Swann Songs (The Boston Uncommon Mysteries Book 4) by Arlene Kay Page A

might be entirely different.”
    Keegan tapped his fingers on the arm of the wing chair. Like most directors, he wanted everyone to follow the script. “Okay. I`ll simplify things for you. This book, which I consider pornographic by the way, skewers most of the people around here. Talk about a motive for murder.”
    Anika beamed her sweetest smile his way. “Excuse me, Lieutenant. Surely Sonia was the intended victim. It was her spray, after all. How can an unpublished novel by Duff Ryder cause a murder?”
    Keegan’s lips stretched into a toothy grin worthy of an alligator. “Did I say that? Let me make things clear. Duff Ryder didn`t write this book. Sonia Reyes is its author.”

Chapter Ten
    I WAS SPEECHLESS after Keegan’s revelation. If it was true, every clue, supposition, and conclusion I`d made about the murder was moot. More pieces to the puzzle were essential. I wouldn`t put it past Keegan to manufacture something just for shock value. He was capable of doing just that.
    Anika recovered first. “I don`t understand, Lieutenant. Duff was the listed author on Wattpad.”
    Keegan dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Yes, yes. It was a dodge, you see. Sorrel Yeagan filled me in this morning. Ms. Ryder was the stalking horse—pardon the expression. They posted it using her name to protect Ms. Reyes` reputation. We`re back to this tenure thing again. Reyes wanted to gauge the reaction before proceeding.”
    I was still puzzled by the whole Byzantine scheme. Why bother to conceal a lusty read that few people would ever see?
    Keegan’s smile verged on a sneer. “They signed a contract. I saw it. Yeagan is Sonia’s literary agent, after all. Ryder was guaranteed ten percent of all profits for the use of her name and occasional publicity stunts.”
    He goaded me into a response. Something about his smug expression made me lose control.
    “So what?” I said. “Ten percent of nothing is still nothing. The Internet is rife with unpublished authors hawking their wares.”
    Anika shot me a warning look. “That`s the issue, isn`t it, Lieutenant? Sonia or Duff got a publishing contract for Worm in the Apple .”
    “Spot on, Mrs. Swann. Maybe you should be the detective. Sonia signed with one of those New York publishing houses on the day that Duff Ryder was murdered. Pretty hefty advance, too.” Keegan leapt from the wing chair and dismissed us. “Thanks for your help, ladies. I think I can take it from here.”
    He strutted toward the exit like the head rooster in a barn of horny hens. I barely noticed—sorting out the puzzle was way too tempting. Very few first time authors got any advance let alone something that would qualify as hefty. Suddenly I recalled the publishing phenomenon that rocked the literary establishment last year—a little thing called Fifty Shades of Grey.
    Anika’s thoughts went along similar lines. “Hard to believe, isn`t it? Sonia, queen of lookism, writes a tawdry tell-all novel while Duff Ryder sells out for ten percent. That will set the cause back a decade or two.”
    Right on cue, Sonia Reyes spotted us. She sauntered over, dabbing her eyes with a lace show hanky that looked remarkably dry.
    “Eja, Mrs. Swann. Thank you for coming. I know Duff would be honored.”
    I`d exceeded my weekly quota of hypocrisy. No more nicey nice. “We need to talk, Sonia. It`s important.”
    Anika moved to the edge of her seat, ready to do her part. “They serve tea at the Charles or something stronger if needed. Let`s go over there.” She smiled at Sonia. “I`m sure you could use a break. This must be a very difficult time.”
    Sonia was trapped between sweet Scylla and unrelenting Charybdis. She bowed gracefully and agreed. Before long we were packed into the Mercedes heading for Harvard Square. Driving in Cambridge is a nightmare at any time, but early afternoon is particularly challenging—unless you are Anika Swann. My mother-in-law executed deft turns and several illegal maneuvers that