Swann Songs (The Boston Uncommon Mysteries Book 4)

by Arlene Kay

  Suddenly my mental light switch clicked on. Suppose my eight-minute story was the tale of Duff, Sonia, and their murders? Most of the suspects would be there, and Deming could observe their reactions. It was pure genius straight out of Agatha Christie.

  “I suppose I could do it, but you have to guarantee a big audience. Get Zarina and her crowd to join us too. When is it?”

  Gabriel used his grateful, grovelling voice. I`d heard it plenty of times and recognized a meaningless act of theater designed to cement the deal.

  “You`re the best, Eja. Be there 6 p.m. on Thursday. Do you know the address?”

  “I`ll find it.”

  I powered off and ended the charade.

  THE BALANCE OF the day passed in a frenetic haze as I veered between finalizing the questions for Fess Paskert and crafting an eight-minute dose of dynamite. I am a realist with a dollop of optimism on the side. No one would confess. That parlor trick was the preserve of Perry Mason, whose escapades Deming, CeCe, and I had gobbled up like candy in our youth. Perry inspired them to become lawyers. He motivated me to craft fictional crimes and solve a few real ones.

  My modest hope was that the guilty party would betray him or herself by word or deed, allowing Keegan to drop the net on the offender. Then I could settle down and write the damn book. The more I said it, the weirder it sounded.

  Anika was excited about making another run at Paskert. Because he was an oily devil who might easily evade the issue, I emailed her the pertinent points and modified them based on her suggestions.

  “That doesn`t sound too hard, does it?” Anika said. “I`ll swing by and pick you up tomorrow afternoon. We can meet Bolin afterward and compare notes. Dem probably won`t be back until Wednesday anyway.”

  I couldn`t admit it even to Anika, but I already missed Deming. Whenever we were apart I felt odd as if I were starved for oxygen. That`s quite an admission from a fiercely independent, card-carrying feminist like me who had sworn to always live alone. Even as children, though we battled over everything, Deming and I were seldom apart. The three of us—Deming, CeCe, and me—were the musketeers, linked forever and inseparable.

  I loathe whiners, especially when the offender in question c`est moi. Time to shake off the self-pity and get to work. With gritted teeth and grim determination I tackled my eight-minute morsel and polished the questions for Paskert. Deming phoned just as I finished my chores.

  “I miss you,” he said. “Wish I were home.”

  “Me too. I miss you, and so does Cato.” I ignored his disgusted snort and forged ahead. “Oh well, it`s just one more day. Besides, staying at The Pierre is hardly roughing it. You are in the lap of luxury.”

  He cleared his throat and exhaled. “True enough, but there`s a problem on this end. I`ll probably be here until Thursday straightening things out.”

  I thought about my plan for a grand finale at the Story Club. No need to mention the details. Deming would only worry.

  “Okay, Eja, what`s going on? You`re up to something, and I know it.”

  “Calm down. I`m doing an event on Thursday evening, that`s all.” I told him about the program without mentioning Gabriel or my topic.

  Deming has a lawyer’s suspicious mind. “Kind of sudden, isn`t it? I`ve never heard of that place before.”

  I explained the lofty goals of the Story Club and my humble role in furthering them. “It should enhance my visibility,” I said. “It might even be fun.”

  His silence said that the wheels were turning in that big brain of his. “I`ll try to get back in time, but just in case be careful. That part of Cambridge can be rough.”

  “Don`t worry, I plan to drive.”

  “Drive?”

  “Sure,” I said. “You left the keys to the Porsche on the hall table. No problem.”

  He gasped but kept his composure. “Maybe Po should drive you. Parking is a mess there.”

  I resisted temptation and took pity on him. “Just kidding. Your mom will probably go with me anyway. You know, the power of two. What can possibly happen?”

  “Don`t remind me,” Deming said. “I`ll do my best to finish early.”

  I knew that as soon as we hung up, Deming would put Bolin on alert. Fortunately, I reached Anika just as she was leaving. “Is everything okay, Eja? Bolin and I are on our way to dinner.”

  “I`m fine. How does Thursday night sound to you? The game`s afoot—maybe.”

  “Oh no! We`re booked on Thursday. An employee gala at Bolin’s firm.”

  My heart sank, but I quickly recovered. “No biggie. I`ll give you a full report.” After hanging up, I couldn`t escape a niggling fear that something might go wrong. Then in a move worthy of Scarlett O`Hara, I tabled my doubts and vowed to think about them another day.

  I AWAKENED SEVERAL times during the night. After disquieting dreams of violence and blood, I crawled out of bed, took an Advi,l and pulled on my exercise duds. Cato raised his head, looking baffled at this surge of predawn energy. One double espresso later, I was ready to roll.

  Six a.m. was the golden hour in Boston. Warm diffused sunlight bathed the sky in a breathtaking titian glow while the Common bustled with joggers, dog-walkers, and briefcase-toting businesspeople charging toward their future. For once I enjoyed being part of the anonymous herd. Even Cato trotted out his party manners and behaved sensibly.

  I surfed the tide of goodwill all the way home until an unexpected phone call shattered the spell.

  “Melanie Hunt.” She barked out her name in a whiny adenoidal voice that would shame a strangled mouse.

  “Yes?”

  “Is this Eja Kane speaking?”

  I knew which buttons to press with a class-conscious harpy. “This is the Swann residence.”

  Dead silence. Whatever her mission, Gabriel’s wife reconsidered her tactics.

  “Oh. I . . . forgive me for phoning so early. I`m on my way to yoga class.”

  “How nice.” Playing the harridan was fun. I resolved to try it more often.

  “Listen, Eja, this is about Gabriel.”

  “Really?” Monosyllabic responses were rather effective. Another tick mark on my to-do list.

  “He asked me—no, ordered me—to attend some dopey writers` workshop on Thursday. Said he promised you. I want to know why.” She didn`t screech, but her voice hit the upper registers. “Tell the truth. Are you having an affair with my husband?”

  “What!” This time I wasn`t acting. The idea was so outrageous that it stunned me. Several responses came to mind, scoffing, spitting, or cursing among them. “I assure you, Melanie, that I have zero interest in Gabriel. Haven`t for years. It`s strictly a writing event, and I`m doing him a favor.”

  Her response was meek, as if she were a punctured balloon losing altitude. “Forgive me. It`s just that I never attend those things. They`re hideous, filled with pompous losers who bore me silly.”

  “Quite. I feel the same way about most charity socials. Well, to each her own. Was there anything else?” I toed the thin line between convention and rudeness.

  “No. Perhaps I will go to this thing. Forgive me for intruding.” Before ending the call, she spoke again. “I`d consider it a favor if you didn`t mention this call to Gabriel or your husband.”

  “Understood.”

  Sisterhood is power.

  I DID A DOUBLE take when I saw my mother-in-law and co-conspirator pull into the driveway. Anika Swann was a vision straight from a Vermeer canvas. Her golden hair, artfully arranged in an elegant topknot, highlighted exquisite bone structure and a complexion to die for. A string of large, creamy pearls completed the illusion.

  “Ready for the fun?” she asked, after I hopped in the Mercedes. “I drove Bolin crazy last night dreaming up all kinds of crazy scenarios.”

  “Fess Paskert won`t be much of a challeng
e,” I said. “Where did you go for dinner?”

  “Blue Ming. Bolin is crazy about their sablefish.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You`ll never guess who we saw.”

  I shrugged. “You know I`m a really bad guesser. Come on. Put me out of my misery.”

  She took a right onto Arlington Street, narrowly missing a plodding BMW. “Sorrel Yeagan! He was dining with Harrison Tate.”

  “The Harrison Tate from Random House? You have got to be kidding.”

  “Nope. Bolin stopped by their table and chatted for a moment. Harrison plays squash with him occasionally.”

  The wheels in my brain were spinning at warp speed. Obviously Sorrel intended to proceed with Worm in the Apple. It made sense and yet . . .?

  “We might want to update Fess Paskert. That`ll really put him off his feed.”

  “Good idea.” Anika sped up Storrow Drive toward the Cambridge exit. “Tell me. What is your endgame today? I want to play my part.”

  I`d given it plenty of thought. No more evasive manuevers by Dr. Paskert. I needed his frank appraisal of Sonia and her power over him. Would he kill to protect his reputation and position? Others had done so in the past, and self-interest provided a compelling motive.

  After some discussion, Anika and I were set. I would play the aggressor while she dispensed womanly charm and sympathy. The promise of a Swann Foundation grant would dangle before his eyes.

  If Paskert avoided the issues, we`d need to improvise. He held the final puzzle piece in my portrait of Sonia, and I meant to get it one way or another.

  Today’s meeting was held in the faculty lounge, a far cry from the opulence of our last encounter. No pink tablecloths, chandeliers, or Limoges in this place. Just utilitarian seating designed for the masses. Paskert waved us over to a booth in the most secluded part of the room and offered us tea.

  “Lovely,” Anika said. “The perfect pick-me-up.”

  I pursed my lips in a move that barely registered on the smile scale. For some reason Paskert’s brand of false bravado pushed every one of my buttons. His toothy grin was a practiced prelude to deception.

  “I was surprised to get your message,” he said, turning to me. “Of course, I`ll gladly help any way I can.”

  “Fantastic. We`re here to discuss Sonia. As her supervisor, you knew her better than anyone. Her work, that is.”

  Paskert stifled a cough. Clearly he was surprised and playing for time. “I don`t know what to say. It might be construed as an invasion of privacy.”

  Anika sprang into action. She patted his arm, giving him the full impact of her hazel eyes. “Such integrity. Don`t worry, Fess. Eja won`t quote you directly if it causes any problems.”

  He sputtered, torn between caution and financial gain. In the end, filthy lucre triumphed.

  “Sonia was a gifted instructor,” he said. “Inspirational.”

  “Not much of a scholar though,” I said. “She hardly published anything.”

  He spread his hands in a gesture worthy of a cardsharp. “True enough.”

  Anika tilted her head to one side. “But she wrote that novel. I could never do that in a million years. Her imagery was beautiful. Quite artistic.”

  Paskert bowed his head and remained silent.

  I took a healthy slug of tea and made my move. “She didn`t write it, did she? Several people have suggested that. I`ll bet Duff Ryder was the real author.”

  His eyes widened as if he was confronting a new thought. “I can`t say. Sonia was definitely the researcher though. She was always poking into people’s lives, trying to expose their secrets.”

  “Blackmail?” Anika gasped.

  “Leverage. That`s what we call it in academia. Sonia used information to get what she wanted. She wasn`t the only one of course.”

  “In the real world the police call that extortion.” I stared at my notes. “Tell me, were you part of her research project, Dr. Paskert?”

  I was raised to respect my elders and mind my p’s and q’s. When Fess Paskert blanched, I felt a surge of guilt, not triumph.

  He crossed his arms and glared, finally showing some spunk. “Why do you care, Ms. Kane? You`re not writing for the tabloids, are you?”

  I returned his scowl with interest. “Not currently. Of course, writers must adjust to their public. Who knows what the future might bring.”

  Anika reached over and patted his hand. “This must be very painful for you,” she said. “Eja is very discreet. Nothing you tell us will go beyond this room.”

  I added one caveat. “Unless you murdered her, of course. I am not looking for scandal. I need insights into Sonia’s character.”

  “Murder? I hated Sonia, but I didn`t murder her.” He stirred the dregs swirling around the bottom of his teacup. “I . . . it`s rather silly actually. Sometimes when your real life falls short, fantasy becomes a substitute.”

  Anika nodded sympathetically. I maintained a stony silence.

  “That`s why I got involved in that website. FetLife. Believe it or not, Sonia suggested it to me.” His shoulders slumped as he recounted the facts in a grim monotone. “Come to think of it, I guess that makes sense after all. The FetLife community was welcoming. No judgment or sneers. For the first time ever I found unqualified acceptance. Before I knew it I was hooked.”

  I hesitated, trying to formulate a follow-up question that wouldn`t spook him. Once again, Anika galloped to the rescue.

  “Aren`t these transactions done online?” she asked. “I can`t see the harm in that.”

  Fess closed his eyes and grimaced. “Most are, but members can make private arrangements too. That`s what I did.”

  “And Sonia found out,” I said. “What kind of proof did she have?”

  “Someone made a video recording. Those camera phones are ubiquitous it seems.”

  I visualized Paskert cavorting in one of several compromising situations. I had no interest in learning his particular fetish—just the thought of it was enough to gag a maggot.

  “She threatened to go public?”

  He laughed, a sharp, brittle sound that held no mirth. “You don`t get it. Sonia was far too sophisticated for that. She hinted, mentioned how fast things went viral—Lord I hate that expression—and laughed about YouTube and the stuffy trustees at Concord.”

  Anika’s eyes grew moist. “I`m so sorry, Fess. You didn`t deserve that. How in the world did you handle it?”

  “I caved. Gave her everything she asked for—class assignments, personal attention, public praise.”

  “Promotions?” I asked. “Sonia wanted your support for tenure, didn`t she?”

  Paskert curled his lip. “Not that. I held the line at that. She knew I was weighing my options. That`s why she started that lookism nonsense to stir the pot.”

  “And the book? What about Worm in the Apple? It could still damage you.”

  He leaned back against the wall and smiled. “The product of a disgruntled employee. Besides, she pilloried plenty of others in that trashy book. I`m not the only one with an axe to grind.”

  It made sense, but I wasn`t ready to let him off the hook. “Let`s face it,” I said. “You have motive, opportunity, and means. That makes you a more viable suspect than Gabriel. Has Keegan been nosing around lately?”

  Suddenly Paskert relaxed. His hand was steady as he poured himself more tea. “I`m not worried about the police. I have a rock-solid alibi for both murders.”

  Anika and I did a double take and spoke as one. “Really?”

  Paskert preened as if he were reliving the experience. “When poor Duff was murdered, I was with a lady, a very respectable member of Boston society who shares my tastes. Someone both of you know. Naturally, I can`t share her name with you.”

  To avoid gaping like the village idiot, I shut my mouth.
Anika remained rock-steady.

  “And when Sonia died?” she asked. “Were you with your friend?”

  He shook his head. “Any number of employees saw me in my office. They`ll swear to it too. Lieutenant Keegan seems satisfied, if that`s your concern.” That fulsome grin was back in place.

  I wasn`t convinced by Paskert’s so-called alibi. He could easily have nipped over to Sonia’s office unseen by his colleagues. The weather was stormy that day, and raingear would have hidden any blood splatter on the murderer.

  Paskert’s portrait of Sonia had given me plenty to think about. It wasn`t pretty, but it was consistent with observations by Branca, Zarina, Nadia, Aunt Vesna, and even Gabriel. All things considered, it was a wonder that Sonia lasted as long as she had. Sorrel Yeagan knew she was spoiled and willful but loved her despite her flaws. Apparently he was the only one who did.

  I snapped back in time to hear Anika discussing the special scholarship for Branca Enos. Paskert’s eyes popped, but he made the appropriate nods and noises of approval. After all, rich donors were entitled to their foibles, and the Swann Foundation was a very big fish indeed.

  “I`ll personally handle her application, Mrs. Swann. Just have her send the paperwork to my attention. And I look forward to your presentation Thursday night, Ms. Kane.”

  “You`re going too?” I tried to sound thrilled at the prospect.

  “Wouldn`t miss it.”

  Anika rose to her feet gracefully, her smile letter-perfect. “I knew I could count on you, Dr. Paskert. Bolin will be so grateful.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  NEITHER OF US spoke until we reached Anika’s car. I pulled my jacket tight around me and shivered despite the relative mildness of the day. Paskert’s calm dissection of Sonia’s character had chilled me. It revealed an unexpected level of cruelty in the man. I had dismissed him as an effete academic, but he was far tougher than he looked. Was he tough enough to use force if necessary? I couldn`t decide.