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

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.

I took my cue from that. “Oh no, Lieutenant. I was there too. Actually, my husband accompanied me. We were doing a favor for Ms. Reyes.”

Keegan squinted at me as if I were some exotic species. “Stop! Let me get this straight. You`re Mrs. Eja Swann, correct?” He consulted his notes. “An author. Funny, I`ve never heard of you before. What`s your specialty—cookbooks?”

I bristled at that—an obtuse and sexist statement if ever I heard one. “My pen name is Eja Kane, and I write crime novels.”

“Really fine novels,” Anika said. “She`s won numerous awards.”

“Is that so?” Keegan, like most men, was not immune to the feminine charms of an ex-model. His gaze softened when he saw Anika Swann. “We`ll interview you one by one in the conference rooms. No discussion until then, please.” He signaled to a young uniformed officer. “Officer Malloy will stay here with you. Mr. and Mrs. Swann Senior and Mrs. Melanie Hunt can go. Just leave your contact information with us and be available tomorrow for questioning. Ms. Reyes will join me in the interview room.”

Sonia shrank into her seat and didn`t move. She was either traumatized or an academy award caliber actress. I couldn`t decide which. Sorrel Yeagan immediately challenged Keegan.

“She`s in no condition to be grilled, Lieutenant. Ms. Reyes is in shock. I demand that you let a doctor examine her.” Sorrel stood soldier-straight, projecting the power of a much larger man.

Keegan growled a terse response that I couldn`t quite hear. From the frown on his face, it was neither friendly nor polite. He motioned to his sergeant, had a brief conversation, and fixed Sorrel with a steely blue stare.

“We`ll ask a physician from the audience to examine her. Bound to be at least one in this crowd.” Keegan gestured toward Sonia. “Come along, Ms. Reyes.”

“I don`t need a doctor.” Sonia moved to the edge of her chair, suddenly alert. She swiveled to her left and pointed at Deming. “I want legal counsel. Him.”

Deming did a double take. “My practice is strictly corporate law, Ms. Reyes. Naturally, I can refer you . . .”

Sonia shook her head. “You are an attorney, aren`t you? Harvard Law.”

“True. But murder is a capital offense. You need a criminal specialist.”

“Listen to him, Sonia,” Sorrel said. “You`re not thinking straight.”

Fire flashed from her beautiful eyes as she faced her agent. “I have nothing to hide. It`s just a precaution.” She turned to Deming again. “You agree?”

He shrugged and rose to join her. “If you insist, but only as an observer.” As they filed out of the room, we exchanged looks. Deming was clearly troubled, but I was curious. Sonia Reyes had an agenda which included looking out for number one. She was dry-eyed and composed, free from any grief for Duff Ryder.

PATIENCE IS NOT in my skill set. I helped myself to a sandwich and coffee, anything to allay the boredom and keep me awake. After getting a message on her radio, our babysitter in blue left Sorrel Yeagan and I alone in the conference room. The opportunity was too good to ignore.

“You`re really close to Sonia,” I said. “She`s lucky to have such a good friend.”

He smiled at that, as if it was either the supreme compliment or an absurd joke. “We`ve been together a long time. Not romantically—not anymore—but as business associates and friends.”

I detected a note of sadness in his voice, as if the emotional connection was still strong on his part.

“I just met Sonia this week. What an accomplished woman—and so lovely too!”

Sorrel shifted into business mode. “You`re quite accomplished yourself, Mrs. Swann. Lovely as well. Sonia and I researched you.”

Not much escaped that penetrating gaze. I switched gears, projecting innocence, or my best effort at it.

“This whole lookism crusade puzzles me. What can Sonia hope to achieve? After all, very few people—especially women—would declare themselves ugly. I just don`t see throngs rallying to her cause, especially if a push for another protected class is part of the package.”

Sorrel shook his head. “The reaction surprised even me. Lots of emotion on both sides. People came out of the woodwork to demonize Sonia.” His lips twisted in a faux grin. “Men like Gabriel Mann ridiculed her. That was even worse.”

I ignored his foray into Gabriel-land. The situation was complicated enough. “Sonia attracted supporters too, didn`t she? People who loved her and what she stood for.”

Sorrel searched his pockets and produced a throat lozenge. “You mean Duff, don`t you?”

“Or others like her,” I said. “The lobby was packed with true believers the other day.”

“You`ve got it wrong, Mrs. Swann. Most of them were members of COWE.” He sighed. “Unfortunate acronym in my view, but no one could tell them that. Duff brought them in. She was a dynamo, a true believer. Thought Sonia was a god.” Sorrel grinned. “Pardon me. I meant goddess. Kind of scary, truth be told, but Duff was a good soul. Not a jealous bone in her body.”

I recalled her sweet smile and devotion to the “cause.” Quite unexpectedly, I felt the sting of tears at the loss of a young, vibrant life. Why had Duff ingested that throat spray? It made no sense, especially since Sonia was hardly the type to share.

Sonia had spread her things all over the bathroom counter yesterday, easily accessible to anyone who entered the suite. The suspect list was vast—maids, friends, members of the Bella Brigade, and a few enemies. I was positive that Gabriel had been lurking around there too. His wife Melanie Hunt had a valid excuse to be there, and she might not be a fan of open marriage after all.

Before I posed any more questions, the door flew open, and Phineas Keegan appeared.

“Come along, Ms. Kane,” he said. “Since you ignored the order to keep quiet, maybe you can contribute something to my investigation.” His smile verged on a sneer. “By the way, you`ll be glad to know that your husband did not represent Ms. Reyes after all.”

“Really? Why not?”

“He claimed a potential conflict of interest, and I agreed with him. Ms. Reyes chose another family member—Mr. Bolin Swann—to witness our discussion. Quite an interesting gentleman. Not often do I sit down with a man on the Forbes wealthiest list.”

If Keegan already knew Bolin’s bank balance, he was far more sophisticated than he appeared to be. Call me officially impressed!

As we walked to the interview room, I glimpsed Deming and Anika waiting in the corridor. Deming locked eyes with me but said nothing. Bolin was seated in the anteroom speaking softly to Sonia. I had no reason to be nervous, but a tingling in my brain told me Keegan was up to something.

The answer came when Officer Malloy escorted someone into the other room. The map of guilt or something equally sinister suffused the handsome mug of my former husband. Gabriel Mann had some explaining to do.