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

by Noreen Wald

  “More company coming?” Marlene’s low chuckle sounded rueful.

  “The only ones who’ll be missing are Peter and Edmund, and I wouldn’t take book on their not showing up.” Kate sighed. “At least Kevin and Lauren will be staying up in Boca. Jennifer too, when she arrives.”

  “What about Katharine?”

  If anyone had asked Kate before this very minute if she loved all her children and grandchildren equally, she’d have answered yes, and she’d have meant it. Marlene’s question made Kate realize that answer wouldn’t have been the truth. She wanted Katharine to stay with her because Katharine was special, a sweet down-to-earth girl who reminded Kate of Charlie. And yes, she loved Katharine, if not more, then differently from the way she loved the others. Hell, she loved Marlene, with all her faults, more than she loved Jennifer. And, if she should feel guilty or disloyal, she didn’t.

  “Katharine will stay with me,” her grandmother said. This time Marlene’s chuckle sounded knowing.

  They drove for a while in silence, rare for the old friends, unless one of them was angry. A view of the Reef finally broke that silence.

  The Palmetto Beach city fathers had voted to approve the huge, luxurious—the builder’s adjective, not Kate’s—condominium, built in the southernmost part of the city on two adjoining lots, after the city had razed the perfectly fine condos that had been standing on those lots since the sixties.

  The Reef’s sales brochure proclaimed its condo dwellers would “live like royalty, submerged in elegance.” The glossy promo also pointed out that trendy boutiques, entertaining hot spots, and diving excursions were available in Boca Raton, Palm Beach, and Fort Lauderdale—not mentioning that the city of Palmetto Beach had none of those amenities.

  The condos ranged from $1.6 to $5 million. With the real estate boom over, the Reef now had a glut of unsold luxury.

  “Mary Frances told me Joe Sajak bought a two-bedroom condo there on spec, putting down ten percent, figuring he could turn it around for a fast profit,” Marlene said. “Now he’s crying foul, threatening to sue the builder. Says the Italian marble in the kitchen is fake.”

  Kate’s chuckle was neither rueful nor knowing. She was just plain tickled.

  “Well, if Joe can’t unload it, maybe he’ll have to sell his Ocean Vista condo and move to the Reef. You should have been nicer to him, Marlene.”

  “Maybe you can walk the rest of the way home.”

  Lauderdale-by-the-Sea had a building code prohibiting high-rises and preserving the city’s charm. In Palmetto Beach, low-rise apartment houses and motels, dwarfed by taller neighbors, sometimes went unnoticed.

  Kate almost missed the Crest. “Whoa, Marlene, quick, make a right here. That’s the motel where Roberto Romero lives.” She pointed to a New England-style clapboard cottage, complete with trellis and rosebushes. Its back door had to exit into the sand dunes.

  “You’d think they’d have a sign bigger than a postage stamp,” Marlene said. “And where are we supposed to park?”

  “I don’t think they’re looking for customers. I bet the Crest doesn’t advertise; that’s why we never heard of it. And if you didn’t know about it, you’d drive right by.”

  The six-car parking lot was full, but Kate saw no black Cadillac among the Lexus and Mercedes rentals.

  “Why don’t you go in, Kate? I’ll park by the front door and stay in the car. It doesn’t look like there’s much happening here.”

  Kate scrambled out of the car before Marlene changed her mind.

  The Wedgwood blue door opened into a room decorated with chintz loveseats and mahogany tables and smelling of lemon-scented furniture polish.

  Kate felt as if she’d left Palmetto Beach behind and stepped into Nantucket.

  A sandy-haired young man wearing a white shirt and gold-and-blue-striped school tie sat at campaign desk; its top held a leather-bound registration book but no computer.

  “May I help you, madam?” Why wasn’t she surprised that he had a Mid-Atlantic accent?

  “I’m looking for Roberto Romero. I understand he lives here,” she said, praying her quarry wouldn’t walk in and catch her.

  “That is no longer the case, madam, and I can give you no other information, unless, of course, you’re with the police.” He almost snickered.

  Kate, noting her rolled-up khakis and old sandals, could hardly blame him.

  So Nick Carbone had beaten her to the Crest. Had the snooty young clerk been more cooperative with the homicide detective?

  Feeling dejected and resentful, she waked out into the late-afternoon sunshine and found Marlene in animated conversation with an elderly gardener who was watering the rosebushes. Could that be a twenty-dollar bill Marlene just pressed into his free hand?

  Kate stayed to their right, blatantly eavesdropping.

  “He smokes Cuban cigars and drinks Johnnie Walker on the rocks,” the old man was telling Marlene. Her sister-in-law nodded encouragingly. “Romero’s a real big tipper. He don’t stay here all the time. I hear he has some old dame down in Miami. Like I told that homicide detective, I think Romero’s green card’s a fake. But for an illegal alien, that young man sure lives well and dates some real beauties. A regular Latin lover. No visible means of support.” The gardener turned his hose off. “Did you say the story would be in People?”

  “Week after next,” Marlene lied, handing the man another twenty. She glanced over at Kate. “Meet my editor.”

  Thirty-Four

  “You should have been an actress,” Kate said as they walked into the Ocean Vista lobby. “Your lies sound so smooth, so scripted.”

  “What kind of a crack is that?” Marlene snapped.

  “It’s not a crack.” Kate heard the edge of anger in her own voice too. “I’m grateful, that’s all; you pulled off what I couldn’t.”

  “Well, you thanked me twice in the car.” Marlene, not mollified, sounded like a spoiled child. What was behind her sister-in-law’s behavior? Certainly not what had happened in front of the Crest Motel or on their way home, but Kate didn’t feel up to examining issues from their past. They had enough to deal with in the present.

  Several of their fellow condo owners were taking down the Halloween balloons and orange and black crepe paper. They’d been up for less than thirty hours. Miss Mitford stood behind her desk, overseeing with her usual disdain. Kate winced when she saw several boxes marked CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS.

  “This would have never happened on my watch,” Marlene said.

  “You ran a tight condo,” Kate said, making Marlene smile. A real smile, letting Kate know everything was okay again.

  “Hey, Marlene,” a voice called from behind Aphrodite. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Sam Meyers walked around the fountain. He must have been sitting on the other side of the lobby, watching the decorations being dismantled.

  If Marlene was as surprised as Kate to see Sam in their lobby, she didn’t show it. “Hello, Sam,” she said, all full of charm. “Do you remember my sister-in-law, Kate Kennedy? You met her briefly at Dinah’s last night.”

  “Hi, Kate,” Sam said, and then stared over at the cupids. “Er, look, ladies, I’m here because Katharine called me.” He seemed agitated, checking his watch. “We have a date in fifteen minutes. She wants me to go with her to visit Jon Michael’s grandmother, you know, like a condolence call.”

  “I thought you hardly knew Katharine,” Marlene said. “You told me she’d left Acapulco before you arrived there.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Sam stammered. “I surfed with her here a couple of times, though, and hung with her and the other boardsmen at the Neptune Inn.”

  Kate thought he was lying, but about what?

  “I’m down with taking Katharine,” Sam said. “Here’s the problem: I can’t go to see Florit
a Flannigan with Katharine unless Annette comes too. She’s off addressing the Fort Lauderdale NOW chapter, Marlene, telling them how proud they all should be of you, what a wonderful advocate you were for her cause.”

  Kate bit her lip as Marlene blanched.

  “Annette is very possessive, but she trusts you, Marlene. The only way Katharine and I can visit Florita is if you’ll join us.” Sam, having spoken his piece, seemed to relax.

  “Then, afterward, we all can have dinner at the Neptune Inn.”

  “Well, Sam, I have a problem too,” Marlene said. “Florita is royally ticked off at me. I had a run-in with her talking skull, and I assure you I wouldn’t be welcome at her house again.”

  “On the other hand,” Kate said, smiling in what she hoped was a grandmotherly fashion, “Florita likes me. She even gave me a discount when I consulted with Mandrake. May I be your chaperone, Sam?”

  He nodded, not unlike an eager puppy.

  “Okay, I’ll freshen up, collect Katharine, and we’ll be ready to roll. Marlene will make reservations for all of us except herself at the Neptune Inn. Now, Sam, please relax. Or help take down the Halloween decorations. Or chat with Miss Mitford at the front desk; she’s quite the Palmetto Beach historian. Katharine and I will be down in less than ten minutes.”

  As they stepped into the elevator, Marlene said, “I know I can’t go to Florita’s house, but why can’t I go to the Neptune Inn?”

  “Because not only is Florita Flannigan mad as hell at you, Annette Meyers is about to discover that you are not now and never were a card-carrying member of NOW.” Kate pressed three. “I need to talk to you while I’m getting ready. Marlene, can’t you see, this is an unexpected opportunity? I’ll be spending the evening with our two prime suspects for Diamond Lil. And I need your input about Annette beforehand.”

  “What will I do when you’re out playing detective?” Kate heard the pout in Marlene’s voice.

  “Don’t worry, I have an assignment for you. One you won’t be able to refuse.”

  “It better be more exciting than my last assignment,” Marlene said as they exited the elevator. “No more stupid research. I’m a people person.”

  “Right,” Kate agreed, remembering how Florita Flannigan had branded Marlene “unstable.”

  “You do know Sam Meyers is full of it, don’t you?” Marlene followed Kate down the hall. “Annette told me Sam’s the jealous one. His ‘granny’ believes in open relationships like the one she’s enjoying with that good-looking Navy guy. So why would Annette be jealous if Sam and Katharine went to Florita’s without a bloody chaperone?”

  “Maybe what’s good for the gander isn’t good for the goose.” Kate giggled.

  Marlene groaned. “That’s so bad, I won’t even comment.”

  Kate stopped a few feet away from her door. “This is just a hunch. I have no proof and it makes no sense…”

  “And when has lack of proof or lack of sanity ever stopped us?” As she had for decades, Marlene made Kate feel better.

  “Okay, here goes. I think Diamond Lil is connected to these murders. I don’t know how or why; I just do.”

  Marlene nodded. “And you believe either Annette or Florita might be Diamond Lil?”

  “Yes, though based on what I glimpsed on the television at Dinah’s, Florita’s eyes aren’t quite right. I’m going to check out Annette’s eyes tonight.”

  “What can I do to help?” Marlene sounded excited.

  “I want you and Mary Frances to find out the name and address of Roberto’s patroness and where she lives in Miami. Then you and I will go visit her tomorrow. Any woman who sleeps in her jewels might well be Diamond Lil.”

  Thirty-Five

  “Sex on the beach.” Sam sounded impatient. It was clear that Herb, Kate’s good friend and the owner of the Neptune Inn, had never heard of the drink Sam had ordered.

  “I’m sure my regular bartender would know, but I’m on my own here tonight,” Herb said. “So what else besides vodka and schnapps goes into the shaker?”

  “A shot of vodka, a shot of peach schnapps, two shots of cranberry juice, and a splash of pineapple juice,” Sam said. “That’s the way they make it on Oahu’s north shore. Oahu’s awesome. The best surfing in Hawaii, the best swells in the world, and the best sex on the beach too.”

  “I’ll try to live up to Oahu’s standards,” Herb said, reaching for a cocktail shaker. “The Neptune Inn aims to please.”

  Florita had not only accepted the dinner invitation, she’d been waiting outside at her front gate when Sam, Katharine, and Kate, the duenna, had picked her up.

  Now the four of them were sitting at the Neptune Inn’s bar waiting for Annette to arrive.

  “I’ll have a sex on the beach too,” Florita said. “Sure beats white wine, doesn’t it?” For a grandmother in mourning, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

  Kate said, “I’d like a Diet Coke.”

  “Me too,” Katharine said. The girl had been very quiet, too quiet, in the car both going to and coming from Florita’s.

  “Where else have you surfed, Sam?” Kate asked. She’d been under the impression Sam was a computer geek who hadn’t spent much time riding the waves. But then, she’d also thought he hadn’t been in Acapulco and she’d been wrong about that.

  “Black’s Beach in San Diego. Sweet, man. It has one of the best reefs in the world. And just last June I went to Lahinch in Ireland. Way wild surfing there. We were towed by Jet Skis to just below the Cliffs of Moher. We had to wear wet suits, gloves, and boots in that damn cold water, but the waves were totally awesome.”

  Where had Sam gotten the money to surf around the world? Maybe Granny Meyers wasn’t the first older woman he’d “loved.” Or maybe the surfboard smuggling operation hadn’t been so small; maybe Sam had been part of it.

  “I’m of Irish descent, you know,” Florita Flannigan said. “So I plan to have a proper send-off for Jon Michael.” She sipped her sex on the beach; Herb had served her first. “I thought we were meeting tonight to talk about his wake and the funeral.” She turned to Sam. “No disrespect to you, but my grandson died surfing. I’m sick of hearing about what a wonderful sport it is.”

  Kate, the instigator, felt a wave of shame wash over her. She, not Sam, had been guilty of gross insensitivity. Again, she wondered why Katharine had called Sam. Hadn’t her granddaughter believed she could count on Kate to drive her to Florita’s? One thing was clear: Katharine hadn’t wanted to go there alone.

  “Please forgive me, Florita.” Kate didn’t have to feign regret; her sincerity was real. “That’s why we’re here. How can Katharine and I help?”

  Katharine smiled at her grandmother. The warmth in her granddaughter’s eyes moved Kate. She’d been afraid the girl she loved so deeply could have been lost to her forever. Tonight, planning a funeral for the boy who’d broken Katharine’s heart might bring Kate and her granddaughter back together.

  Florita toyed with the three-strand pearl choker that encircled the turtleneck of her black silk dress. If those were real pearls, they had to have cost a fortune. Kate tried to focus on Florita’s eyes, but in the dimly lit bar, she couldn’t see much of anything.

  “Well, Detective Carbone tells me they’ll release Jon Michael’s body by tomorrow afternoon. I want to have the requiem mass in Hollywood.”

  “California?” Sam asked. “That seems like a long way to travel to a funeral.”

  Florita flicked her wrist in the surfer’s direction, but continued to address Kate and Katharine, who sat to her right.

  “The mission church, down in Hollywood, the one with the grotto, where they reenact the passion and the crucifixion every Holy Week.”

  Kate, the church-hopper, nodded. “I just love Father Sean’s sermons.”

  “And I thought we’d hold the wake at
home. Mandrake doesn’t like to go out, you know, and his shrine is really a chapel anyway.”

  Even Kate, a veteran of hundreds of Irish wakes, was stumped.

  “I thought we’d have the wake Friday night and the requiem mass and burial on Saturday.” Florita finished her drink and gestured toward Herb for another. “How does that sound?” she asked of no one in particular, though she patted Katharine’s knee.

  “Great,” Katharine said. “I’ll be glad to help buy the food for the wake and help serve it.” She touched Kate’s hand. “You’ll help too, won’t you, Nana?”

  Sensing closure—and what did that word really mean?—keeping busy at the wake and funeral would help her granddaughter. Kate said, “Of course. Whatever I can do.”