by Arlene Kay
“Sonia made plenty of enemies,” Anika said. “Maybe Gabriel didn`t exaggerate.”
“She didn`t write that novel,” I said. “No wonder she offered Duff a percentage of the profits. Duff was a gifted writer. I read her stuff online.”
Anika fired up the engine and nosed into traffic. “I wonder. Originally I pegged Sonia as a visionary—charismatic, self-centered, but basically sound. Now I`m not so sure.”
I considered the possibilities. Superstars from saints to presidents shared some of those qualities in varying amounts. Some won glory, others crumpled into dust. With a bit of luck, Sonia might have vaulted to the top. Unfortunately, her luck ran out.
Lulled by the sweet sounds of Mozart on the stereo, I leaned my head back and dozed. I awakened as we approached the circular driveway of the Swann estate.
“Some partner I am. Forgive me, Anika.”
She smiled. “I didn`t have the heart to wake you. Besides, Bolin just sent me a text. He`s coming home early this evening so we can have our discussion.”
Once again I marvelled at their relationship. Anika glowed like a newlywed every time she mentioned her husband. Some couples grow apart after a tragedy, but the senior Swanns had grown even closer since losing CeCe.
“Sonia was quite a girl, wasn`t she? She had me completely fooled.”
Anika nodded. “She still deserves justice as does Duff. I can`t shake the feeling that Duff Ryder is the key to this whole mess.”
Po appeared out of nowhere escorted by Anika’s errant pup Olaf. Despite a stern rebuke from Po, Olaf launched himself at Anika in a futile attempt to claim her lap.
“Oh, you big baby,” she crooned. “Still thinks he`s a lapdog even though he tops a hundred pounds by now.” She planted a kiss on his forehead.
Olaf was a Leonberger of alarming proportions who was still growing. I loved him, but Deming groaned every time Olaf came his way. Even Cato gave him a wide berth.
“Come on,” Anika said. “Let`s go into the study and wait for Bolin. He won`t be long.”
True to her word, Bolin Swann joined us right on the dot of six. He kissed Anika, gave me a warm hug, and dodged the doggy advances of Olaf.
“Hard day, darling?” Anika’s eyes were fixed on her husband’s handsome face.
“Not bad.” Bolin handed Po his jacket and sat next to his wife. “Anyhow, I`m eager to hear about your day. You two always manage to find some adventure. I felt kind of sorry for Paskert being double-teamed by pros.”
Before beginning, we settled in to enjoy the tray of cocktails and goodies dispensed by Po. I followed Anika’s lead despite my desire to gorge on dumplings, egg rolls, and pot stickers. My abstemious mother-in-law ignored the carbs and nibbled on shrimp and crabmeat. In a testament to his superior genes and lively metabolism, Bolin heaped an obscene amount of goodies on his plate. Deming would have done the same thing.
The Swanns allowed themselves one cocktail before dinner, and although I typically joined them, this time I stuck with Pellegrino. Our session with Paskert and my forthcoming performance at Story Club night had rattled me. I needed a clear head and an uncluttered mind to hatch a workable plan.
While Anika discussed our tête-à-tête with Paskert, I tried to put everything in perspective.
Sonia was still an enigma despite everything I had learned about her. And there—always there—lingering in her shadow was Duff Ryder, an acolyte whose death posed too many unanswered questions.
Bolin said very little. He tilted his head to one side, absorbing every word and nuance. When Anika finally concluded, he spoke.
“Sonia was a complex character,” he said. “Bold, aggressive, somewhat unscrupulous. Not unlike many CEOs I know.”
“Ruthless too, wouldn`t you agree?” I pictured Sonia spinning a web that trapped unwary males and a few females. “Blackmail, sexual shenanigans, who knows what else.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Sorrel called her willful, didn`t he? A beautiful child.”
“Children are often cruel even when they don`t mean to be.” Anika brushed her hand against her heart. “Not ours, of course, and not you, Eja. You were a loyal, beautiful little girl. Always. A true friend.”
“Still are,” Bolin chuckled. “Which reminds me, Dem called me last night. He`s concerned about this thing on Thursday. Some kind of writing program, Eja?”
“Gabriel roped me into doing it. Seems harmless enough though.” I looked away, unable to meet their eyes. Deception is not my strong suit. That probably explains my abysmal performance at poker.
Anika zeroed in on me just as she did when I was a child. “Are you sure you`ll be okay? Fess Paskert said he`d be there. Who else is going?”
“Probably a contingent from Concord University. Gabriel promised to bring the crowd from COWE as well.”
Just when I thought I had pulled it off, Bolin chimed in.
“No wonder Dem was concerned. Sounds like most of the suspects from the murders will be there.” He gave me that conscience-scrubbing stare perfected by most titans of industry. I wasn`t frightened, but I did squirm.
Anika twisted the exquisite emerald on her ring finger. “Oh, I hate this. If only we could be there with you.”
Bolin patted her hand. “Perhaps there`s another solution. I`d feel more comfortable if you had some backup. What about Sorrel Yeagan? He`s got a stake in all this.”
A good idea, but it could be complicated. After all, I planned to discuss the murder and character of the woman he loved. That would be a bitter pill for Sorrel or any other survivor to swallow. Despite my misgivings, I caved under the steely gaze of my father-in-law.
“Makes sense. I`ll ask Sorrel. Who knows, maybe Lieutenant Keegan will join us too. Cambridge is his beat, after all.”
I knew I was safe there. Keegan made no secret of his distaste for interfering amateurs, including yours truly. Especially yours truly. He didn`t seem like the bookish type either. For Keegan, reading mysteries and true crime would be a busman’s holiday, and forget anything that even smacked of romance.
We then enjoyed a delicious lobster dinner and a political conversation that had little to do with murder or mayhem. Since money knows no favorites, the Swanns socialized with most of the big names on both sides of the political aisle. I enjoyed their anecdotes and tart observations about those in power. Bolin in particular had few illusions about our elected officials of any stripe.
After Po dropped me home, I fussed over Cato and spent the remainder of the evening reviewing my notes and tactics. Despite my best efforts, I must have dozed off. When the phone rang I leapt into the air poised for flight.
“Dreaming of me?” Deming asked. His voice had a deep, smoky tone that boiled my blood.
“Always.” I felt a flush stealing up my face. “Any progress on your negotiations?”
“Some. Not enough. I should wrap things up late Thursday afternoon. Then I can catch the shuttle for Boston.”
I did a quick calculation of flight schedules. “You should be waiting for me when I get home. That`s good.”
“Not good enough. I miss you—more than you know. Sleeping alone makes me restless. I need you next to me.”
“Really?” I felt like a breathy teenager with her first crush. Why was it so hard to accept that Deming loved me and always had even when he was bedding every beauty on the East Coast?
“Let me tell you all about it.”
And then he did.
SUNSHINE FLOODED my bedroom Wednesday morning. That dose of midnight phone sex was a better soporific than Ambien. It swept me into the arms of Morpheus on a tidal wave of lust, leaving me thoroughly satiated.
After tending to Cato, I called Sorrel Yeagan. I didn`t tell him everything—just enough to emphasize his interests in the proceedings.
“I`ll go, but I`m not
sure why you want me there. Is it something about Sonia?”
I took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Here`s the plan. After my presentation I think we should finally know who killed Duff and Sonia. Your job is to watch their faces for signs of guilt.”
“Then what?” Sorrel’s flat tone sounded almost defiant. “Do I make a citizen’s arrest or something? I`m not a police officer, you know.”
“This was a bad idea. Forget I mentioned it, Sorrel. Don`t worry. I`ll let you know if anything develops.”
So much for Bolin’s brilliant plan. I felt like an idiot.
“Eja, hold on. I forgot my manners. Since I lost Sonia, nothing matters much to me anymore, even courtesy.”
“It was my father-in-law’s idea anyway. He wanted someone there to protect me.”
“From what?” Sorrel said. “Or from whom?”
“Bolin is afraid that the murderer might target me. He`s just being overprotective. Deming is away, and so he suggested you as my bodyguard. It was an imposition. I`m sorry.”
Sorrel paused. “Don`t be. I should be the one taking the risks, not you. Give me the time and place, and I`ll be there.”
My next call was even more disastrous. Phineas Keegan made no effort to be civil. He straddled the line between curt and rude from the beginning.
“What is it now, Ms. Kane? Don`t tell me you solved the murders.”
Apparently good manners were among the casualties of the new millennium. After making a mental note to update police training, I turned the other cheek and answered with girlish charm or what passed for it these days.
“Solving murders is your job, Lieutenant. I just thought you might be interested in a new angle. Unless you`ve already made an arrest.”
He bristled a bit but quickly fell to earth. “Go on. I`m listening.”
I outlined my plan with masterful precision, starting with our findings about Sonia and concluding with the gathering at the Story Club. All the while Keegan maintained an ominous silence. No ahs, ems, or words of encouragement. He was either mummified or in a snit. When he finally made a sound, it was a guffaw, a snort of contempt mingled with a hearty dose of humor.
“Let me get this straight. You`re actually staging one of those Agatha Christie endings—gathering all the suspects and hoping someone blurts out a confession. Really, Ms. Kane. I gave you more credit than that.”
I am a fangirl of Dame Agatha, but I refused to admit it to Keegan.
“Don`t worry. I have someone planted in the audience to observe their reaction. Maybe a confession is too much to hope for, but someone will react. I guarantee you.”
Keegan’s parting shot was worse than his laughter. “Gosh, I wish I could be there. Unfortunately, I have to wash my hair that night.”
I SLEEPWALKED through the remainder of the day without much to show for my efforts. Words are my stock-in-trade, but today’s output was a trickle, not a flow. By the time Cato commandeered me, I finally completed a satisfactory eight-minute reading. We live in a litigious society, so I avoided any outright accusations. Bolin had been quite specific about that during our discussion last night. Deming would have blown a gasket at the thought of it. Hints are acceptable when couched in fiction, so I traded the confines of true crime for the broader landscape of make-believe. My eight minutes would be fiction with a real-world twist.
I called it Duplicity, a portrait of a vibrant but flawed woman whose life choices resulted in her death. Then I profiled the potential suspects who surrounded her, citing the motive, means, and opportunity each had. Names were changed to protect the writer although anyone familiar with the characters could easily hazard a guess. Despite my misgivings, Duff’s murder was lumped in with Sonia’s. I had no other alternative.
As Cato and I trotted about the Common, I practiced my presentation. When we reached the Frog Pond, I shortened his lead and sat on the bench, considering possible scenarios. Sex, blackmail, ideology, and ambition were jumbled into one noxious stew. Add Nadia to the formula, and the issue of mental instability surfaced.
“Thought I`d find you here.” Zarina loomed over me in true Valkyrie fashion, sporting a hooded down jacket and badly scuffed boots. “Practicing for tomorrow night, are you?” Those innocent words were laced with an undercurrent of venom that was hard to miss.
“Not stalking me, are you?” I asked, putting up a brave front while Cato nuzzled her open palm. “I suppose you`ll be there tomorrow night.”
“Wouldn`t miss it.” Zarina’s eyes narrowed to shards of blue ice. “You`re taking quite a risk, Ms. Kane. After all, two women are dead. One more wouldn`t make any difference.”
I ignored the fear streaking through me. My heart rate zoomed to overflow, but I managed to tilt my head toward her in a gesture of false bravado. The Common was public space. She might throttle me, but she couldn`t kill me now with pesky witnesses floating about.
“Are you a participant?” I asked. “You must have a lot to say.”
I glimpsed in her eyes the infinite sadness of great loss coupled with a healthy thirst for retribution.
“I`m sharing Duff’s writing,” she said. “It`s a tribute and a challenge.”
I shrugged. “Lots of motive in that crowd. Everyone had a reason to hate Sonia including you. Especially you.”
That seemed to amuse her. Zarina reared back and laughed heartily. “Good one! I don`t suppose your handsome husband will be there?”
Luckily I avoided her trap. Let her think that my personal superhero would be at my side. That prospect alone might back her off if nothing else did.
“We do most things together, especially in this case. As you know, Deming was there when we found Duff.”
Zarina flinched as if I had slapped her. “Funny thing. I`m banking on your ex-husband or that worthless wife of his. Sex and ego, you know. Combustible.”
For some reason I no longer feared her. “You`re a shrink. Is that your professional opinion or just wishful thinking?”
She patted Cato’s head and turned away. “A little bit of both, I suppose. See you soon.” Zarina strolled away, showing surprising agility and an inspired sense of timing.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
WHEN THURSDAY arrived, I felt a stomach-churning, chest-tightening sensation that spelled disaster. Presentations didn`t bother me. Words flowed effortlessly, and I seldom got nervous. My big concern was the aftermath. Would one of the suspects crack, or was I wasting my time? Crime solving was an intellectual challenge that appealed to me. Confronting a double murderer in person—not so much.
Deming had phoned me long after midnight the previous night. He tried hard but was unable to hide the note of triumph in his voice. After the preliminaries were over, I coaxed him into spilling his secrets.
“What happened? Come on. Get it over with.”
He switched into rational lawyer mode after a few more teases. “I had dinner at restaurant Daniel. You know how I love their baked sea bass.” After a short digression into every aspect of the menu, Deming collected his thoughts.
“Who went with you?” I asked.
“Just Pam and our client.” He had the good sense not to dwell on that part. I was bedeviled by anything involving Pamela Schwartz and Deming. It had more to do with my own insecurity than the thought of sweaty, steamy sex between two road warriors.
“Okay. What`s the big deal?”
“We ran into someone. Someone who shared interesting tidbits about our murder victim.”
“I`m listening.” Actually I was close to meltdown, but good sense prevailed.
Deming seldom gossiped even though he was privy to some really big scoops. This had to be a blockbuster.
“Apparently Duff Ryder made a deal with a prominent New York publishing house granting them exclusive rights to her novel. Got a sizable advance too. What they c
all a `very nice deal. ` Not bad, huh?”
“Not bad at all. You`re talking six figures. Nothing to sneeze at.” I powered down. This was puzzling but hardly earthshaking. “We knew she was writing something. Sorrel probably arranged the whole thing.”
“Wrong. Duff negotiated this herself without an agent. Don`t you see? She cut Sorrel, Sonia, and that whole COWE bunch out of her life. Cut the cord, so to speak. She planned to move to New York and get her PhD at Columbia.”
I gave that some thought. Obviously Duff wasn`t the clueless clone she`d appeared to be. From the sample I`d found on Wattpad, she had also been a very polished writer.
“What was the novel about?”
Deming stalled, trying to up the ante. Had he been here, I would have shaken him or kicked his shins.
“Come on,” I growled. “What was it?”
“You`re no fun at all. Okay. According to my source it was an expose about a militant feminist group whose members had mixed motives. My friend was ecstatic. Said it had it all—sex with all food groups, rape, treachery, and murder. A surefire best seller.”
I pondered that. “Sort of like an updated, Internet version of The Group.”
“Huh?” Deming was clueless about popular fiction, particularly anything classified as a woman’s novel. Before our merger, he read my books in secret to avoid tarnishing his macho image.
“Mary McCarthy’s huge best seller. Blew them away in the 1960s. Never mind. I`m proud of you. Nick Charles couldn`t have done any better. Thin Man, here we come!”
We spent a few moments on more personal issues that had nothing to do with Duff Ryder, Pamela Schwartz, or Sonia. Afterwards, I felt mellow and totally renewed.
“Tomorrow night should be very interesting,” I said. “I may have to revise my presentation.”
“Promise me you won`t do anything foolish. Sorrel Yeagan is hardly an ideal bodyguard. Zarina or even Nadia could smash him like a bug.”
