Death Rides the Surf (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 5) (2 page)

Thr
ee

Ballou always knew
when Kate needed comforting. She hung up after talking to Marlene and the little white Westie settled in at her feet, licking her left hand.

Though Kate hated to admit it, Marlene might be right about Katharine. The girl had been acting strangely ever since she started college. No wait, even before that. Ever since late July when Katharine had returned from a week in Acapulco. On the telephone, her bouncy voice had taken on an edge of sadness and the stories she’d once shared so openly with her grandmother seemed edited.

Maybe all teenagers abridged their adventures sooner or later. Still, Kate had sensed a secretiveness that might well have stemmed from a budding romance. Had Katharine met a man in Mexico? Kate thought about a young woman who’d vanished while vacationing in Acapulco over the summer. Her mother was still all over TV, pleading for information. God, that could have been Katharine.

Kate petted Ballou, running her fingers through his soft fur, grateful for his devotion. His feelings were never shrouded in secrecy.

Kate sighed. Stop it. What had she expected? To be privy to her granddaughter’s sex life? She felt herself flush, watching her pale arm redden, the fine hairs standing straight up. Odd how only the hair on her head had turned silver while all her other body hair remained chestnut.

Here she was, staring at seventy, and Marlene could still strike a nerve with a crack about Kate’s seventeenth summer. God, would she never grow up? Would she be worrying about what had or hadn’t happened a lifetime ago?

She wondered if Marlene ever regretted her past, then realized there weren’t enough hours in a day for her former sister-in-law to properly reflect on her long-ago transgressions. Kate laughed out loud, startling Ballou.

“Come on, Ballou, we’re having company. Katharine’s going to stay with us.” The Westie loved her granddaughter. Kate could picture his excitement when the girl arrived. “Let’s go make up the guest room bed.”

Her white-on-white condo, decorated by Edmund, a doctor who moonlighted as an interior designer and her son Peter’s partner, was as neat as if an anal-retentive owned it. Kate sighed; maybe one did. Bottom line: there were worse faults than always being prepared for a house guest. She would have to make a quick trip to the supermarket in the morning. Katharine liked bacon and eggs for breakfast.

And she’d call her son and daughter-in-law in the morning too. From what Marlene had said, Katharine was in her guest room, either sound asleep or feigning it, and Kevin and Jennifer weren’t yet aware that their daughter had left New York. No sense getting everyone upset at bedtime.

A half hour later, Kate sat in an ecru terry cloth chaise on the balcony, sipping decaffeinated Lipton tea, Ballou at her side. A diamond tiara of stars sparkled atop a gold harvest moon in an inky sky, like priceless jewels displayed against a black velvet drape.

Chilled, she zipped up her blue cotton sweater, then reached for the teacup. How often had she shivered in South Florida? She could only recall one other time, that first lonely New Year’s Eve after Charlie had died, when the sounds of revelers drifting up from the rec room and the bright moon and twinkling stars had left her cold and depressed.

Why had Katharine gone to Marlene? Kate felt hurt and, yes, damn it, jealous. The phone rang. Jumping up, she tripped over an indigent Ballou, dropping her favorite teacup, spilling its contents, covering her bare foot with tepid tea. But the Belleek cup didn’t break. “Thank God for small favors,” Kate said, her voice so cranky, Ballou stopped yelping.

“Hello,” she grumbled into the phone, standing on one foot while trying to dry the other with a paper napkin, contorting her body into what felt like an advanced yoga position.

“And a pleasant good evening to you too, Kate.” Nick Carbone, the oldest homicide detective in the Palmetto Beach Police Department, maybe the oldest in America, mocked her tone.

“It’s after ten, Nick. Evening has turned into night.” Gracious, wasn’t she?

“And at your age, I guess you need your beauty sleep.”

Ouch. Though overweight and often overbearing, Carbone was about a decade younger than Kate; tonight that statistic bothered her more than usual.

“Though I think you look great.” He seemed sincere. Could that be possible? “Er, can you have lunch with me tomorrow? I thought we’d try Sea Watch. You like it there, right?”

How did Nick know that? She couldn’t recall ever having mentioned it. And how could she say yes? Go out to lunch on Katharine’s first day with her? If Kate accepted, it would be their third date, if what they were doing could be called dating. What the hell were they doing? A short, slim widow with enough mileage to accurately be described as a little old lady, still missing her dead husband, and a fat know-it-all detective with two ex-wives, fighting against retirement like Don Quixote tilting at windmills.

“Kate?” Nick’s voice, Brooklyn brusque at best, sounded strained to the breaking point.

A surge of mixed messages flashed through Kate’s mind, then tumbled off her tongue. “My granddaughter Katharine’s here. At Marlene’s, but she’ll be with me tomorrow. I hate to leave her, but I would like to have lunch with you.” Would she? She supposed so.

“Bring Katharine along, if she doesn’t have other plans.” Nick’s voice had softened and was far less tense. “She’s the redhead, right?”

“Yes, she looks just like her grandfather.” Great, Kate, remind your
suitor
that you’re still in love with your dead husband. Well, why not? She was, wasn’t she?

“Okay. Let’s see how it shakes out.” The edge had returned. “Give me a call tomorrow morning. The early snowbirds have arrived. We’ll need a reservation if we’re going to Sea Watch.” Nick hesitated, then added, “And why don’t you invite Marlene too?”

A generous offer. Four for lunch at Sea Watch didn’t come cheap. And dragging her granddaughter and sister-in-law along made it definitely not a date.

“Thanks, Nick. That’s very kind.” She smiled as she heard the warmth in her own voice. “I’ll call you either way.”

She felt even better when Nick’s good-bye returned the warmth.

The breeze coming from the open balcony door fluttered the sheer curtains. Kate put down the phone and stepped outside, straightening the cushion on the chaise and gathering up the teacup and saucer.

“Don’t be stupid, man.” A voice from the beach, loud and clear in the still of the night. A voice with a Cuban accent.

Kate crossed to the stone railing and stared out across Ocean Vista’s swimming pool to the Atlantic. Rough tonight. She could hear waves crashing against the shore. The full moon served as a giant flashlight. Its glow, together with the lamps around the pool, softly illuminated the beach. She could make out two surfers and their surfboards at the water’s edge.

The handsome Cuban and the surly, good-looking blond belonged to a group who called themselves the Four Boardsmen of the Apocalypse. They’d appeared about a month ago, chasing waves and driving Ocean Vista’s owners crazy; however, since the beach belonged to the town of Palmetto Beach, the young men had as much right to ride the surf as the seniors had to swim or, in most cases, wade.

It must be close to midnight. Why would they be surfing at this hour?

A redhead ran along the shore, joined the boys, and wrapped her arms around the blond. Kate started. The moon shone on her granddaughter’s face as Katharine locked lips with the surly surfer.

Four

One day earlier, Sunday, October 29

“I’m telling you, Marlene, Katharine was out on the beach at midnight.” Kate pressed her Lipton tea bag against the china cup with such force it broke, scattering tiny leaves that floated on top of her tea like unwanted sprinkles on an ice cream cone. “I watched her from my balcony, cuddling up to that blond surfer, you know, the cute one, not the part-time lifeguard. Why does he surf in the middle of the night?”

She stood, crossed to the sink, dumped the tea, rinsed the cup, and started the brewing process from scratch. She’d just returned from church and felt guilty about her anger and resentment, though not enough for an attitude adjustment.

“Maybe the waves are better.” Marlene stirred her coffee, her voice several decibels lower than usual. Katharine was still sleeping.

The sun streamed through the window in Marlene’s kitchen, brightening the room but not Kate’s mood.

After the second of last summer’s two back-to-back hurricanes, Marlene’s flooded condo had been completely renovated. But it hadn’t taken Marlene, who’d dramatically downsized prior to the hurricanes, selling off her “treasures” from the fifties at the Palmetto Beach Flea Market, long to fill her new red, white, and blue kitchen with “more contemporary treasures.” Kate had decided the eclectic look, while way too colorful for her taste, was not unattractive.

“Didn’t you hear her go out?” Kate added a splash of milk, then sat down again at the washed pine table and reached for a bagel. She sounded critical, but she didn’t care.

“I was watching
Leave Her to Heaven
. God, that Gene Tierney was a bitch.”

“Focus, Marlene.” Kate spread strawberry jam on one half of her bagel. She had no appetite, but these were freshly baked Einstein bagels, her favorite. Mary Frances Costello, a former nun and current Broward County tango champion, had dropped them off on her way up to her condo after the seven thirty mass.

“I am focusing.” She sounded defensive. “I didn’t hear her. So sue me.”

Marlene wore a scarlet kimono that flattered her large frame, but her face, minus makeup, looked drawn, her platinum twist, usually unflappable, floundered, and several stray strands flopped about. Marlene frowned, pushing a bobby pin back into place.

“Katharine kissed him. If your theory is correct, that surly surfer must be the man she came here to find.” Kate took a small bite, thinking an Einstein’s bagel was almost as good as a New York bagel.

“She kissed him, huh?” Marlene smirked.

“You needn’t look so pleased.”

“Listen, Kate, your granddaughter’s eighteen. Do you think he’s the first guy she ever kissed?”

That was exactly what Kate thought, but she decided not to defend Katharine right now. She had too many questions and she needed Marlene’s help. “If Katharine did come here because of that surfer, how do they know each other? Where could they have met?”

“Isn’t that Fort Lauderdale’s claim to fame?
Where the Boys Are.
”
Marlene sang, smiling. A smug smile, Kate thought. “Katharine could have met him right here.”

Kate shook her head. “She just arrived last night.”

“Well, that’s what she said.” Marlene took another sip of coffee. “But maybe she’s been down here a few days. Maybe she met surfer boy on the strip.”

“Impossible. Jennifer calls Katharine every day. She’d know if her daughter had left New York.”

“Would she?” Marlene taunted, seeming to enjoy playing devil’s advocate. Did Marlene realize how much she was annoying Kate? Sometimes they acted as if they were still six years old, trying to out-hopscotch each other. “Katharine has a cell phone. She could have been answering from God-only-knows where when her mother called.” Score one for Marlene.

“Or try this.” Marlene, seemingly full of possibilities, rolled right on. “It’s fall break. Maybe Jennifer and Kevin think Katharine’s off visiting a friend.”

Stumped and bothered by Marlene’s scenarios, Kate said, “Katharine doesn’t lie.” Even before Marlene arched her right eyebrow, Kate realized her granddaughter’s lie of omission would now force Kate and Marlene to lie to Jennifer and Kevin.

Marlene laughed. “She’s lying like crazy, Kate. And we need to find out the truth. Those surfers are sleazy. We can’t have her befriending or bedding any of them. Though I have to admit the Cuban’s mighty cute.”

“How did Katharine get out of the condo and back in after her rendezvous on the beach last night?” Kate turned on the burner under the teakettle. She needed—no, she
craved
—the caffeine. “Miss Mitford locks up tighter than Fort Knox. Does our sentinel ever sleep?”

“She goes home at nine, sometimes ten, and is back at eight the next morning. I keep telling the board we’re going to get in trouble over those long hours.” Marlene had served as president of Ocean Vista’s board of directors. Like most Broward County condo presidents, she’d taken her job very seriously.

“So Mitford couldn’t have seen her or buzzed her back in.”

“My key ring was on the table in the foyer.” Marlene looked at the clutter and laughed. “Though how Katharine could have spotted it under all the mess remains a mystery. The girl must have her grandmother’s genes.”

Kate laughed too. It felt good. “Well, her grandfather was a homicide detective.”

“No. I think she’s a natural-born snoop like you.”

“Is the key ring there now?”

“Yes, but with all the unopened bills, junk mail, straw hats, sunscreen bottles, and six copies of
People,
I can’t tell if it’s where I put it.” Marlene eyed the junk piled on her kitchen table and shrugged.

“Right.” Kate nodded, but didn’t react. She’d gotten past her sister-in-law’s constant state of clutter four or five decades ago.

“Should we just be direct with Katharine? Tell her you saw her kissing Blondie on the beach? Maybe we could startle the truth out of her.”

“Have you two been spying on me?” Katharine stood in the doorway, a scowl on her flushed freckled face and venom coating her question.