Swann Songs (The Boston Uncommon Mysteries Book 4)

by Arlene Kay

“Don`t be so crabby,” I said. “Besides, how can you shadow me if you get tipsy?”

  “Good point,” he said. “Let’s hope the food is decent. One more rubber chicken dinner, and I`ll bounce back here.” He held me at arm’s length, studying me with cool hazel eyes. “Wearing red again I see. Nice choice.”

  Unfortunately, Cato chose that moment to abrogate their truce and attack Deming’s shins.

  “What the . . .? Get away from me, you little bastard!” Deming danced around the room like a man possessed. “Do something, Eja, before I boot him out of this room.”

  I lured Cato away with a treat and gathered my things. “We should leave. Your parents will be waiting for us.”

  Timing is everything. Just as we reached the lobby, the Bentley glided into the driveway. Po, a man whose countenance rivaled the Sphinx, alighted and wordlessly helped me into the back seat with the senior Swanns. They were a glamorous couple, my in-laws. Anika, a vision in lemon, wore a filmy body-hugging confection that few women of any age would even attempt. Bolin, a gorgeous Eurasian blend, looked more like a sibling than anyone’s father. Over the years, my awe of them changed to affection as Bolin and Anika became my family. I loved them, but I wasn`t immune to their star-power. No sentient creature could be.

  “Did you read those threatening letters?” Anika asked, her hazel eyes alight with mischief.

  “I did,” Deming said. “Just the usual stuff. Nasty but not especially creative.”

  “Still, the police are involved,” Bolin said. “I`ll bet they keep the security pretty tight tonight.”

  I suddenly recalled the Bella Brigade’s stance on non-violence and weapons. According to the brochure, they chose unarmed female attendants to run security.

  “Don`t count on it. Most of the threats were directed at Sonia, and she prefers young loyalists as her personal guards. You saw Duff hovering around her,” I said to Anika. “She acts like a fanatic.”

  Anika nodded. “I doubt that anyone could get too close to Sonia with Duff around. Plus I bet Sorrel Yeagan will be in the mix. We watched that interview Sonia did on the news, and he was sitting right behind her. Very smooth.”

  Bolin agreed. “She knows all those communication tricks like focusing on the human interest angle. Smart.” Bolin Swann was a self-made billionaire who knew a trick or two himself. “That name sounds familiar—Sorrel Yeagan. Anika mentioned him, but I can`t quite place him. It`ll come to me sooner or later.”

  The lobby of the Adams Hotel buzzed with activity. Po wrestled the Bentley to the curb ahead of more plebeian vehicles, allowing the ladies to make a graceful entrance on the arms of the Swann men.

  I plastered a faux smile on my face to mask my misgivings. Nothing bad would happen—it couldn`t. The place would be packed, and with Deming and Bolin at our side, Anika and I were perfectly safe. Overconfidence is a killer. That`s where I made my mistake.

  EVERY EVENT IS different but this gala erred on the serious side. I gathered from the stern-faced posters ringing the area that in the world of the Bella Brigade, spontaneity was verboten and humor unknown. A phalanx of sturdy female defenders nudged partygoers toward a formal receiving line—more of a gauntlet actually—that was eerily similar to a college mixer. The first faces I spied were no comfort. Melanie Hunt, a vision in black taffeta, stood stoically alongside her smiling spouse. I had seen that look on Gabriel’s face many times. It was a frozen, glacier-cold facsimile of charm that managed to just miss the mark.

  Deming bent down and squeezed my arm. “Are you up to this?”

  “Absolutely. Wouldn`t miss a minute.”

  I marveled at how closely attuned to me he was. So much so that at times we seemed to inhabit the same body. That had never happened during my short and painful time with Gabriel. Everything in that relationship had been about him.

  “Can you believe it?” Anika whispered. “He`s here. That`s awfully brave of Gabriel.”

  “Or smart,” Bolin said. “Why feed the rumor mill?”

  Our party of four moved slowly and deliberatively through the line, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. I`d never met Melanie Hunt before, but Deming dusted off his party manners and greeted Melanie with a warm embrace. He was icily polite to Gabriel, a man he had loathed for years.

  I saw Melanie sizing me up as if I were a heifer at the county fair. No doubt she was weighing my assets against her own, trying to gauge what had led her husband to choose me the first time around.

  “I`ve read your novels, Ms. Kane. Very entertaining.” Melanie’s expression was inscrutable. Her suspiciously smooth brow, an obvious product of Botox, looked untroubled.

  I thanked her, nodded at Gabriel, and moved down the line to where Sonia Reyes held court. Once again, I bowed to a master tactician. Sonia wore a simple white sheath, well cut and exquisitely tailored. No obvious makeup or jewelry to spoil her message: don`t judge me by my looks, but am I not beautiful?

  Sonia spent an extra moment appraising Bolin and Deming, but who could blame her? No other men at this event came close to the Swann boys. I caught the amused gleam in Anika’s eyes and winked at her. Neither one of us doubted our husbands’ loyalty, which was a great comfort in an era of planned obsolescence for aging wives.

  “Thank you for coming,” Sonia said. “It means so much to me. May I introduce Fess Paskert, our department chair?”

  Professor Paskert was a portly man in his fifties who proved his bona fides by promptly looking down my dress. Deming bristled until I whispered in his ear. “His doctorate was on Lord Byron. Obvious typecasting.”

  In the power struggle with Gabriel, Sonia had drawn first blood. Flaunting her association with their boss, even a lecherous one, was a minor coup.

  She waved her arm, and suddenly Duff materialized at her side. “Please show the Swanns to their table,” Sonia said. I detected a slight edge in her voice and apparently so did Duff. The girl held her head down and led us to our seats. All of the security patrol wore the same garb, shapeless black garments reminiscent of a nun’s habit sans rosary beads.

  “Are you enjoying your assignment, Duff?” Anika’s voice was kindly. “Security patrol must be fun.”

  Duff suddenly stopped, narrowly averting a collision. “No, Mrs. Swann. We`re guardian angels, not security. We keep Sonia safe.”

  Did Duff see herself as a heavenly force? I noticed that strange gleam in her eyes again. She was as tall as Deming and considerably broader. An assailant would tangle with her at his own peril.

  Unlike most fundraisers and galas, the décor was understated to a fault. No centerpieces, floral napkins, or party favors distracted patrons from the theme. Brochures about the Bella Brigade took pride of place. This was a deliberate strategy, not an oversight. I felt confident about that. Sonia had made a statement about appearance once again, and it was very effective.

  Deming flipped through the brochures and groaned. “Point me to the bar,” he said. “This will be a very long night.”

  TO MY SURPRISE, the evening was bearable, almost pleasant. Tasty vegetarian fare was enhanced by a superb assortment of wines that satisfied even Deming’s discerning palate. Windy speeches and self-congratulatory awards had been banished. A choral presentation by members of the Bella Brigade and a short video narrated by Sonia filled the program. Once again, impeccable stagecraft translated Sonia’s vision. I saw Bolin nodding his approval.

  Melanie Hunt and Gabriel sat at a table with an older couple whose name escaped me. Judging from their body language, the Hunt-Mann duo was treading that narrow marital pathway between passivity and estrangement—no touching, laughing, or conversation allowed.

  Before Anika and I slipped away to the powder room, Deming clutched my wrist.

  “Be careful, you two. Don`t stir up any trouble.”

  Anika swatted her son’s hands with her progr
am. “Really, Dem, you`ve become quite a bully. Relax.” She turned to her husband. “Do something with him, Bolin. Please.”

  We escaped to the sounds of Deming’s outraged huffs and found a secondary location minus the long line of ladies in waiting. The secluded spot had only one occupant. Sonia Reyes stood before the lighted mirror, combing her long black hair and tapping her foot.

  “Oh, Eja, Anika, forgive me,” she said. I thought you were Duff. She went to my suite to fetch that damn spray and hasn’t come back yet. My throat is killing me. I can`t say another word until I get it.”

  “Did you try her cell?” Anika asked.

  Sonia nodded. “It went straight to voicemail, damn it all. That girl is a menace. She means well, but her attention span is less than a toddler’s.”

  “Want me to check on her?” I asked. “She may be waiting elsewhere.”

  Sonia shook her head. “I don`t want to impose. It`s just that this is such a special occasion. The audience expects plenty of conversation from me.”

  “Still in the Cambridge suite?” I asked. “Give me your key card, and I`ll run up and get your spray.”

  Anika applied lipstick and snapped her purse shut. “Hold up, Eja. I`ll go with you. We won`t be long, Sonia. Don`t worry.”

  “The elevator is right around the corner,” Sonia said. “This is very kind of you.”

  We scurried out the door only to find Deming propped against the adjoining wall.

  “There`s a name for men who lurk outside the ladies’ room,” I said. “Sonia needs something, and we promised to get it. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Huh! I`ll go up there with you, and Mother can join my dad.” He pinched my cheek. “Job description. Remember?”

  Deming was at his most obdurate, determined to provide personal protection come hell or high water. My only option was to go with the flow, a choice that Anika had already figured out.

  “Okay, children, don`t quarrel. I`ll find Bolin.” She slipped away, doing her trademark runway strut.

  Deming grabbed my hand and herded me toward the elevator. “Come along, Eja. Don`t pout. Besides, I come in handy sometimes.”

  His logic was flawless, and I for one would never challenge it.

  We held hands all the way to the tenth floor, a custodial arrangement filled with unanticipated perks.

  When we arrived at the suite, Deming knocked loudly and slipped the key card into the slot. “Let me go first,” he growled. “Don`t take chances.”

  This time I didn`t argue. A sense of foreboding enveloped me like a fog. It was silly, a residue of every scary scene I`d ever written. I didn`t cower behind Deming—I dawdled outside while he opened the door and entered.

  “All clear,” he called. “Come with me to check the bedroom. If she`s in there I don`t want Duff to deck me or file rape charges.”

  “No problem,” I said.

  The door was closed and the drapes were drawn. I grappled for the light switch, fearing the worst. Fortunately, the bedroom was pristine—no bodies, blood, or weapons of destruction.

  “That spray is in her bathroom. Let me find it.”

  “Right behind you,” Deming said.

  I spied the usual array of female products: hair dryer, brushes, combs, and a surprising amount of cosmetics for an opponent of lookism. Sonia’s throat rinse was nowhere to be found.

  “Maybe you should check out the shower door,” I said.

  There`s no shame in being a coward; sometimes it`s a sensible alternative. Deming stepped forward and slid open the glass door while I stepped back and took a break.

  “Open your eyes,” he said. “The coast is clear.”

  “I`m not afraid,” I lied. “After all, I have martial arts training.”

  He hooted as if that line was comic gold. Deming has a black belt in several specialties, so he tends to disregard those of us with lesser skills.

  “Okay, Sherlock,” he said. “Time to make tracks. Brunhilde and that damn spray are probably already down there with Sonia. Come along.”

  I shrugged off my misgivings, extinguished the lights, and followed him into the hallway.

  We reached the lobby just as the screaming started.

  Chapter Five

  THE BLOODCURDLING shriek—a woman’s voice—echoed throughout the hallway.

  “Sonia! She`s in there. Deming, that restroom is right around the corner.” I forged ahead on legs that felt a bit rubbery. Deming kept pace, staying glued to my side.

  “Hold on,” he said. “Wait one minute. You go get help, and I`ll check everything out.”

  I`m no hero, but only a coward would abandon her husband.

  “No way. Don`t waste time arguing. Besides, one of them might be naked. Liability issues.”

  “Naked! Now I really am interested.” Deming grabbed my arm and loped toward the powder room. “I hope it`s Sonia,” he snickered. “Duff is more than I can handle.”

  By the time we reached the ladies’ room, the screams had subsided into a steady howl that was even more chilling. Deming wrenched open the door and stopped short.

  Sonia Reyes was rocking back and forth, cradling the body of Duff Ryder. The girl was dead—even I knew that. Her unseeing eyes were wide open, and her arms were outstretched in mute appeal. A white substance coated her lips in a sea of foam. On the floor beside her, Sonia’s throat spray leached out onto the carpet.

  When she saw us, Sonia commenced screaming full throttle. Deming motioned me away, pulled out his iPhone, and dialed 911. In the calm, measured tones of someone reciting the phonebook, he described the situation and our location to the dispatcher. His second call was to Bolin Swann.

  “It`s okay, Sonia,” I said. “Help is on the way. Now tell us what happened.”

  Her shrieks grew in volume and intensity as she stared at me. I was tempted to shake the stuffing out of her just to stop the commotion, but Deming had a better plan. He bent over Sonia and gently helped her to her feet. When she clung to him—a bit too enthusiastically for my taste—he patted her back and made soothing sounds.

  “She`s dead, isn`t she?” Sonia’s voice was barely a whisper.

  Deming shielded her from the corpse as he helped Sonia to the sofa. Her tears had dried, and despite an occasional shudder, she appeared almost normal.

  “You can wait for the police or talk with us now if you like.” Deming was in full lawyer mode—patient and non-judgmental. “Would some water help?”

  Sonia shook her head and sat silently with closed eyes, fists tightly knotted.

  I was consumed by curiosity, itching to pepper her with questions. Mystery writers are compulsive students of crime. All instruments of death are important, especially fascinating ones like poison. The crust around Duff ’s lips and her ruby-hued skin strongly suggested poison. My bet was cyanide.

  “What happened to your throat rinse?” Time was critical, and I wanted to press the issue. Deming shot his death ray stare my way, just as the cavalry represented by the elder Swanns, Melanie Hunt, and the hotel manager arrived on the scene. The faithful Sorrel Yeagan trailed close behind them.

  Bolin kept his arm firmly around his wife’s shoulder as he assessed the situation. Anika wasn`t the squeamish type—we had both confronted violent death before. She was far more likely to plunge into an investigation than shrink from it.

  Melanie Hunt was less resilient. She eyed Duff’s corpse, uttered a soft cry, and collapsed on the floor in a heap. The hotel manager, an imperturbable chap named Wilson Carter, cushioned Melanie’s fall and propped a sofa cushion under her head. Gabriel Mann was MIA.

  Anika was first to respond. She reached into her bag, produced a vial of sal volatile, and waved it under Melanie’s nose.

  “What`s that?” Sonia asked, raising her head.

  Bolin’
s grin held a touch of pride. “Smelling salts. My wife is prepared for everything.”

  “The police are on their way,” Carter said. “They asked everyone to remain and leave the room as is.”

  Bolin acknowledged him with a stiff nod, but Sonia said nothing. She rocked back and forth as if she were in a fugue state. When Sorrel moved to the couch and cradled Sonia in his arms, I edged toward Duff’s body. Something, I`m not sure what, was clutched in the dead girl’s hand.

  Deming blocked my path with an outstretched arm, a carryover of his school days with the Safety Patrol.

  “Nope. You heard the man, Eja. Stay put until the police arrive.”

  I bit back ten devastating retorts. Fortunately, the police arrived before I imperiled my marriage.

  A long, lanky man in his fifties strolled into the room accompanied by a uniformed sergeant and several patrol officers. My grandma would have described him thus: he has the map of Ireland on his face. In this case, that meant a shock of thinning blond hair threaded with grey, pale skin, and piercing blue eyes. He surveyed us with the neutral, unforgiving gaze of a veteran cop who had heard too many lies for too long.

  “I`m Lieutenant Phineas Keegan,” he said. “Please follow my sergeant while we start processing the scene.” He motioned to Wilson Carter. “Everything set up, Will?”

  The manager nodded. “We`ve got a large conference room and two smaller spaces for your interviews.”

  Keegan stationed one of the uniforms outside the restroom while we filed into a large executive conference room. Bottled water and sandwiches courtesy of the Adams Hotel were on a side table.

  “Okay. Who can give me a brief—and I mean brief—summary of where we stand?”

  Writers are accustomed to quick thinking and concise statements. I geared up to provide just that, but Deming beat me to it. He introduced each participant, providing a thumbnail sketch of the situation.

  “You went up to the suite alone?” Keegan asked.