by Noreen Wald
Lucy paced in front of a dais still covered in red, white, and blue crepe-paper streamers from the Fourth of July party. In the harsh, fluorescent lighting, the former prosecutor appeared haggard. Kate felt grateful she couldn’t see herself, sure she looked like death warmed over, one of her grandmother’s many right on-target descriptions.
Bob Seeley’s expensive navy blue pajamas remained as stiff as his personality. Nary a wrinkle. How could that be? No sweat? Strong starch? A great, no-iron-needed miracle fabric? Still ashen, he held his hands in his lap, and stared down at his matching leather slippers. Bob didn’t strike Kate as a man who’d appear in public in his nightclothes. Even if awakened by Marlene and confused about what had happened or who’d been murdered. Could his vagueness and the pajamas be props? Part of an act? Not unlike Lucy acting so sorry about Lee Parker’s death.
Marlene fidgeted with the marabou, tugging her dressing gown closer, adjusting the slippery satin sash, pulling it tighter.
Rosie O’Grady broke the silence, whistling, rather well, “Shall We Dance?” The young cop, standing a few feet in front of Rosie, smiled and tapped his right foot.
Kate, remembering what Charlie had told her about how the New York City DA’s office advised their witnesses to behave in court, sat as straight as Miss Mitford, with uncrossed legs, feet planted on the floor, hands folded in her lap. She hoped her demeanor would impress Nick Carbone.
Within five minutes, everyone in the room was either pacing or squirming in their seats, including Kate. So much for her courtroom decorum.
She’d just started to review the timeline—who’d been where—during what appeared to be a relatively narrow window of opportunity, when Nick Carbone returned with a distraught S. J. Corbin in tow.
“I told you I was getting a tape measure from my car, for heaven’s sake. You have no right to hold me, Detective Carbone.” S. J.’s voice quaked.
“Please take a seat, Ms. Corbin. I’m investigating the death of a homicide detective who was working a murder case in my town.”
A cop had been killed. Kate remembered how Charlie would close down, racked with sorrow, full of fury, and itching for revenge when a NYPD cop fell in the line of duty.
Carbone, sweating while Kate shivered, wiped his brow. “Not only do I have the right, I have the duty to question everyone in this room.” His clipped words were several degrees colder than the air conditioning.
What would Nick say if she asked to be excused to get a sweater? She almost laughed aloud at the thought. Better to suffer in silence.
“The initial CSI report indicates that Detective Lee Parker died from unnatural causes no earlier than seven thirty p.m. The 911 call from Ms. Friedman was received at 9:34. If Ms. O’Grady ran straight to Ms. Friedman’s condo immediately after spotting the body, we know Parker was killed before nine thirty.”
“Whadda mean by if?” Rosie roared, jumping up from her front-row seat. “You think I stopped off at my apartment to pee or ditch the knife?”
“I don’t know, Ms. O’Grady.” He sounded steely. “Why don’t you tell us about the events leading up to and directly following your discovery of Detective Parker’s body? And please, do feel free to reveal where you hid the murder weapon.”
Ouch. Had someone told Nick about the weather vane in Rosie’s tote bag?
Questioning the suspects in front of each other struck Kate as surreal. If she, as so often accused by the detective, liked playing Miss Marple, Carbone had morphed into Hercule Poirot. Surprisingly, the Ocean Vista residents played along. All that was missing was the London drawing room.
“Who wants to stay alone in her room?” Rosie, the trouper, warmed to her tale. “Watching them dancers waltzing on the nine o’clock Welk rerun—you can check TV Guide—sent me out into the night. Luckily, I always wear full makeup, so I got myself dressed and was in the parking lot before nine thirty.”
Kate marveled. Rosie made a compelling, totally believable witness.
“I’d just switched on the ignition when I spotted him. Don’t know what made me turn around; maybe I caught a peek of something in the rearview mirror.” She shrugged, then clasped her arms in front of her chest. Another marvel. Her bare eighty-four-year-old arms were almost firm. “Don’t know. So much blood. I never touched him. Didn’t even get close. Just jumped out of the car. I don’t have a cell phone, so I ran like hell to Marlene’s. While she called 911, I went up to Kate’s. I didn’t want to go back to the parking lot alone.”
“You had no idea the man was Detective Parker?” Carbone raised a bushy right eyebrow.
“Right,” Rosie said. “No idea.”
“Weren’t you the least bit curious about the identity of the corpse in your backseat? And don’t you lock your car, Ms. O’Grady?”
“Not curious enough to touch him. I figured he wasn’t going nowhere. I could wait,” Rosie rasped; it sounded like a smothered laugh. “And, Detective, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m an old lady; maybe I forgot to lock my car. Sue me.” She hiked up her bloodied dress’s bodice to coyer an exposed bit of black lace on her bra.
Score one for the former Radio City Rockette. She’d kicked Nick Carbone’s questions off center stage and into the rear balcony.
In some perverse way, Kate was enjoying herself. She felt a pang of shame, but no remorse. Who’d be next?
Seventeen
“Mrs. Kennedy, where were you between seven and nine?” Her stomach lurched. Served her right, thriving on other people’s discomfort, rooting for a suspect instead of law and order. Nick usually called her Kate. But she had no reason to be nervous. She could account for every moment, couldn’t she?
“Well.” Her voice seemed scratchy, prissy. “Marlene and I had dinner at the Sea Watch. We got home at seven thirty. I remember checking my watch as we crossed the pool area. Then, in the lobby, Miss Mitford introduced us to S. J. Corbin, who’s buying Walt Weatherwise’s condo.”
“Ms. Freidman’s assigned parking spot is right next to Ms. O’Grady’s, isn’t it?*’ Carbone asked, though he knew the answer. “And her Lincoln Continental was there when you parked, right?”
“Yes,” Kate said. Less nasal. Maybe a little more confident.
“Did either of you ladies notice anything different about Ms. O’Grady’s car?”
Kate shook her head. “We had no reason to check it out.”
“What happened after you left the lobby?”
“I went to my apartment; Marlene went to hers.” Kate hesitated. “I’d expected Detective Parker, but he never called. Never showed up.”
“You had another visitor, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Lucy Diamond.”
“And what did Ms. Diamond want?” Nick pulled out a notebook. Her answers were going on record.
What could Kate say? That Lucy dropped by to confess Detective Parker thought she’d stabbed Uncle Weatherwise. Kate stalled, trying to crane up with some semblance of the truth.
Though she willed herself not to, Kate’s eyes sought out Lucy’s. Panic filled those dark brown eyes. Lucy’s jaw sagged and her shoulders had slumped. Kate forced herself to face Nick Carbone, to smile. “Girl talk.”
“Girl talk?” Carbone chuckled. A condescending chuckle.
“Right.” Kate was firm. “Before we really got started, Rosie O’Grady banged on my door.”
Lucy sighed. In the silent room, her deep breath heaved, then lingered in the dead air. Jeez, did she think Carbone was deaf? What sort of prosecutor had this woman been? The detective raised a brow, but gave the sigh a pass.
“Why was Detective Parker craning to see you, Mrs. Kennedy?”
“His interview with me at the Coral Reef Police Headquarters was interrupted by a phone call. He excused himself to take the call, saying he’d see me tonight. Here, in Ocean Vista.”
“That call was most suspicious,” Marlene broke in. “Either the killer or a tipster must have been on the phone. Someone—or something—very important and urgent enough to make Parker stop interrogating his prime suspect.”
Good God. With friends like Marlene, Kate could wind up in jail.
Carbone almost grinned, then ignored Marlene and moved on to Lucy. “According to Miss Mitford, Ocean Vista’s officers have the four spots closest to the condo’s rear entrance. Ms. Friedman’s and Ms. O’Grady’s to the south. Bob Seeley’s and yours to the north, nearest the back door. Is that right, Ms. Diamond?”
“Correct.” Lucy, standing tall and lean, met Nick’s gaze. Her reply crisp, her posture straight. Her attitude a total metamorphosis.
“Where were you between seven thirty and nine, Ms. Diamond?”
“I object to both your question and your tone, Detective.” The lawyer in Lucy had surfaced. “However, in the interest of moving this investigation along, I will answer it.” Lucy gestured toward a pale Bob. “Mr. Seeley and I dined at the Olympia Diner on Commercial Boulevard. We left here a little before seven and returned about eight fifteen or so. If I’d known there had been a murder, I’d have checked my watch.”
“Did you drive to the diner in your car?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see Ms. Friedman’s car when you left?”
“No. Marlene’s parking space was empty.”
“What about Ms. O’Grady’s Lincoln?”
Lucy nodded. “Rosie’s car was there.”
“Did you notice anything unusual about it?”
With a shake of her head, Lucy said, “No. I didn’t peek in the window, Detective.”
“How about you, Mr. Seeley?” Nick Carbone spun in Bob’s direction, obviously catching the older man by surprise. “Notice anything odd? Out of place?”
“Nothing at all, Detective.”
“What did you do when you returned home after dinner?”
“I changed into my pajamas and got into bed. I’m reading the new Michael Connelly, but after a few pages, I fell asleep.”
A very sedate sleeper or a very smooth liar.
“Early to bed, hey?” Carbone smiled. “Then what?”
“Marlene banging on the door and screaming bloody murder woke me up.” Bob crossed his arms. “Still half asleep, I followed her out to the parking lot.”
Carbone jotted something in his notebook. Kate, curious, wondered if the detective believed Bob. She found his alibi the weakest.
S. J. Corbin fiddled with a piece of torn fabric on her chair, watching and waiting. She had to know she’d be next. Would Carbone discover that S. J. had gone through the pool and into the parking lot during that brief window of opportunity he’d described? Or could he already be aware of that?
Kate glanced over at the prim sentinel who sat posture perfect, serene, and confident. Maybe Miss Mitford had informed him.
“When did you arrive, Ms. Corbin?” Nick’s tone softened. Why?
“About seven fifteen. A few minutes later, Miss Mitford introduced me to my new neighbors, Kate and Marlene.”
Humph. New neighbors. First names. A bit premature. Corbin’s contract wasn’t even signed yet. Or was it? “Then what?” Carbone scribbled in his notebook.
“I went up to Walt Weatherwise’s—er, I guess it’s now my apartment.”
“You had a key?”
“I’m the Realtor as well as the buyer, Detective. Mr. Weatherwise left the key at the front desk for me. I wanted to do a walk-through. Take some measurements. Check out the view at night.”
“But you explored more than the apartment, didn’t you?”
“Why, yes, I did.” S. J. showed no surprise at his question. “I’d forgotten my tape measure, left it in the car. When I went out the back door, the moon looked so inviting that I decided to take a walk on the beach before heading to the parking lot to get my tape.”
“What time did you hit the beach, Ms. Corbin?”
“Around eight thirty, I guess.”
“A long walk-through.”
S. J. Corbin nodded. “Yes, I jotted down lots of information, Detective Carbone.” She pointed to his notebook. “Just like you are now.”
“Have you taken karate lessons, Ms. Corbin?”
Out of left field. Where in the world was Carbone going?
“No.” S. J. sounded genuinely puzzled. “Why do you ask?”
“It seems a blow to the neck rendered Detective Parker unconscious before he was stabbed.”
As if choreographed, Lucy, Bob, Marlene, and Kate swung their heads around to confront Rosie, who held a black belt in karate.
Eighteen
“Last night I dreamt I went to Miami again,” Marlene said, bounding through Kate’s front door.
Her sister-in-law’s opening line evoked Rebecca’s, not to mention memories of Marlene’s last jaunt to Miami when she’d stolen her date’s wallet and his car. All for the greater good, of course.
Marlene petted a delighted Ballou, so excited to see his favorite aunt he literally jumped for joy, then she followed Kate to the kitchen and plopped a bag of still-warm bagels on the table. The smell tantalized.
“You’ve been to Einstein’s already. I’m impressed.” Kate rubbed sleep from her eyes.
“I’ve been up since seven,” Marlene, the nocturnal, said with pride. “The early-bird detective catches the killer.”
Kate groaned.
“Listen, my dream about Miami got me thinking.”
“Strawberry cream cheese too.” Kate rummaged through the bag. “This is a treat.”
“Look in the other bag. Tea with a splash of milk for you. A double latte for me. Eat up and get dressed. We’re going to Miami.”
“Why?” Kate smeared cream cheese on both sides of her plain, untoasted bagel. Just the way she liked it. Marlene could be very thoughtful when she wasn’t being a pain in the tush. “I’m really tired. How come you’re so peppy this morning?”
Marlene, who watched old movies on cable until the wee hours of the morning when not out on the town, preferred to rise around eleven. Ten a.m. required a wake-up call.
“Last night,” Marlene spoke around a bite of bagel, “as Lucy and Bob were suffering through Carbone’s inquisition, I had Miami on my mind. They both lived there at the same time Weatherwise did, you know. And I remembered our new neighbor, S. J. Corbin, has a branch office in Miami Beach. Then I had this strange dream, so, naturally, we have to go.”
Kate savored her tea while waiting for Marlene’s rambling to turn into simple declarative sentences. Why did everything taste better when someone else had brewed it, baked it, or even just boiled it? She giggled. Obviously, her thoughts rambled too.
“Don’t laugh, Kate. I’m convinced that the motive’s in Miami.” Marlene slipped Ballou a bit of bagel.
“That must have been quite a dream.” Kate hoped she sounded sincere. Marlene seemed so deadly serious that Kate didn’t even scold her for feeding the Westie at the table.
“Charlie, you, and I were all in Miami, sitting in the lobby of the Casablanca. The hotel looked exactly the same as when we’d vacationed there forty-five years ago. Remember the over-the-top faux Moroccan decor? And Kevin appeared in the dream too.”
Marlene was referring to Charlie’s brother Kevin, her divorced, and now deceased, second husband, not to Kate and Charlie’s son Kevin, who’d been named for his uncle. Marlene and Kevin had been married that same year, when the two couples had gone to Miami.
“Anyway, in my dream, Charlie said that the killer had decided to eliminate Weatherwise ages ago.”
Kate felt an irrational pang of jealousy. Why was Charlie showing up in Marlene’s dreams?
“Since none of them have lived here very
long, that would lead us back to Miami, right?” Marlene reached for another bagel.
“What did Kevin have to say? Or didn’t your former husband want to talk to you?”
Marlene flushed, then fidgeted with her coffee cup, avoiding eye contact.
Kate wished she could swallow her words. “Sorry. I guess I felt left out.” She hesitated. “Jealous.” She almost choked on the word, but she’d hurt Marlene; it had to be spoken. “Charlie hasn’t haunted my dreams for months.”
“Oh God, Kate, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have rattled on like that.” Marlene’s face had turned scarlet and her breathing seemed labored. “I never want to hurt you again.”
“I’m sorry too.” Kate patted Marlene’s hand. “No one’s responsible for their dreams or who shows up in them. Let’s put this behind us. Even though I should stay here and clean up from Harriet, I’ll go to Miami with you. Who knows? We might discover who killed Uncle Weatherwise.”
Marlene smiled, wiped her face, and took a deep breath. “Good.” She pushed her plate away, the second bagel untouched. Kate couldn’t recall Marlene ever having left a bagel behind. “I’m going home to change. I can’t poke around South Beach wearing these baggy old capris.”
As she stacked the dishes in the sink, Kate wondered exactly what Marlene had meant by again when she’d said, “I never want to hurt you again.”
Nineteen
Driving south on A1A with the top down, they swapped information and planned their itinerary. Only intermittent debris, piled in neat stacks on the sand, gave any hint of Tuesday’s hurricane. Today, with the sky as blue as Paul Newman’s eyes, the aqua water calm, the light breeze belying the heat and humidity, and the tropical setting so serene, Harriet seemed like ancient history.
“I Googled Bob and Lucy,” Marlene said. “Turns out he was Southern Trust’s hottest financial planner for Miami’s A-list millionaires. Maybe Walt was one of Bob’s clients. And you know Lucy spent years trying to send Weatherwise to jail. As condo prez, I have access to all the owners’ files. I printed out Lucy’s and Bob’s former addresses. Weatherwise’s place in South Beach and S. J. Corbin’s real estate company too. I suggest we start with Walt’s mansion. Chat up his rich neighbors.” Marlene pointed to a map on the dashboard in front of Kate. “His mansion’s only a few blocks north of the real estate office.”