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

with Perry Mason. “Melanie Hunt’s gala benefits the Bella Brigade. Now who in the world would figure that? I don`t believe in coincidence, do you?”
    To a mystery writer, there are no coincidences just as there are damn few natural deaths. What were the odds that my long-ago ex-husband would appear one day followed by his wife and professional antagonist the next? Nonexistent.
    “Watch your step today,” Deming said. “This might be some sort of setup.”
    “Your mother will be with me. What could possibly happen?”
    “Terrific. Now I`m really worried. Maybe I should go with you.” He checked his iPhone. “My client could be rescheduled.”
    Deming has a protective streak a mile wide. Given any encouragement, he goes into overdrive especially when it involves his mother or me. He would wrap us both in cotton wool and store us in the attic if he could.
    “Oops. I`d better leave right now. You know your mother is always on time.”
    Before he lectured me, I grabbed my purse, blew him a kiss, and was halfway to the lobby.

Chapter Three
    I`M NOT THE world’s best driver. The homicidal pace of Boston traffic unnerves me, especially the frantic quest for a parking spot. Anika Swann, on the other hand, has mad skills and no inhibitions. Shortly before noon, she swung her Mercedes into the driveway of our building and tooted the horn.
    No woman was a better testament to good Swedish genes. Three decades after she had graced the runways, Anika retained a model’s lithe figure and elegance. Today she was a vision in peach, a color that warmed the skin and flattered her blonde beauty.
    “Eja, I`m so excited,” she said. “We haven`t had an adventure in months.”
    Our “adventures” were the source of Deming’s angst. Due to a run of bad luck, Anika and I had flirted with danger and imminent death on at least two occasions. Bolin Swann was more tolerant than his son. He laughingly referred to us as unindicted co-conspirators. Things would be different today. College professors were better known for polemics than felonies.
    “I don`t know what to expect,” I said. “In fact, I couldn`t even find a decent photo of Sonia Reyes. Apparently it`s part of her lookism crusade. You know—hear my message but don`t consider my looks. Something like that.”
    Anika made a somewhat risky U-turn, ignored blaring horns, and headed up Commonwealth Avenue to Storrow Drive and Cambridge.
    “Very curious,” she said with a wink. “She and Gabriel are enemies, but he`s usually such a charmer, isn`t he? Makes all the ladies smile.” Anika knew my ex-spouse quite well. The Swanns hosted our wedding reception, and CeCe had been my bridesmaid. “Cecilia and I were both taken in by him. Of course Bolin sized him up right away, and Deming loathed Gabriel from the start.” She patted my arm. “But we know what that was all about, don`t we, dear?”
    “I got the idea from Gabriel that this feud was as much personal as professional. Maybe they were closer than he admitted. I asked him straight away if they were involved, but he denied it.”
    We exchanged knowing looks as Anika zipped into the entrance for the Adams Square Hotel and snagged a parking spot. Sonia Reyes was hosting a conference there for her group and had invited us to her suite. Apparently the Bella Brigade raised funds for female politicians of all stripes and linked up with EMILY’s List and several like-minded groups. I gave a mental thumbs up to Sonia’s skill as a tactician. After all, the more allies the better.
    The Adams Square was one of the most revered hotels in Cambridge, an earnest red brick building that skirted JFK Boulevard, the Charles River, and Harvard Yard. Today the spacious lobby was festooned with placards touting the aims of the Bella Brigade. A group of enthusiastic women of all ages milled about, chattering and drinking endless cups of what looked like exceptionally strong tea. Most of the celebrants with their unadorned faces and