Swann Songs (The Boston Uncommon Mysteries Book 4) Read Free Page A

said absently. “Never took Gabriel’s name, I understand.” He paused. “Perhaps I`ll just say hello. It`s only polite.”
    He strode over to the table and turned on the charm machine. From the grins on the ladies’ faces, Swann magic was still alive and working. By the time he returned, our waiter had cleared the table and brought each of us a double latte.
    “Was it worth it?” I asked.
    Deming gulped his drink, paid our bill, and rose. “Let`s go home. Play your cards right, and I`ll tell you everything.”
    MY HUSBAND WAS bluffing. He hadn`t learned anything interesting except that Gabriel was working, Melanie was sponsoring another dreary charity fundraiser, and her companion was a student volunteer from the college. Big whoop! I had to admire Melanie’s technique though. In between simpers and smiles she`d managed to snag a sizable donation from Deming for her charity du jour.
    “Here you go,” he said, fumbling through a nest of paper in his suit pocket. “Note the date on our social calendar. I have the tickets somewhere.”
    Fundraisers were de rigueur for the Swann set, a socially accepted vehicle for meeting friends, grabbing headlines, and doing some good in the process. Anika and Bolin chose a different path. They chaired the Swann Foundation, but the entire family pitched in including me. There were no elaborate galas or funding campaigns. Money was dispensed to worthy recipients without fanfare.
    I settled down to an afternoon of writing while Deming immured himself in his study with a bulging briefcase. My latest mystery, the third in a series, was almost finished. I felt that tingling common to all authors when their characters behave, plot gels, and the end is near.
    I wasn`t expecting a phone call. Very few people knew our unlisted home number, and I liked it that way. The stranger’s voice was pleasant but unfamiliar. I almost brushed her off until she announced her name. That intrigued me.
    “Forgive me for disturbing you at home, Ms. Kane.”
    “I don`t recognize your voice,” I said. “Have we met?”
    The woman laughed. “I’m so sorry. I`ve read all of your books, so I feel as if I know you. My name is Sonia Reyes. I`m an English professor at Concord University.”
    Her approach was smooth. Any writer succumbs to that type of flattery, especially a midlist marvel like me still hungering for acceptance.
    “Of course,” I said. “I`ve read several of your position papers. You`re quite a celebrity yourself, Professor. Now what can I do for you?”
    Surely Gabriel hadn`t arranged this. I knew for certain that he didn’t have our number, and after last night even a self-absorbed narcissist would have gotten the message. Gabriel was frequently obtuse but never stupid.
    “It`s business. I`d like to meet with you as soon as possible to discuss a proposition of mutual interest. It`s an imposition, I know, but if you could just spare me an hour of your time . . .”
    I checked my calendar and saw that Monday was clear.
    “Actually, tomorrow looks good. I`ll have a friend with me if that`s okay.”
    “Wonderful.”
    Sonia Reyes gave me the location and rang off while I reached out to my favorite partner-in-crime.
    Anika Swann answered on the first ring.
    THE NEXT MORNING I spent an anxious hour debating wardrobe choices. Deming folded his arms, shook his head, and finally took charge.
    “What`s the big deal, Eja? This woman is a professor after all, scarcely a style-setter.”
    “A feminist professor,” I reminded him. “No point in looking too frivolous. On the other hand, I don`t want to look like a hag. This meeting probably concerns the Bella Brigade, and you know how they feel about lookism.”
    An odd expression flashed across his face. “Hold on a minute. That name sounds familiar.” He sped into his office and came back waving an envelope.
    “What`s that?” I asked.
    “This is very strange.” Deming loved theatrical touches, a carryover from his childhood obsession