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

by Noreen Wald

  Thirteen

  Monday evening, October 30

  The body floating face down in the water was a blond. Kate felt faint, but there was nothing to grab except Marlene. Before she could reach out, Kate felt Marlene’s strong arm, the arm of a former champion swimmer, encircle her, enabling her to keep her balance, to stay on her feet.

  The bearded young man in the rowboat covered the bloody stump with a tarp as the slim fisherman jumped into the water and swam toward the body.

  The heavy set fisherman on the pier had reached 911. Help was on its way, but Kate knew no one could help. Dear God, which blond surfer lay dead in the water? Claude or Jon Michael? Or someone else?

  Like a television promo, a picture of Katharine quarreling with Jon Michael on the beach late last night flashed through Kate’s head, followed by a dull ache. What had happened to the surfer—and the dead man might well be a total stranger—was an accident. A shark attack. Too often Kate’s imagination could be macabre, painful, and off-kilter. Still, she felt unnerved and, yes, frightened.

  The slim fisherman had the body in tow. “Give me a hand,” he yelled to the young man in the rowboat.

  As the men struggled to get the body over the side of the boat, the ambulance’s siren heralded its approach, and Kate caught a glimpse of Jon Michael’s profile.

  She slipped out of Marlene’s grip and slumped down on the dock, scraping her palm. The last thing she saw before she started to scream was the one-legged corpse landing in the boat.

  “A little drink never hurt anyone.” Marlene handed a gin and tonic in a tall, frosted glass, garnished with lime, to her sister-in-law. “Consider it medicinal.”

  They were sitting in Kate’s living room, so beige and so bland, with nothing out of place, wondering where Katharine had gone and how they would tell her Jon Michael was dead.

  Was this what shell-shock felt like? Kate reached for the drink. Her hand shook, but she drained a quarter of the glass in one gulp. It didn’t wash away the scene on the pier.

  A paramedic had pronounced Jon Michael dead. No one covered his body. A police officer briefly interviewed Kate, Marlene, and the three fishermen, and then told them to leave, that someone would be in touch with them later. Nick Carbone? Why hadn’t he called her back? She’d stared out at the ocean, never once glancing down at Jon Michael’s body or that bloody stump. Another policeman held the piece of surfboard as if it were made of platinum. Maybe to cops, all clues were platinum.

  Kate finished the gin and tonic and considered having another.

  She’d never thought she could feel resentful about her granddaughter’s actions. But Nana’s condo had made Katharine’s desperate pursuit of Jon Michael both convenient and affordable. Her darling Katharine had been using Kate. No question she’d wanted the surfer at any cost.

  What had happened to her granddaughter in Acapulco? Had she been wooed, then dumped? Had passion trumped pride? Why else would Katharine have followed Jon Michael to Palmetto Beach? And what had they been arguing about on the beach just before the surfer rode his last wave?

  “You ready for a refill?” Marlene tapped Kate’s empty glass.

  “Sure. Why not?” Kate used her napkin to wipe the sweat from her forehead. Sweating in air-conditioning. Not good. She fought an urge to scream. “Marlene, did Katharine say anything to you when you saw her walking Ballou this morning?”

  Kate watched Marlene, standing behind the small rattan bar near the dining room, pour a dollop of tonic into the gin, then stir. She considered telling her sister-in-law to add more tonic, then figured, what the hell, getting a bit tipsy might not be a bad idea right now.

  “Katharine waved, said hi, but nothing else. Why?” Marlene put the drink on the table in front of Kate. “I was on my way to visit Florita. My mind was on Mandrake.”

  “I’m wondering—well, worrying—about where the devil Katharine could be. It’s almost eight and no one has seen her since early this morning.”

  “Yeah,” Marlene agreed, not offering any ideas.

  Kate shook her head, forcing herself to concentrate on something else. “So, you’re convinced Florita cons her clients and doesn’t really believe the skull can communicate.”

  “Hell yes. The Golden Glow tanning salon’s legit, but the talking skull’s a con game. Florita wouldn’t let me see him perform because she damn well knew I was on to her.” Marlene waved a bottle of vermouth over her second dry martini.

  The intercom rang. Kate, hoping it might be Katharine, ran into the foyer to answer.

  “You have a visitor, Mrs. Kennedy.” Miss Mitford sounded even more somber than usual. “A Mrs. Rowling is here in the lobby. She’d like to see you.”

  “Mrs. Rowling?” Kate said. “I don’t think I know…”

  “Amanda Rowling, that girl who disappeared in Acapulco,” Marlene shouted from the bar. “Grace Rowling’s her mother!”

  A shaking Kate said in a strained voice, “Please send Mrs. Rowling up, Miss Mitford.”

  Marlene downed half her martini in one gulp. “She must know about Katharine and Jon Michael. Why else would she come?” Marlene sounded as nervous as Kate felt.

  “Maybe she thinks I know something.” Icy fear ran through Kate’s body, drying the sweat leaving her weak. What did the woman want? Had she heard about the surfer’s death? Or, God forbid, could Grace Rowling be bringing bad news about Katharine?

  Fourteen

  The sharp rap on the door made Kate jump and Ballou bark. She willed herself to smile as she opened it.

  Grace Rowling wore khakis and a white polo shirt; she had short blonde hair, big brown eyes in an oval face, and, though she had to be in her forties, was as small and slim as a teenager. She would be pretty if her features weren’t etched in pain.

  “Come in, Mrs. Rowling.” Empathy replaced distrust as Kate shook the woman’s hand. “We’re very sorry about your daughter.”

  “Please call me Grace, Mrs. Kennedy.”

  “I will if you’ll call me Kate.” She pointed to the bar. “And this is my sister-in-law, Marlene Friedman.”

  “Would you like a drink?” Marlene asked.

  “A Diet Coke, please.”

  “Should I put a shot of rum in it?”

  Grace almost managed a smile. “Make it half a shot. Thanks, Marlene.” She petted Ballou, who was sniffing her feet. “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, but I’m very concerned about your granddaughter, Katharine.”

  The icy fear settled in Kate’s heart. She sputtered. “Why?”

  “Those surfers, Kate.” Grace Rowling sounded patient, as if she were explaining the obvious to a child. “They’re dangerous men. I just heard that Jon Michael was attacked by a shark. Well, good. One down, two to go.”

  Grace’s hard words—she spoke so softly and sounded so Midwest wholesome—had caught Kate off guard. “Two to go?” she asked, grateful that Marlene had remained quiet.

  “Yes. Claude and Roberto. They were with Jon Michael and my daughter the night Amanda disappeared.” Grace blinked, but tears fell and then rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away. Kate doubted she even noticed them.

  For a moment Kate wondered if Grace Rowling had anything to do with Jon Michael’s death. How? Had she hired someone to sic a shark on him? Kate felt as crazy as her thoughts.

  “I’ve seen you on television, Grace,” Marlene said, “and it’s all so sad. Why don’t you tell us what you think happened to Amanda?”

  Sometimes Marlene really got it right. Kate smiled at her sister-in-law.

  Grace smiled at Marlene too. Clearly, she’d come to tell them her story and she needed them to listen. “My daughter is beautiful and talented. She’s only a fair student but a wonderful actress. She played Liza in My Fair Lady in the senior play. And she’s so popular. Everyone loves
Amanda.”

  It broke Kate’s heart to hear Grace talk in the present tense. Did she really believe Amanda was still alive?

  “Acapulco was her graduation present, her last fling with her two girlfriends before starting college. She’s enrolled in UCLA, you know.” Grace sipped her Diet Coke, probably laced with more rum than she’d wanted. “On the night before she was to fly home, my daughter, who’d told her girlfriends she had a date—but hadn’t told them his name—left a club with a young, blond male. Several witnesses, including the bartender, swear to that.”

  “With just one of the boys?” Kate asked.

  “Yes, though the bartender said she’d been drinking at the bar earlier with three young men, all surfers, two blonds and a Latino. They’d been in the bar before, but he didn’t know their names.”

  “But he couldn’t recall which blond?” Kate vaguely remembered hearing that during one of Grace Rowling’s countless television interviews.

  Grace tried to grin; it turned into a grimace. “I guess all tourists look alike to Mexican bartenders.”

  “So either Claude or Jon Michael left with Amanda.” Marlene was mixing another martini.

  Ballou had settled down between Kate and Grace, a compliment to their guest, and was now snoring.

  “Well, the three surfers admitted they’d bought Amanda a drink, but swore that none of them left with her.” Grace placed her right index finger on her left pinkie. “Claude says he never saw Amanda leave; he was in the men’s room.” She moved her tight index finger to her ring finger. “And Roberto and Jon Michael swear they’d left the club at the same time and saw Amanda heading toward the beach. Alone.”

  “What do the Mexican police think?” Kate asked, knowing the answer.

  Grace groaned. “They claim they’re still investigating all leads, but they allowed those three surfers to leave the country after only asking them a few questions. ‘Señora Rowling, it is all very suspicious, but there is no evidence and no body’ has become their mantra.”

  “And Amanda had mentioned the surfers to you before she disappeared.” Marlene drained her glass. Kate hoped it was Marlene’s nightcap.

  “Yes, we talked every night. Amanda told me on the phone the day before she disappeared that she had a crush on a sexy blond surfer.” Grace sighed. “It had to be Jon Michael. No girl in her right mind would describe Claude Jensen as sexy. My daughter has made some poor choices in men, but she would never have gotten past yellow teeth and no brains.”

  Kate figured there might have been more than two blond surfers in Acapulco last summer, but only said, “How did you learn the surfers were in Palmetto Beach?”

  “I hired a private detective. He’s doing what the Mexican police should be doing, investigating those three men.” Grace shook her head. “As for me, I’ll haunt them. I’ll follow them to the ends of the earth, at least until my money runs out.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Those three bastards know where my daughter is.” She wiped her eyes with a cocktail napkin.

  Kate, always within reach of Pepcid AC, Kleenex, and Tylenol, dug into her handbag and handed Grace a small package of tissues.

  “Thanks,” Grace whispered as her face crumbled. “Amanda and I were very close. If she were alive, she’d call me. She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  Neither Kate nor Marlene answered Grace’s question.

  “If Jon Michael killed Amanda, now he’s dead and I’ll never know the truth.” Grace’s agony was palpable. “Do you think someone killed him?”

  Thinking Grace would be the prime suspect, Kate said, “No. I saw Jon Michael’s body. I’m sure a shark killed him.”

  Grace shook her head. “Is your granddaughter here, Kate? I really need to talk to her.”

  Fifteen

  Tuesday morning, October 31

  The image of Jon Michael’s bloody stump woke Kate up just before the clock struck seven. If only there was a delete button for the subconscious.

  Ballou yelped as she crawled out of bed, nuzzling her ankle as she headed toward the bathroom. Kate had heard Katharine come in at eleven thirty and, though wide awake reading Ava Gardner’s biography, she hadn’t gotten up. She’d decided to wait until morning to discuss Jon Michael’s death and Grace Rowling’s visit. Now that morning had arrived, Kate dreaded the conversation, wondering if her granddaughter already knew about the surfer.

  Tempted to go back to bed, instead she walked to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, her lifelong panacea.

  Katharine sat at the kitchen table clutching her own cup of tea. Somehow that pleased Kate.

  “Nana, Jon Michael’s dead. Did you know that?”

  Kate heard the heartbreak in Katharine’s voice, almost a replay of Grace Rowling’s tone last night.

  “I’m so sorry, darling.” Kate put her arms around her granddaughter, not sure what else to say. She gave Katharine a long hug, and then turned on the jet under the kettle.

  “Claude called me.” The girl had dark circles under puffy eyes. She’d been crying long and hard. “Attacked by a shark. What a terrible way to die. I cried all night. Your couch must be totally tearstained.”

  “You didn’t sleep in the guest room?”

  “Mom’s in the guest room.” Katharine didn’t hide her disgust.

  “Jennifer’s here?” Kate reeled, feeling out of control.

  “Yeah, she sure is. She flew down on Sunday night and checked into the Boca Raton Hotel, you know, that resort on the beach; nothing but the best for Mom, right?” Katharine screwed up her nose, reminding Kate of Charlie’s expression of disgust. No doubt Jennifer had checked out of the hotel and slept here last night. She hadn’t wanted to let Katharine out of her sight.

  “Mom said she had an appointment with a client up in Palm Beach yesterday morning, but I know she’s been spying on me, Nana. Now she’s insisting I go home with her today. But I’m not going. Not today. Not ever. I promised Jon Michael’s grandmother when I called her this morning that I’d be at his funeral and no one, not even Jennifer Lowell Kennedy, can stop me.”

  So Katharine had spoken to Florita Flannigan, who Marlene had suspected might be Diamond Lil, bank robber extraordinaire. What had the girl been up to yesterday? And why had Grace Rowling wanted to talk to her? Grace had declined to tell Kate, only saying she needed to speak to Katharine alone and she’d be back.

  Confused and overwhelmed, Kate tried to keep it simple. “I heard you come in last night,” she said as the kettle whistled. She poured the boiling water into her cup, and then jiggled the tea bag as if that would make the tea brew faster. “But I didn’t hear your mother.”

  “No reason you should have, Nana. We weren’t talking and Mom went straight to bed.” Her granddaughter sounded drained, but much more like her old self, the hard edge gone.

  Kate stuck a bagel in the toaster, though she wasn’t sure she could eat, then faced Katharine. “Marlene and I were worried last night. We wondered where you’d been all day.”

  Katharine stared at the tile floor, beige and bland like almost everything else in the condo. Less is more, Edmund, her son Peter’s partner, had assured her. One day she’d paint the kitchen walls red, but for now she waited, sensing Katharine might open up.

  “I’m sorry, Nana. I screwed up.” She sounded as if she meant it; her eyes welled up with tears again. Katharine wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “Life sucks.”

  Kate spread strawberry jam on the two halves of the toasted bagel and handed one to Katharine. “Yes, I guess right now it does. Have another cup of tea and we’ll take Ballou for a walk on the beach. Maybe we can sort things out; then, if you’d like, we can go see Mrs. Flannigan later.” If Kate had an ulterior motive, she didn’t feel obliged to mention it.

  “Cool. Let’s get out of here before my mother wakes up.”

  In the glow of the
morning light, the sun on their backs, its rays dappling the sand with golden streaks, and the Atlantic Ocean caressing their bare feet, Kate inhaled a brief moment of happiness; then Katharine spoke.

  “I wanted to kill Jon Michael, Nana. That’s why I’m so upset he’s dead. Why I have to go to his funeral.”

  Trying to show no emotion, Kate asked, “Why? What did he do to you, darling?”

  “He broke my heart and, worse, he made a fool of me.” Katharine sighed. “No, that’s not true. I was already a fool for loving him.” She kicked a dead crab out of her path and into Ballou’s. He eagerly explored the prize.

  The sadness in her granddaughter’s voice made Kate want to take the girl into her arms, but she had to hear this out.