Death Storms the Shore (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 4) (6 page)

Eleven

The Present

“I’m waiting, Mrs. Kennedy.” Detective Parker tapped a yellow pencil’s eraser on his desk.

Should she bluff? How much did the detective know? Kate still wasn’t sure what she knew herself. Or if her unwelcome memories from more than fifty-five years ago could be connected to Uncle Weatherwise’s murder.

The phone on Parker’s desk rang, a shrill ring, jarring Kate, making her jump.

“Parker.” He sounded angry.

Kate felt sorry for the caller who’d interrupted the detective’s interrogation.

As Parker growled, “Yes,” a frightened Kate tried to plot her next move.

Parker listened for a full minute, then said, “I’ll check that out, then see you later.” He stood and pointed his right index finger at Kate. “Go, home, Mrs. Kennedy. I’ll drop by your condo tonight.”

Kate spotted a wan Marlene pacing the waiting room. Her sister-in-law managed a weak smile. “Come on, Kate, let’s use our get-out-of-jail-free cards and head back east where we belong.” Marlene’s spunky attitude had disappeared, along with her good humor. Kate more than empathized.

They drove east toward Ocean Vista in silence, the old Chevy’s top down, the sun on their faces, and the last of the hurricane’s wind now only a cool breeze.

Kate sat and stewed, afraid she’d be found out, not sure how her behavior during that long-ago summer could be connected to the weatherman’s murder, but afraid it was. And what about Marlene? Quiet didn’t become her.

As if reading Kate’s mind—that happened a lot—Marlene broke the silence. “Kate, I think that cop and the judge kept me in court so long on purpose, you know, treating me like a felon, so I couldn’t be with you. I’d bet Detective Parker set the whole thing up to be sure you’d be alone when he grilled you.”

“How could Parker know you’d run a red light?” Kate asked, wondering if Marlene could be right.

“Believe me, that traffic cop had his orders. He’d have found some reason to detain me.”

“Well, as it turned out, I didn’t get grilled. Parker answered his phone and, though he sounded annoyed, whoever called took precedence. I was summarily dismissed. He said he’d drop by tonight.”

“That’s strange,” Marlene said.

“Strange?”

“Why would Parker have taken a phone call when he was so hot on questioning you? He must have recognized the caller ID or else he’d left instructions with the desk officer to put someone through. Someone important. Another suspect?”

“Another? You believe I’m a suspect?”

Marlene laughed. “Not me, but Parker does. I just don’t understand why.”

Kate understood too well. Parker knew something about her past—or thought he did. What she’d done all those decades ago was hard to explain, even to herself. The guilt may have ebbed, but it never quite receded. Could Weatherwise have been...

“Kate, where are you? Lost in some daydream?” Marlene sounded impatient. “I asked you a question.”

“Sorry, tell me again.” More like a nightmare.

Debris, waiting to be picked up, cluttered both sides of I-95. An abandoned car abutted the highest pile.

“Should we call Mary Frances? Fill her in about the hurricane?” Marlene jerked her head toward the abandoned car. “Let her know Ocean Vista weathered the storm, that her dolls survived?”

“We can’t call. She’s on retreat in a cloistered convent. No phone calls. We can write.”

“Email?”

“No, a letter. The nuns—a really strict order of Carmelites—don’t have a computer. I’ll write to her this afternoon.”

“Well, I bet they have no TV either.” Marlene shook her head. “Maybe Mary Frances doesn’t even know we had a hurricane.”

“Reverend Mother would read the morning newspaper and give the community a summary report after prayers. Mary Frances might be worried about her collection and her condo. I’ll use FedEx.”

“It’s all so crazy. Why would Mary Frances Costello, Broward County’s reigning tango champion and the designated sexpot of Ocean Vista,” Marlene’s voice took on an edge, “go off on a spiritual quest to discover whether or not she should lose her virginity? It’s a no-brainer. Despite that red hair and great figure, the woman’s over sixty. If not now, when?”

“Well, she
is
a former nun, Marlene. That’s why she’s back in Wisconsin; she’s having an identity crisis. Mary Frances may be sixty, but in her heart, her soul, she’s still sixteen.”

“Show me a sixteen-year-old virgin and I’ll spend a month in contemplation myself.” Marlene giggled. “But not in a computerless convent in Wisconsin. How would I get on Last Romance?”

Kate laughed too, glad that Marlene had snapped out of her funk. Now if she could just snap out of hers.

An hour later, Kate and Marlene were walking on the beach with Ballou, amazed at how much of the cleanup had been completed.

Though Kate held the leash, the Westie led them. Today’s destination, north toward the Neptune Boulevard pier.

“Ladies, please wait up a moment.” Bob Seeley’s voice sounded even more querulous than usual.

Kate spun around as Ballou kept moving forward, almost losing her foothold in the sand. “Sit, Ballou.” Fat chance.

The frail man appeared nervous. “Marlene, as Ocean Vista’s chair of finance, I need to report some important information to our president.”

Kate swallowed a giggle. Poor Bob. Such deference. You’d think Marlene was president of the United States.

“Yes, Bob, please give your report,” Marlene said, sounding as if she were.

“A bid has been made on Walt Weatherwise’s apartment. The offer comes from S. J. Corbin. And not for a client. Ms. Corbin wishes to reside here herself. Or so she says. Rather odd, since she already ha
s a mansion on the Intracoastal.”

Ballou struggled; Kate stumbled, but held firm. The light wind scattered sand on her terry cloth cover-up.

Marlene smiled. “Great. S. J. Corbin’s the biggest Realtor in Broward County. Maybe she wants a pied-à-terre on the ocean. Whatever. Ocean Vista’s hot. The body isn’t even cold, and the most successful woman in the county wants to buy Walt’s condo.”

“That’s the problem, Marlene.” Bob sounded grave. “The offer arrived early this morning before the news of Uncle Weatherwise’s death went public. Before S. J. Corbin or anyone else, except for Kate and the police, could have known there was a body.”

Twelve

“The killer knew,” Kate said, spearing a coconut shrimp. “Maybe after murdering Weatherwise, he or she called S. J. Corbin. For God’s sake, Bob made it sound as if I called her. As if I might have pierced Uncle Weatherwise’s heart.” She stabbed a second shrimp.

“Nah. Bob doesn’t believe that.” Marlene poured more melted butter on her lobster tail. “Who knows? Could the killer have been on commission, working for Corbin’s firm, and decided to phone in a hot lead?” She adjusted her bib, just in time to blot the dripping butter. “Or could S. J. Corbin be the killer?”

Kate sniffed. “Or could Bob Seeley want you and our other neighbors to question my behavior in order to cast suspicion away from himself?”

“I know you overheard him threaten Walt, but come on, Kate. Can you picture prissy old Bob plunging a weather vane into another old blowhard’s heart?”

Their favorite local haunt, the Neptune Inn, hadn’t opened today, the staff still mopping up. Kate and Marlene had gone south to Sea Watch, more upscale and much dryer.

They’d both ordered cosmopolitans, served in art deco glasses. The seafood was, as Marlene had promised, to die for. And they had a beautiful view of the twilight over the ocean. Kate should have felt mellow; instead, she felt belligerent.

“Money might be the motive. I’ve never seen Bob like that before.” Kate replayed the conversation she’d overheard in the school gym. “Desperate. In a rage. And Weatherwise threatened Bob.”

“Bob appears too well bred to kill a roach. Still, he did try to sell us that cockamamie story about Rosie’s tote bag.” Marlene hailed a waiter. “Another round, please.”

“Not for me,” Kate protested. “Detective Parker is supposed to drop by tonight, though he hasn’t called yet.” She fingered her cell phone, at the ready next to her bread plate.

“If you don’t drink yours, I will.” Marlene waved the waiter away.

“Then I’m driving.” Less than a mile to Ocean Vista, but Kate wouldn’t chance it, not with Marlene at the wheel after having downed three cocktails the size of Cleveland.

“Okay,” Marlene said, then finished her first round. “What about Lucy Diamond? You gotta like a federal prosecutor for the killer. Unlike bland Bob, that broad has the temperament to stab a man in the back or in the heart. But does she have a motive?”

Kate nodded. “I’m wondering if she and Walt knew each other before Ocean Vista. Maybe in Miami? She called him an old fraud at the shelter. Sounded as though they had a history. Could Lucy have prosecuted—or attempted to prosecute—Uncle Weatherwise?”

“I’ll check out Lucy’s career on the computer tomorrow morning.” Marlene appeared pleased with herself. “Don’t worry, Miss Marple, Della Street is on the case.”

‘Talk about mixing mystery genres.” Kate smiled, feeling less tense. Less alone. “Thanks, Marlene.” How many times had she said that to her best friend over the years? Countless. A rush of gratitude enveloped her. Her
forever
friend had come through again.

“Speaking of mixing, what the hell is taking the bartender so long with our drinks?”

A slightly tipsy
Marlene had handed over her car keys without a quibble. Kate navigated the big Chevy into its assigned spot in covered parking without scratching Rosie’s Lincoln Continental.

At seven thirty they walked across the pool area and through the back door into th
e lobby. Miss Mitford, never off duty, stood at her station, talking to an attractive brunette.

Marlene poked Kate between her shoulder blades and whispered, “That’s S. J. Corbin.”

“How do you know?”

“Her picture’s in
Gold Coast
magazine all the time. Her real estate company runs a full-page ad in every issue.” Marlene slurred the sentence, especially the word
issue,
but that didn’t stop her. “Corbin’s face always fills half the space.”

“Let’s go say hello to our new neighbor.” She spoke before thinking. Marlene could be outrageous sober; with three Cosmos under her belt, God only knew what she might say. Kate didn’t care; curiosity outranked concern. She had too many questions.

Marlene burped, then made a beeline to the front desk.

Miss Mitford raised a disapproving eyebrow as Kate approached.

“Good evening.” Kate’s smile encompassed both Mitford and Corbin. She pivoted and extended her right hand to S. J. Corbin, gesturing toward Marlene with her left. “I’m Kate Kennedy and this is my sister-in-law, Marlene Freidman. Welcome to Ocean Vista.”

The Realtor flashed a set of teeth so white they dazzled. Kate must start using the bleaching kit and plastic apparatus that the dentist, at Marlene’s insistence, had custom-made for her. The tray and the bleaching gel had cost almost four hundred dollars and now sat, unopened, gathering dust, in her medicine cabinet. However, Marlene’s bleach job, bright as it was, couldn’t compare to Corbin’s movie-star smile.

“I’m delighted to meet you both. I’m going to love it here. I’ve always wanted to live smack on a Florida beach.”

S. J. spoke fast, like a New Yorker. Not with Lucy Diamond’s hard
g
on the end of
going,
so often a dead giveaway of Long Island or Brooklyn roots, and not with nasal vowels, that residue from Rosie O’Grady’s Bronx childhood, but more like Kate’s own accent, the
a
in
Florida
sounding like
er
.

“Marlene and I love it.” Kate tried to match the new owner’s enthusiasm.

S. J. smiled, oozing warmth. A true sales personality. “At first I’ll only be at Ocean Vista part-time. But I’m planning on retiring, selling the big house. Not getting any younger, you know.”

“That’s for damn sure, S.J.,” Marlene said, bowing. “Welcome to the old folks’ home.”

Kate, lost in thought, didn’t bother to intercede.

Some Fort Lauderdale wag had once dubbed Broward County a bedroom community of New York City. Interesting how many of Ocean Vista’s residents, including Kate, Marlene, and Rosie, had migrated south from the Big Apple. And, as Rosie often pointed out, Lucy Diamond and Bob Seeley had grown up “on the ass end of Long Island.”

Coincidence? Kate thought not. Again, visions of the old Park Sheraton danced in her head. She took a deep breath, then plunged. “Ms. Corbin, I’m curious. How did you know that Walt Weatherwise’s apartment was available?” No mincing words. Just the facts, ma’am.

Kate hoped her query might startle the Realtor.

No such luck. Corbin, unfazed, said, “Kate, please call me, S. J., all my friends do.”

“Yeah, yeah. So how about answering your new friend Kate’s question?” Marlene listed to the left; Kate could smell the booze, feeling certain that S. J. and Miss Mitford could too.

“Walt told me.” S. J. held her palms straight up, not unlike a magician proving he had no tricks up his sleeve.

Kate started, but spoke before Marlene, who had her mouth open, could. “Walt told you? Now I’m really confused, S. J. When you made the bid on the condo, Weatherwise was already dead, but his murder hadn’t been reported anywhere.”

“I had no idea Walt was dead. How could I have known?” S. J. sounded sincere, but then she sold real estate for a living. “I did know he would be moving. Nevada? Arizona? Somewhere in the desert He’d listed his condo with me yesterday afternoon. Before the hurricane hit. His asking price seemed very low. I had the impression Walt must be in a hurry to sell, to move. He said his attorney would act as his agent, handle all the details. This morning I decided I wanted the apartment for myself, and I made my bid. Weatherwise’s attorney accepted it.”

“Really?” Marlene sounded doubtful, but Kate figured the Realtor must have documentation to back up her story.
“Were you and Weatherwise friends?”

“Let’s say Walt and I traveled in the same social set.” S. J. kept smiling. “Miss Mitford tells me the police are conducting a thorough search of the condo, so, though I’m dying to start renovating, I have to hold off.”

“Murder can be
bloody
inconvenient,” Marlene said. Ignoring Marlene, S. J. turned to Kate. “I can’t wait to live here, Kate. I think we’re going to be great friends.