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

delivered us to the valet at the Charles Hotel in reasonably good condition. Sonia seemed a bit shell-shocked but none the worse for wear.
    We chose the famously cool bar Noir for our discussion. If they served tea, we missed it. Instead each of us chose a cocktail and a vegetarian panini. I`m not much of a drinker, but the names of those concoctions would tempt even Carrie Nation.
    After perusing the menu, Anika chose a Quicksand while Sonia opted for a Black Dahlia. Since I was the least adventurous of our trio it was Crimson Sangria for me.
    “Delightful,” Anika said, sipping her drink, “but potent. I`ll have to watch myself.”
    Sonia seemed oblivious to the history behind the Black Dahlia. She was too absorbed in slurping the tasty brew to consider Elizabeth Short, tragically murdered in the famous nineteen forty-seven case. Come to think of it, Sonia was a brunette beauty, not unlike the ill-fated actress. I shivered, thinking of the parallels.
    “We know about your book contract,” I said. “Keegan told us.”
    Sonia blanched. “I don`t know what to say. I know I should have told you about it, but I was too embarrassed. Sorrel handled the details.”
    Anika nibbled the crust of her panini. “I`m surprised that Duff agreed to it. Rather conflicts with her principles, wouldn`t you say? Yours as well.”
    Sonia shook her head. “You didn`t know her. Duff played the innocent, but she was ambitious. Determined to make her way whatever the cost. Greedy for money, too.”
    I gave thought to my next question. Sonia was sipping her second Black Dahlia and losing her inhibitions. Time to strike.
    “And you?” I asked. “What about your reputation? Academics can be horribly venal.”
    A boozy grin spread over Sonia’s face. “Screw them. Every one of them. Let them deny me tenure or even fire me. I really don`t care.”
    That bit of candor floored me. “I don`t get it. Why involve me in this book project?”
    I pushed away my sangria, trying desperately to clear my head. This drama had a bizarre, down-the-rabbit-hole quality to it, and the wine packed a wallop on an empty stomach. Anika was untouched. She slowly sipped her Quicksand undeterred by alcohol or doubt.
    Sonia’s cackle had the brittle sound of breaking glass. “You were the perfect choice, Eja. As a published author and Brown graduate you command respect. Your family connections didn`t hurt either.”
    Anika bristled at that. “I beg your pardon. Which connections do you mean?”
    “Gabriel, of course. It`s always been about Gabriel.” Sonia gulped a slug of liquor and burped. “Don`t you see? He mocked me, and nobody gets away with that. Nobody. Just ask Melanie. She hates his guts too.”
    A sliver of light pierced my foggy brain. “I get it. My involvement put the imprimatur on your lookism crusade and hurt his credibility.”
    Sonia nodded. “And if they deny me tenure, I have another ace up my sleeve. Guess what that is? I haven`t told anyone before—even Sorrel.”
    We stared at her, unwilling to beg for scraps. I suspected her ace was academic freedom, an old chestnut that sanctioned a host of abuses. Throw in charges of sexism and racism, and Sonia had the makings of a lawsuit. Universities loathe that kind of fuss—it discourages donors.
    Sonia took another mighty gulp of liquor. Although her eyes were glassy, her voice was rock steady.
    “You know all about backup data. Academics and authors use it in case anyone challenges their version of truth.” Sonia’s grin was poisonous. “I have it too—photos, recordings, texts—the works. Believe me, no one wants that uploaded to some unprincipled scandal site.”
    “Really?” I purged my voice of shock or judgment.
    Another smirk from Sonia. “Oh yes, Ms. Kane. Most are merely kinky, but at least one person could face criminal charges if that information got out.”
    “You forgot something, Sonia.” Anika’s voice was calm and clear.
    “What? I`m pretty good at considering