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

by Noreen Wald

The last thing she saw as she drove out of the trailer park was the bumper sticker on Sam’s truck: IF IT SWELLS, RIDE IT.

  Twenty-One

  Nick’s office smelled of salami, just as it had the first time Kate’s presence had been requested. She could only hope the aroma wasn’t wafting from the same salami hero she’d spotted on his desk almost a year ago.

  Everything else seemed the same: institutional green walls, cluttered desk, and no personal touches.

  The detective looked the same too, though he’d lost a little weight: olive skin, Roman nose, and bushy brows, not the least bit handsome, yet perversely appealing.

  Now as then, his type A personality filled the room, leaving none of the three women in doubt about who was running the show. Katharine almost, but not quite, cowered.

  Kate, annoyed by so much attitude and the effect it had on her granddaughter, thought the detective could at least smile. Even the cops on Law & Order were courteous during a first interview. And she knew Charlie would never have behaved this way. She never should have dined with the enemy. Of course, she hadn’t known Nick was the enemy then.

  Katharine had visited Florita Flannigan Monday afternoon, but where else had she been? And why hadn’t Jennifer contacted her daughter as soon as she’d arrived on Sunday? And where had Jennifer spent Monday afternoon? Had Jennifer and Katharine gotten together? If so, what had they talked about? Nick would ask them that. Kate felt sure that whatever Katharine and Jennifer, either together or alone, had done and wherever they’d gone wouldn’t be incriminating, but she didn’t like surprises.

  “I’d like each of you ladies to tell me where you were on Sunday night when Jon Michael went surfing,” Nick said, after a brief nod acknowledging their presence and a terse hello.

  Humph, did the detective consider Kate a suspect too? Still, if he really suspected any of them, would he question all of them at the same time?

  With mother and daughter providing alibis for each other and Kate having witnessed both Katharine on the beach and Jon Michael riding off on his surfboard—she’d felt no need to elaborate on their quarrel—Nick moved on. Kate knew it wasn’t a pass, just a pause while he checked out the rest of their activities over the last couple of days.

  “Alright, Mrs. Kennedy.” Nick addressed Jennifer. “Please tell me when you arrived in South Florida and what you’ve been doing here.”

  “Wait a minute,” Kate snapped. “Do we need a lawyer here? Why are you asking all these questions? How can Jon Michael’s death be a homicide? How can my daughter-in-law and granddaughter be suspects in a shark attack?”

  “A shark can be enticed to attack, Kate.” Nick sounded less harsh. “And I’m just gathering information.” The steely calm in his voice made Kate more anxious.

  “How?” Katharine asked. Her voice quivered, but she met Nick’s eyes.

  “We found traces of pig’s blood and a bit of wire on the sliver of surfboard the fishermen hauled in with the body and another trace of wire on the piece that washed up on the beach.” Nick cupped his hands, moving them up and down like scales. “A shark warning had been posted. Pig’s blood would attract a shark. As for the wire, both pieces were found on the underside of the board. Maybe part of a wire basket or cage, used to transport some sort of contraband protected in strong plastic.” He shrugged. “Like marijuana. Might explain the midnight surfing.”

  “That’s crazy,” Katharine said. “Transported from where, Detective Carbone? They couldn’t have surfed all the way to Bimini for a drug deal, could they?”

  “That’s exactly what Roberto Romero said before I pointed out that he and Jon Michael might have made the drug transfers from a boat.” Nick smiled, a snide sort of smile. “Of course, Romero denied everything in two languages. The feds are talking to him now.”

  Kate—stunned and, worse, scared—reeled, glad she was seated. If Jon Michael had been murdered, then Jennifer and Katharine being at the beach together at midnight watching him go surfing didn’t prove their innocence. One of them could have planted pig’s blood in the cage much earlier. Indeed, one of them might have been there to make sure Jon Michael took off on the rigged board. Fear mixed with guilt made for a heavy heart and a sour stomach. Kate’s fingers shook as she rummaged through her handbag for a Pepcid AC.

  Nick turned from Katharine to Jennifer. “Now, Mrs. Kennedy, that brings us back to your activities since you arrived in South Florida on Sunday. For example, did you and Roberto Romero have a chat about Jon Michael being a threat to Katharine when you dined with him at the crepe place on Las Olas Boulevard yesterday afternoon?”

  Twenty-Two

  It hit her like the proverbial ton of bricks as she turned left on A1A heading south toward home.

  When Annette had pulled the marijuana stash out from under the air conditioner cover, Marlene had seen something sparkle. There must have been a hell of a lot of sparkly stuff to shine so brightly and catch her attention. What with all those moral decisions she’d been making about whether or not to have a second beer and whether or not to smoke pot, she’d forgotten all about the glitter…and what it might be.

  She swerved and made an illegal U-turn, just missing a yellow Rolls Royce heading north. The driver, in full chauffer livery, stopped short, rolled down his window, and made an obscene gesture. Marlene made an even more obscene gesture and almost knocked the scrolled RR hood ornament off the car as she sailed past the Rolls into the trailer park.

  She thought she spotted the mayor peering out of the rear window. He didn’t look happy.

  The party was still in progress, though a few of the owners were heading back to their trailers. None of them paid any attention to her. She was just another old broad in a classic convertible, a common sight in Palm Beach County.

  Marlene figured Annette would be holding court as Rainbow Beach trailer park’s patron saint and savior for at least another half hour. And she knew the Meyers’ door wasn’t locked. Sam had left it open so they could replenish the beer in the clubhouse as needed. Even if she did get caught, she’d just say she’d forgotten her cigarettes. The Meyers would understand a craving that led to breaking and entering. Well, entering. Marlene believed it was less of a crime if the door was open. And hadn’t she been a guest earlier in the day?

  She parked several trailers away and strolled over to Annette’s. Once in the living/dining area, she wasted no time. She ran around the counter and lifted the lid on the air conditioner. Sure enough, a dazzling array of jewels, neatly stacked in quart-size baggies, lay next to the plastic bags of marijuana. Clearly, Annette Meyers was another candidate for Diamond Lil. And, though the two women looked nothing alike, Annette’s thick gray-streaked hair and Florita’s thick white hair were not unlike the bank robber’s. Annette’s hair was longer and she was a larger woman than Florita, but both resembled the general, if somewhat garbled, descriptions of Diamond Lil.

  Marlene heard a moan from behind the bedroom door. Jeez, she’d better get out of there. She dropped the air conditioner cover and then jumped as it banged shut. Pirouetting around the counter, she had her hand on the doorknob when Annette’s voice stopped her cold.

  She spun around, rehearsing what to say, but was rendered speechless when she saw a half-naked Annette standing in front of the former Naval officer who wore purple silk boxer shorts and a sheepish grin.

  “What are you doing here?” Annette shrieked.

  “I forgot my cigarettes,” Marlene managed to croak out.

  Annette smiled. “That’s all right, then. I was afraid Sam asked you to follow us. That boy is so provincial. I just hope his jealousy doesn’t break us up. You have a safe trip home, Marlene.” Annette turned and pushed her guest back into the bedroom.

  Driving through Hillsboro Mile, with some of the priciest real estate per capita in the United States, Marlene firmed up her plans for the afternoon. First
she’d pay a condolence call to Florita Flannigan, ask a few questions, and then she’d drop by Claude Jensen’s house. Both Sam and Florita had painted him as a very bad egg. She wanted to see if the cracker lived up to his reputation. She’d felt sorry for Grace Rowling and, convinced that Claude and Roberto had been involved in Amanda’s disappearance, Marlene had lots of questions for Claude.

  She stopped at Dinah’s for coffee. Funny how two beers in the morning had left her sleepy, even though she’d later washed them down with several Diet Cokes. Maybe she should have a slice of that fudge cake sitting under the glass on the counter. After all, they fed soldiers chocolate bars for energy, didn’t they?

  Why hadn’t Kate called? Marlene pulled out her cell phone and shook her head. She’d forgotten to turn it on this morning and she had two messages from Kate. She glanced at her watch. Based on Kate’s second message, Jennifer—and when the hell had she blown into town?—Katharine, and Kate might still be meeting with Nick Carbone.

  As she drank her coffee, she asked Myrtle for a slice of cake, and then decided she’d drive by the Palmetto Beach Police headquarters to see if Kate’s car was in the lot. She didn’t want to call and interrupt the meeting. Kate had sounded frazzled. Jeez, did Nick Carbone think Katharine had been involved in Jon Michael’s death?

  Fortified with caffeine and sugar, two of nature’s finest food groups, Marlene got in line to cross the Neptune Boulevard Bridge to the mainland.

  The Palmetto Beach Police Department parking lot was jumping, with lots of squad cars coming and going. After New Year’s Eve, Halloween was the busiest day of the year for the police. Kate’s car was parked near a gleaming black Cadillac, bigger than Marlene’s ’57 convertible. Probably some pimp’s car, she thought, and then started when Roberto Romero stepped out from behind an SUV the size of Chicago, opened the door to the Cadillac, and got in the driver’s seat. It wasn’t until Roberto was pulling out of the parking spot that she noticed the redhead in the front passenger seat: Mary Frances Costello. Marlene’s second odd couple sighting in less than an hour and a half. Happy Halloween.

  She drove on to her self-appointed rounds.

  Florita Flannigan’s house looked sad. A large black wreath covered a third of the Florida bungalow’s front door, but that wasn’t why. An aura of gloom had seemed to settle over the place, shrouding the house in sorrow. Marlene knew that, in theory, it wasn’t possible for an inanimate object to have emotions, but she’d swear this house was in mourning.

  The door opened and Florita greeted Marlene in tears. “My beautiful boy is dead.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Marlene felt choked up and teary herself. Jon Michael’s grandmother was suffering. Maybe Marlene shouldn’t have come.

  “Mandrake said you’d be stopping by.” Florita grabbed Marlene’s elbow. “Come in, I have a pot of coffee on. We need to talk about the pig’s blood.”

  Twenty-Three

  Jennifer had jumped out of her chair and verbally lashed out at Nick, making him very angry and her mother-in-law very nervous. A suspect, even an innocent suspect, shouldn’t accuse the detective in charge of the murder investigation of being an intimidating boor.

  “Sit down, Mrs. Kennedy.” Carbone spoke softly. He must be furious. His tone frightened Kate.

  Jennifer sat. He must have frightened her too.

  Katharine twisted her handkerchief into knots. All color had drained from the girl’s face and she was staring at her mother as if she’d never seen her before.

  “Ladies, I have asked you all here together so you can tell me, and maybe each other, what you’ve been up to and why.” Carbone sighed.

  Jennifer flushed and turned away from Kate’s scrutiny.

  “Some of your collective and individual behavior has been baffling. Now, Mrs. Kennedy,” the detective said, addressing Jennifer, “would you like to tell me your version of that luncheon conversation with Roberto Romero or shall I go with his, which indicated you’d found him hot and had used Jon Michael as an excuse to get to know him better?”

  “That bastard,” Jennifer stammered. Kate had never heard her daughter-in-law use that sort of language or sound so ruffled. “I wanted to talk to him about Acapulco. I believe Roberto, Jon Michael, and that other boy, Claude Jensen, had something to do with Amanda Rowling’s disappearance. I knew those surfers were no good and Katharine was involved with them. I’d hired a private detective. They all had dicey pasts. For God’s sake, Claude’s been in jail and his father’s an ax murderer. Roberto’s a gigolo. I was worried about what might happen to my daughter.” She faltered, seeming incapable of going on. The strain showed on her face.

  Katharine hung her head, her face ashen, her eyes filled with tears, her shame almost palpable.

  Jennifer Lowell Kennedy, stockbroker extraordinaire, society fund-raiser, perfect hostess, devoted wife and mother, looked haggard and helpless.

  It made Kate mad. “Stop!” she shouted at Nick. “Enough.”

  The detective rolled his chair back and stood up. “This is a murder investigation, Kate. I’d think you of all people would want to hear the truth.”

  Why, because she was the widow of a homicide detective and she’d dabbled in detecting herself? How dare Nick use that rationale to tear her family asunder? Or could Nick be on the right track? Maybe she didn’t want to know the truth.

  “No, Kate. Let me finish,” Jennifer said. “I want it all out, every lie, every evasion, and every motive. Then maybe Detective Carbone will look for the real killer and leave our family alone.”

  Nick sat back down. “I’m listening.”

  “I arrived in Fort Lauderdale late Sunday afternoon and checked into the Boca Raton Hotel. I had no client here. I met with the private detective I’d hired on Grace Rowling’s recommendation. I knew Katharine had fallen for Jon Michael in Acapulco and was still obsessed with him. I wanted to learn all I could about the Four Boardsmen, so I’d called Grace, who was convinced Jon Michael had harmed her daughter—she couldn’t accept that Amanda was probably dead—and that Claude and Roberto had lied to protect him.”

  Katharine groaned, lifting her head for a moment to give her mother a filthy look.

  “The detective told me about Jon Michael’s and Roberto’s midnight surf rides. He’d suspected they might be running drugs, but he couldn’t figure out how.” Jennifer waved her right hand toward Nick. “Now we know.”

  Nick nodded, his face remaining noncommittal, but somehow seeming to acknowledge Jennifer’s giving him credit.

  “I went to the beach Sunday night to spy on Jon Michael and Roberto. Roberto turned out to be a no-show and, to my surprise, Katharine was there, quarreling with Jon Michael. Little did I know that my mother-in-law had a balcony seat for the entire scene.” Jennifer smiled. A weak smile to be sure, but it lifted Kate’s spirits.

  “How could you, Mom?” Katharine was screaming. “You invaded my privacy and spied on me for months. God, you actually hired a private detective to follow me around. And you hid out down here, sneaking around, checking up on me. It’s like one of those bad fifties movies that we all laugh at in film critique class.”

  “Please continue, Mrs. Kennedy. What did you do on Monday before Jon Michael’s body was discovered?” Nick said, ignoring Katharine’s rant and giving Jennifer no chance to respond to it.

  “I had dinner with Grace Rowling. She’s staying at Pier Sixty-Six. She was very concerned about Katharine, thought the surfers might harm her too. And Grace had discovered Sam Meyers, aka Sam Levin, the fourth boardsman, had also been in Acapulco when Amanda disappeared, though the Mexican police have never questioned him and he never came forward.”

  “Grace Rowling came to see me Monday night after Marlene and I returned home from the pier, from seeing Jon Michael’s body.” Kate hadn’t meant to interrupt; the words just tumbled out. “Grace told us Katharine m
ight be in danger, and she needed to talk to her.” Without planning to, Kate had confirmed at least part of her daughter-in-law’s report about her conversation with Grace.

  Jennifer sighed. “My heart breaks for Grace and I like her, but it’s obvious the woman had a motive for killing Jon Michael.”

  Nick turned to Katharine. “Speaking of motives, Roberto has attributed one to you. On Sunday evening, around eight o’clock, were you at the Neptune Inn bar with Jon Michael, Roberto, and Claude?”

  “Yes, I was there.” Katharine held her head high now, but her voice sounded strained. “Jon Michael and I fought about money. I’d refused to lend him any more.”

  “And what else?” Nick prompted.

  Kate steeled herself.

  “He shouted at me,” Katharine said, her words so low Kate had trouble hearing her. “He said he didn’t need my money anyway, that he hated my red hair and freckles, that I reminded him of Huckleberry Finn, and that I should go back to New York City where I belonged.”