Death Storms the Shore (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 4) (11 page)

Twenty-Three

Marlene was lying to the rent-a-cop stationed behind a window in the gatekeeper’s booth.

Lucy’s former residence had turned out to be in a condo
community
of bungalows, not unlike the old Hollywood bungalow colonies that Nathaniel West had immortalized. During the late thirties and early forties, many of the transplanted eastern writers, including F. Scott Fitzgerald and Dorothy Parker, who’d been brought to Los Angeles as script doctors, had lived in those small one-story houses with screened-in porches and casual charm.

“Sir, I assure you I have an appointment with a Realtor. The new owner in Lucy Diamond’s former condo wants to sell.” Marlene oozed charm.

“Mrs. Henratty? But she’s gone up north for the summer.”

A snowbird. They’d caught a break.

When the overweight, sixty-something guard could find no record of their names on his “to be admitted” list, Marlene blamed S. J. Corbin. “We’re supposed to meet her here. I guess she’s running late, but I’d really like to get in there and check out the grounds before she arrives.” Marlene actually batted her eyelashes.

Marlene’s boldfaced, if flawed, lies worked. Or maybe her flirting sealed the deal. The guard had heard of S.
J.
Corbin and, figuring there must have been a screw-up in communication, raised the bar and let them in. “Make a left off Rosebud Lane. It’s the second bungalow on the right.” Amazing. The poor guy was even giving them directions.

They drove through an enchanted garden-like setting. Bungalows in Easter-egg colors with kelly green lawns circled an impressive white wooden clubhouse in much the same way that the Hollywood bungalows often had surrounded large, glamorous hotels. Off to the right, a golf course sloped down toward the Intracoastal.

“Enough of the sightseeing,” Kate said. “The guard might wise up and come looking for us.”

“Nah. I told you if we dressed to kill, we’d get away with murder.” Marlene sounded annoyingly overconfident “And we have so far, haven’t we?”

“But...”

“Kate, in those pleated khakis and that white shirt you look like Katharine Hepburn—well, when she was much older, of course.”

What Marlene looked like defied description. A mango red silk caftan over skintight purple silk tights. Maybe a tomato topping an eggplant, Kate decided, rather uncharitably. However, they were designer duds and, sometimes, that was all it took to crash South Florida society. Or a SoBe mansion. Or Southern Trust’s inner sanctum. Or a bungalow colony.

“Besides,” Marlene said, giggling, “not to worry, I’ve besotted the guard.”

Shades of Pete Blake. God, what had dredged up that memory? That name? Kate hadn’t thought about Pete Blake in over fifty years. No, longer. Not since the summer she was thirteen. Sitting in the convertible, its top down and the warm afternoon sun on her face, she suddenly felt cold.

“What’s the matter, Kate? You’re shaking. Should I turn off the air conditioning?”

“Yes, along with the engine. Park the car, Marlene. We have detective work to do.”

Lucy’s former cottage was painted the exact same shade of lilac as the flowers growing in its pristine, white picket-fenced front yard. Upon closer inspection, Kate discovered the lilacs were plastic. What kind of a person would plant fake flowers? Obviously an owner who’d buy a bungalow in a condo community called End of the Rainbow.

“Yoo-hoo,” a sweet voice called. “Are y’all looking for Cordelia Henratty?”

A pretty blonde, youngish woman, maybe in her late forties, dressed in a crisply pressed pale pink organdy blouse and matching pants, stood in the doorway of the pastel pink bungalow next door. At least she didn’t have matching phony flowers in her garden. Those pink hibiscus were for real.

“We’re looking for our old, dear friend, Lucy Diamond,” Marlene said, sounding sweeter than the blonde neighbor. “Don’t tell me she doesn’t live here any longer.”

“She sure doesn’t.”

“And we’ve driven all the way down from New York.” Marlene segued from sweet to sad.

“Oh dear, Lucy moved out almost three years ago.” If the woman wondered how they’d gotten past the guard, or why they would have driven all that distance without double-checking where their
old, dear friend
currently resided, she showed no curiosity. “Went up north to Palmetto Beach. I have her contact information in my address book. Why don’t y’all come in for a glass of iced tea and I’ll give it to you?”

Like stealing candy from a baby. Still, Kate felt no guilt and almost no shame as she followed the woman into the bungalow.

Lots of Laura Ashley fabric, needlepoint pillows, and oak shelves filled with dolls dressed in couture gowns. Mary Frances would love this living room. Kate rather liked it herself.

“I’m Daphne DuBois.”

“I’m Stella and this is Blanche,” Marlene said, pointing to Kate.

Kate cringed.

“Like the sisters in
A Streetcar Named Desire
? Don’t tell me we share the same last name.” Daphne, no dope, had gotten the bad joke.

“This is my friend, Marlene Friedman, who thinks she’s funny. I’m Kate Kennedy,” she said, blowing their cover, but not their cover story.

“Did you know Lucy well?” Marlene asked.

Ka
te, not trusting Marlene to act as inquisitor, jumped in. “We’ve been worried about Lucy. Last we heard, she’d been dating a man who broke her heart.” Just enough truth to make them seem credible, Kate hoped.

“Oh, you mean Walt, the weatherman. A dirty hound dog. But he didn’t break Lucy’s heart.”

“He didn’t?” Kate didn’t have to feign surprise.

“She hated Walt; she only flirted to try and get the goods on him. She wanted him behind bars. Or worse. Y’all have to understand Lucy was obsessed, and her thirst for revenge seemed to go way back, though she never explained why. Or discussed what he’d done. How many times she’d say, over a scotch, ‘I’d sleep with the devil himself, if it would help me send him to hell.’”

Twenty-Four

“And everywhere that Nicky went, the snoops were sure to go.”

Kate and Marlene, full of iced tea and food for thought, had expressed gratitude to their hostess, closed the bungalow’s rose-colored front door, and were squinting in the bright sunshine.

Nick Carbone, yet again catching them playing detective, sounded fed up and furious. And unnecessarily snide, Kate thought, though she couldn’t come up with a response.

Marlene mumbled, “Sorry,” clearly not apologizing for snooping, but regretting she hadn’t gotten away with it

“I’ve been one step behind since your visit to Weatherwise’s place in SoBe. You two old broads really snowed young Mr. Moose. He had no idea you’d graduated summa cum laude from Miss Marple’s campus in St. Whatever-the-hell-village she lived in. I’d have made it here before you, but I miscalculated your game plan and stopped by the courthouse first.”

“Bet we learned more by coming straight here. Always go with neighbors before coworkers,” Marlene said, in a smart-aleck tone that used to drive Charlie crazy.

Kate wanted to kick her, but couldn’t with Carbone watching their every move.

“Listen, Marlene,” Nick said, “you’re about one word away from being arrested for impeding a police investigation.” His face flushed scarlet and a vein bulged at his temple.

“We’re on our way home.” Kate grabbed Marlene’s arm. She considered adding “We were only trying to help,” but since he appeared ready to burst a blood vessel, she figured they should just get out of his sight. As quickly as possible.

The detective strode past them and knocked on Daphne’s door. Feeling guilty and, yes, sorry, Kate wondered if he’d ask the right questions.

“Are you mad at me?” Marlene asked.

They’d compromised and were driving home on Federal Highway. Not a smart decision. The traffic, with almost as many trucks as I-95, had come to a complete halt.

In the hot afternoon sun, they had the convertible’s top up and the air on full blast.

“Must be an accident ahead,” Kate said, ignoring Marlene’s question. She did feel angry. Marlene always chose the damnedest times to assert herself, with no regard for the consequences. “Maybe we should get off and take the beach road.”

“I’ll try to get in the right lane as soon as the traffic start
s moving, and we’ll head east.” Marlene managed to sound both conciliatory and impatient. “Are you annoyed because I aggravated Nick Carbone?” Marlene wasn’t going to drop it.

“Well, yes, weren’t we in enough trouble without you raising his blood pressure?”

“Don’t worry, Kate. He still likes you. You could be dating him if…”

“If what?” The words spilled out before she could edit them. Leave it to Marlene to twist things around. And why had Kate just given her diversion credence?

“If you’d just get over Charlie and open yourself up to new experiences.”

“You don’t just get over forty-six years, Marlene. It’s not like the flu.” Kate’s voice broke. She bit her lip, wishing she were anywhere except trapped in traffic with her sister-in-law.

“Okay, you’re right. I was out of line. I’ll call Carbone and apologize...for real.” She reached over and patted Kate’s knee. “And I’m sorry if I upset you. You know I only want you to be happy.”

As she’d done for decades, Kate decided to move on. Sometimes she wondered if there would ever be a time when she couldn’t forgive Marlene. What would happen? How would Marlene handle it? How would Kate?

For now, Kate nodded.

And Marlene, as she’d done for decades, changed the subject. “So was Lucy Diamond a woman spurned or a woman obsessed? Either way the result would have been the same. She wanted Weatherwise in jail, right?”

“The result might have been the same, but not the motivation. Why would Lucy tell me that sad story of unrequited love? Why wouldn’t she have told me that she’d duped Walt and only flirted to set him up? Why stage a performance to convince me otherwise?”

“Strange.” Marlene veered into the right lane.

“Maybe not. If Lucy’s motive for seducing then turning on Weatherwise had preceded his financial shenanigans in Miami, perhaps Lucy had reason to hide that motive.”

“Or maybe Daphne had been misinformed—or, for some reason, misinformed us—about Lucy and Walt’s relationship.”

Kate shook her head. “I don’t think so. I had a feeling that Lucy was acting in my apartment last night. That she acts a lot.”

At the next light, Marlene made a right and headed east toward the beach. “She’s an attorney. They’re all actors.”

“Well, Bob Seeley deserves an Academy Award. He never let on he’d known Weatherwise before he moved to Ocean Vista, never mind that his bad advice had cost the weatherman millions of dollars.”

“Or not,” Marlene said. “More likely those two old crooks made millions, then stashed the dough in an offshore account, even if Lucy couldn’t prove it.”

“That’s the real mystery,” Kate said. “Why couldn’t she prove it?”

The opening bars of “
As Time Goes By”
filled the convertible. Kate grabbed her bag and scrambled to find her cell phone. “Hi, this is Kate Kennedy.”

“Kate, it’s Mary Frances.”

Kate whispered to Marlene, “Mary Frances.”

“I’m wondering where you are right now.”

“Marlene and I are driving up A1A, heading home from Miami.” Kate peered out the window. The sea had turned navy blue and the waves looked rough. “We’re about fifteen minutes south of Hollywood Beach.”

“Good. Thank God,” Mary Frances sighed. “Do you think you could pick me up at the airport? You’re only about thirty minutes a
way. I can wait.”

“What? You mean Fort Lauderdale Airport? You’re home?”

“She’s here?” Marlene asked.

Kate waved a hand to silence her.

“Yes, I called Joe Sajak, but he’s up in Palm Beach.” Mary Frances sounded sad, on the verge of tears. “Could you please come get me? Delta Airlines terminal. Please.”

“We’re on our way,” Kate said.

Marlene groaned.

“Oh,” Mary Frances said, “do you have the radio on?”

Puzzled, Kate said, “No. Why?”

‘Turn it on. They predicting another hurricane. And saying it could be as bad as Andrew.”

Twenty-Five

Monday, July 24, Fifty-Six Years Ago

It was inevitable—Kate’s new favorite word—that she’d run into Marlene. Jackson Heights might be part of New York City, but it was a neighborhood, their neighborhood. Of course, Marlene lived right next door, but Kate just
knew
they’d be destined to meet in the lobby of one of the town’s five movie theaters. It turned out to be their least favorite, the Polk.

On Monday nights, the Polk Theater gave away free dishes. One per customer. Maggie never missed, often dragging Kate and Etta along, so they could bring home three cereal bowls. Kate figured if they all attended B movies every Monday night for the next twenty years, her mother might end up with service for twelve. Maggie, however, took a more optimistic point of view. “Just one more cup and two more saucers and I can serve four people tea.”

“Oh, Mom, do I really have to go?” Kate knew her protest wouldn’t deter Maggie from her mission. Her mother had fallen in love with those god-awful, ugly, olive-green dishes. And her grandmother had begged off, citing one of her bilious attacks, a vague stomach complaint that Kate had long suspected occurred on cue when Etta didn’t want to do something.

“Yes. Bread-and-butter plates, tonight.” Her mother shook, then folded, the tablecloth. “Go brush your teeth and change your blouse. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

“What’s wrong with my blouse?” Kate loved her ruffled peasant blouse. She always loosened the drawstring at the neckline and dropped the sleeves off her shoulders as soon as she left the house.

“It’s too bare. The movie is air-conditioned, Kate. A shirtwaist would be better.”

Kate suspected the air conditioning had little to do with why her mother had dictated what her daughter should wear. Living with Maggie Norton was like living under Stalin.

Ladies from Corona, in cotton, flower-patterned housedresses, cluttered the small lobby. The Polk, on Thirty-seventh Avenue and Ninety-fourth Street, was only a short walk from Junction Boulevard, the dividing line between Jackson Heights and Corona.

Kate stared at the bow in the back of one woman’s apron-like dress. And her mother had been worried about Kate’s peasant blouse.

“Give me a break, Mom. That lady over there with the tight perm looks like a field of lilies on parade.”

“Lower your voice, Katharine. It’s rude to comment on what other people wear.”

“Never stopped you, Mom.”

“Enough.” Her mother sounded annoyed, but her blue eyes were smiling. “Do you want a box of nonpareils?”

A peace offering. Kate loved the little chocolate drops, topped with white sprinkles.

“Sure. Thanks.”

Standing in front of the narrow counter at the refreshment stand, Kate ordered, then felt a poke in the middle of her spine. “It’s good to see your favorite candy hasn’t changed.” Marlene’s laughter filled the small lobby.

She spun around, smiling, saying, “Hi, Marlene,” her voice tinny.

“I’m here as a stand-in for my mother. She and my dad are sitting with the dead. Well, with my aunt, who’s alive; it’s my uncle who’s dead. I’m excused tonight to get Mom a bread-and-butter plate.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Marlene,” Maggie said. “Your father’s sister’s husband, right? I heard he’d been ill. Please give your parents my condolences.”

Kate could almost hear the click in her mother’s brain, as she made a mental note to buy a sympathy card. Emily Post has always been Maggie Norton’s favorite columnist. Mom often started sentences, “According to Emily Post,” and finished them with, “and that certainly applies to you, Kate.”

“My mother thought you could walk me home, Mrs. Norton,” Marlene said, almost hesitantly.

“Of course, Marlene,” Maggie said, “and you’ll sit with us too. Now how about a Milky Way? That’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

Midway through the coming attractions, Marlene had Kate laughing. They whispered during the
Three Stooges
short, since neither the girls nor Maggie could stand the slapstick routines.

By the time they reached the lobby, dissecting
Destination Moon
,
the better of the two B pictures, they’d decided to fly to the moon when they grew up, figuring space travel would be as accessible as the subway.

They stepped out of air conditioning and into humidity. Kate could feel her hair turn to frizz. With her mother in the middle, they walked three abreast on the avenue.

Marlene, who’d grown quiet, mumbled, “I’m sorry, Kate. I acted like a real jerk with Pete Blake, who turned out to be a skunk.”

How about that? An apology. Out of the blue. Or maybe not. The pleased smile lighting up her mother’s face made Kate wonder if the entire evening had been a setup.

“How about an ice cream soda at Wolke’s, kind of a nightcap?” Maggie asked.

Any other time Kate would have jumped at the invitation, but she wanted to get home and wash her hair. Her curls were out of control. She had a luncheon engagement with Mr. Provakov and Sophie at the Russian Tea Room tomorrow. How special was that? Their estimated time of departure from Queens was eleven thirty a.m.
Kate wanted her mother to set those stubborn curls in bobby pins; then she’d keep the pins in overnight, and wake up with waves. Still, if she didn’t go for a soda, Marlene would think she hadn’t accepted her apology.

“Great,” Kate said, thinking she’d have to get up at the crack of dawn to wash and dry her hair.

Marlene seemed so pleased to be going to the ice cream parlor that Kate decided the inconvenience
might
be worth it. But if her hair looked fuzzy tomorrow, she
might
change her mind.

Wolke’s was located next to Brady’s, an Irish bar and grill on Ninetieth Street, steps away from the entrance to the subway on Roosevelt Avenue. Weary office workers could come down the staircase, make a right, and pop into Brady’s for a cocktail or a beer before heading home. The Norton family often ate dinner there on Friday nights. Delicious filet of sole, French fries, and coleslaw.

As Kate followed her mother and Marlene into the ice cream parlor, she noticed a man and a woman leaving the bar. She stopped short. The woman was Sophie’s mother. The tall, younger man was the same guy who’d been with Mrs. Provakov last week at her apartment house door when she’d ignored Sophie and Kate.

Good God! Could Mrs. Provakov be like Lana Turner in
The Postman Always Rings Twice
? Or Barbara Stanwyck in
Double Indemnity
? Could Sophie’s mother be having an affair?