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

was leading a double life.”
    Deming stroked his chin. “Hmm. A quisling, huh? Makes sense. Lots more interesting than the mousey creature wearing a potato sack. Of course, there`s another way to interpret this.”
    “How?”
    “She hints at some pretty kinky stuff. Somehow, that doesn`t sound like Duff. Not to be sexist, but she was scarcely the garter belt and thong type. Let`s face it, the girl was huge.”
    “That`s so mean,” I said. “No wonder most women suffer from a poor body image. Even starlets and models. That`s the appeal of this lookism crusade.”
    Deming took my hand and pulled me toward him. “Not you, Eja. You are absolutely gorgeous.”
    If only he knew. Like most women, I winced at bad photos and viewed mirrors and scales as potential enemies. No matter how many compliments Deming gave me or professional accolades I earned, doubts always lingered. Beautiful broads prospered in life, but plain ones lagged behind. Gabriel had taught me that.
    I got a sudden brainstorm. “You know, there`s another site I should check. Academia.edu . University types share their papers and follow research studies on it. That kind of thing. Maybe Duff did too.”
    Deming laughed. “I have one that`s a lot more fun. Based on this Worm in the Apple , stuff, this site might be more apropos.” He held out his hand. “Come on. We`ll check it together. Could be interesting.”
    We lounged on the leather sofa in his office with Cato perched on a nearby cushion. “Okay,” Deming said. “Now, first a disclaimer. I`ve never personally checked this one out so I can`t vouch for anything on it. Could be pretty raunchy.”
    That aroused my curiosity and something more. “No problem. We`re both consenting adults. Go for it.”
    Deming typed Fetlife.com into his iPad, and a brand new world opened up.
    “Dear Lord!” I said. “What is this thing?”
    Deming chortled. “This, little girl, is the preserve of the BDSM and fetish community—the organized kinks of society. Look at the number of users—over two million. Obviously, there`s a demand for this sort of stuff.”
    “Not by me,” I said. “Ugh. Why would someone wear a bridle and saddle?”
    “The better to ride you with, my dear. Hey, it`s BDSM—bondage, dominance, and sadomasochism. Not my kind of thing, but the big question is this: was it Duff Ryder’s fantasy or someone else`s reality? Maybe someone she knew or wrote about.”
    “Don`t join their site,” I begged. “We might get on some pervert`s list.”
    Our email was already surfeited with sleazy messages about Viagra, although Deming Swann was the last man on earth who needed an aphrodisiac.
    “Think for a minute,” he said. “What screen name would Duff use?”
    That was a tough one to process. In one day I`d gone from regarding Duff as a naïve, innocent student to envisioning her as a mistress of the dark arts.
    “Try Easy Ryder,” I said, hoping I was wrong.
    Fortunately, the system rejected that name, and I heaved a gigantic sigh of relief. Maybe Duff had an active imagination. After all, fiction allows an author to flex her moral muscles and escape convention. Bondage, dominance—Deming was no de Sade, and I was certainly no Charlotte Corday. The whole thing creeped me out. I shivered thinking of the antics described so vividly in Worm in the Apple .
    “Don`t be a prude,” Deming chided. “This is research. After all, you insisted on getting involved.” He wagged his finger at me. “Just don`t get adventurous unless I`m here. More fun that way.”
    “Oh ha, ha. You should have your own peep show. I`ve had enough for the night.” I jumped up and headed for our bedroom. “A nice hot shower is what I need after all this.”
    A slow, sensuous smile lit up Deming’s face.
    “Go on. I`ll be right in to join you.”
    SONIA MADE MY task easy. She contacted me early the next morning begging for my help. In a hoarse voice, barely above a whisper, she pleaded, “Eja, now I really need you.