolin because of the endowment. Anyhow, Bolin and I double-teamed him. I acted all girly, and Bolin zeroed in on university policy. Innocent questions, you know.”

  Bolin Swann seldom engaged in idle conversation, but Paskert wouldn`t know that. “I don`t suppose you spoke about tenure?” I asked.

  “We mentioned it. Bolin asked about their demographics; I played the social activism card. Paskert got very animated about their minority representation, especially tenured professors.”

  The senior Swanns were a formidable duo. I almost felt sorry for clueless Fess Paskert. Almost.

  Anika’s hazel eyes sparkled. “Here`s the best part. Paskert said that they were very open to new candidates. Sweep out the cobwebs, eliminate academic incest—the whole drill.”

  That was my aha moment. “You mean both Gabriel and Sonia might be passed over?”

  She nodded. “Apparently a very talented novelist from Beijing is angling for a one year appointment. Fess played the Asian card. He probably thought Bolin would really like that.”

  “Wow! That is a bombshell.”

  “When I asked about Sonia, he was very evasive. Something about scandal and impropriety blackening the name of the University. I think—this is strictly speculation—that Fess knew about that Worm in the Apple business.”

  I clutched her wrist. “No way! Besides, Duff wrote that, not Sonia.”

  Anika shrugged. “Maybe she based it on people she knew. Remember that older male character that traded promotions for sex? Might have hit close to home.”

  I mulled that over. If Sonia bartered her body for perks, her career and the entire lookism crusade would implode. Had Duff Ryder threatened her boss?

  “What about Gabriel? He`s ambitious enough but totally heterosexual. At least he was when I knew him. Doesn`t match the ambitious gigolo in the book at all.”

  Anika laughed so loudly she almost spilled her latte. “Really, Eja, that`s the last thing I`d ever associate with Gabriel. I wouldn`t put it past him to share the novel with the dean, though. If he didn`t do it, Melanie certainly would.”

  “It might have been Duff herself.” I briefed Anika on our exploits at the CIMC.

  She leaned back and closed her eyes as she processed the information. “Very interesting. Good to see that my son is joining in. Deming was kind of a stuffed shirt before you two got together.”

  “Are you disappointed—about Duff I mean.”

  Another laugh and headshake. “Not at all. Remember, I worked in the fashion industry where backbiting is an Olympic sport. Flaws and minor imperfections make a person more intriguing—unless they get her killed.”

 
With that sobering thought, we gathered our things and headed for Duff’s memorial.

  THE CEREMONY WAS a quiet and respectful tribute to a life lived in the shadows. The university worship center was aggressively non-denominational, a nod to pantheism in all its many forms. Even though I knew that Duff Ryder was less innocuous than she appeared to be, the event moved me. Sonia was front and center, subdued but gorgeous, greeting the crowd with faux smiles and crocodile tears. Fess Paskert shook hands all around, typecast for his role as mourner-in-chief.

  Anika and I chose a back pew in deference to our brief acquaintance with the deceased. Another outlier, Lieutenant Phineas Keegan, soon joined us. When he saw me, he raised one blond brow but remained silent. After the ceremony ended, he angled his body to block our path.

  “I need to speak with you, ladies.” He nodded respectfully to Anika but gave me the fisheye. “Let`s find a spot with some privacy, shall we.”

  It was more of a command than a request although he couched the words in smiles for Anika’s sake. Unbeknownst to him, we would have joined him without the macho act. Keegan played right into our plans.

  “What`s this all about?” I asked.

  “Just tying up loose ends.”

  I`d heard that dialogue on every third-rate cop show ever made. For originality, it ranked with “sorry for your loss.”

  Keegan motioned to a seating area near the fireplace. In another obvious ploy, he nudged us toward the sofa, saving the straight-backed wing chair for himself.

  “You`re a writer, aren`t you, Ms. Kane?” Keegan trained his baby blues on me in a hard stare.

  Anika answered for me. “She certainly is, Lieutenant. As I mentioned before, Eja is a very fine writer.”

  “Good. Maybe she can help me out.”

  Keegan reached into his briefcase and removed a folder. I steeled myself for a trick of some sort, and he didn`t disappoint.