Death of the Swami Schwartz (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 2)

by Noreen Wald

  Ballou yelped; Tiffani had stepped on him.

  Sanjay stroked the Westie and said, “Oh, yes. I’m waiting for Dr. Gallagher.” He turned to Kate. “Has Tiffani told you I’m to be the new director, Mrs. Kennedy?”

  Guileless? Or guilty? Kate censured herself. She’d always admired Sanjay, even considered him as a potential date for her granddaughter, for heaven’s sake. What was wrong with her?

  “Congratulations.” She tried to put some warmth into her voice. “Tell me, Sanjay, why is Dr. Gallagher the one to name Swami’s replacement? Because he’s chairman of the Yoga Institute’s board of directors?”

  Sanjay seemed embarrassed. “I only learned today that Dr. Gallagher is not only the CEO of the Palmetto Beach Medical Center, where I would like to work after I take the Florida Boards, but he is also the controlling partner in the Yoga Institute. So, in effect, he already is my boss.”

  Spinning around to confront Tiffani, Kate asked, “Did you know that?”

  “You sound like you’re accusing me of hiding something, Mrs. Kennedy. Of course I knew. I keep the records. And the Yoga Institute isn’t their only partnership. That’s what I wanted to show you.”

  Kate flinched. “I’m sorry, Tiffani, I didn’t—” She stopped, realizing she had no finish, that her mind was in turmoil, that everyone looked guilty.

  “If you’ll both excuse me, I still have some calls to make to cancel the rest of our afternoon students.” With a brief polite nod, Sanjay returned to his small office.

  “Are you on my side or what?”

  Tiffani had both hands on her hips and a defiant look on her face. She reminded Kate of her younger granddaughter, Katharine, years ago, when she’d been about to throw a temper tantrum.

  Kate laughed. “Yes, I am. Now talk to me, Tiffani. And show me the files. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on here.”

  Tiffani sighed, then her facial muscles relaxed, and she spoke. “Swami and Dr. Gallagher recently formed another corporation. It’s called Life Preserver and it’s located way out west in an industrial park not far from where I live.”

  “What does the company do?” Kate took a guess. “Make some sort of safety equipment?”

  “I haven’t a clue, but it’s a totally separate corporation.”

  “Separate from the Yoga Institute?”

  “Yes.” Tiffani nodded. “I thought as a board member you might have heard about it.”

  “I only became a board member last night.”

  “Right. Maybe none of the board knows.” Tiffani twirled the end of her ponytail. “I’m surprised Sanjay didn’t.”

  Kate felt doubt, fear, and a not unpleasant rush of adrenaline. “Let’s take a look at those files.”

  “There’s something else.” Tiffani had lowered her voice, almost whispering.

  As Charlie used to say, there always was. Something more. Something Tiffani really didn’t want to share.

  Kate waited.

  “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  With Ballou at her side, she followed the girl into Swami Schwartz’s office. A well-appointed room with a camel leather sofa, two chocolate-brown leather arm chairs, teak bookcases, a massive teak desk, and an East Indian influence evidenced by the colorful rich fabrics chosen for the drapes and throw pillows. An oval Persian rug covered part of the dark oak floor.

  Tiffani pointed to a small desk off in an alcove. “That’s my workstation. I’ll bring up the Life Preserver file first.”

  So the “something else” wasn’t related to the new corporation? Kate wanted Tiffani to reveal any and all evidence in her own time, but Nick Carbone could be on his way.

  With two clicks of the mouse, Tiffani had the Life Preserver Corporation prospectus on the screen. She pointed to the bold, ornate green script on the cover page. Kate put her prescription sunglasses on.

  “See, Mrs. Kennedy, it’s out near Powerline Road in a seedy industrial park. I live a couple of blocks from there in a rundown rental complex.” She spoke without a trace of self-pity.

  Not an address one would associate with the aristocratic doctor whose Medical Center on A1A was state of the art. “How many pages?”

  Tiffani clicked again. “Four.”

  “Quick, print them.” Kate didn’t consider this tampering with evidence. After all, they were merely gathering information, not destroying files. Nick Carbone would have equal access to everything.

  Kate grabbed the pages, folded them, and stuffed them in her sweatpants pocket. Just in case. “What else do you need to tell me? We don’t have much time.”

  Ballou’s ears went up, seemingly on alert, and he barked. Had he heard something? Had the police arrived?

  “Now, Tiffani.”

  The girl clicked again. Another file came up. This one titled “Tantra Workshop.”

  “What’s that?” This time, Kate had no clue. No guess.

  Tiffani blushed, color flooding up from neck to forehead. “It’s a workshop for a few special yoga students. Swami’s private clients.” She was whispering again, yet Kate thought she heard a woman scorned. A woman in fear of being arrested. “Tantra workshops, as the brochures state, provide its participants with an invigorating mix of spirituality and sexuality.”

  “Just who are these private clients?”

  “Well, Magnolia McFee for one.”

  Good grief, Magnolia was eighty-seven years old. Kate suppressed a giggle.

  “And Dallas Dalton has requested a brochure.”

  “Print it.”

  Ballou barked loudly as Nick Carbone’s rough, angry voice preceded his entrance.

  “Who the hell is in there?”

  Fourteen

  Inside Marlene Friedman’s head, Marlene Dietrich was singing, “Tailing in Love Again.” She’d been named after Dietrich who’d been a glamorous movie star in the late thirties—much admired by Marlene’s pregnant mother—and who later worked for the OSS as a double agent during World War II.

  Since Kate’s mother had called her Katharine, after Hepburn, the two namesakes had bonded as six-year-olds the day the Friedmans moved next door to the Nortons. To their parents, how they’d named their daughters was an intriguing coincidence. To the girls, it was destiny. Sixty years later, a shared love of the movies, inherited from their mothers, still fueled their friendship.

  Harry leaned across the table and took Marlene’s hand in his. “A penny for your thoughts, lovely lady.”

  He’d drop dead—or, at the very least, drop her hand—if she told him: Dietrich’s love song had been the musical accompaniment to a wedding, with Marlene marching down the aisle and Harry waiting at the altar.

  Harry’s casual banter and hearty appetite had charmed Marlene through a three-course brunch. He loved the same old movies and Broadway shows she did, though, to be honest, she’d generally led the conversation with a comment that he would pick up on.

  Was he just being agreeable? Or did they really have as much in common as she wanted to believe? She’d been wrong so many times about so many men and, to be sure, she was older now, but was she any wiser?

  “Well, I know what I’m thinking.” Harry met and held her eyes, not blinking. “I want to know all about you. You’re a widow.” He shook his head. “Such a shame for a vital woman like you. I mourned my wife for years. Sad to lose the love of your life, isn’t it? I’ll bet you were a wonderful wife.” Harry added another packet of Sweet & Low to his third cup of coffee. “Had you been married before Jack?”

  Hell’s bells. This was way too soon for that question. Should she tell all now or wait until she knew him better? Maybe she should just mention Kevin. Two husbands seemed fine, but people sometimes reacted strangely when she told them she’d been married three times. So many of her favorite movie stars had to deal with t
his same problem.

  “Yes.” She squeezed his hand. “But I’d rather stay in the present. Memories have their place, but not here. Not now. This is our moment.” She sounded convincing, even to herself.

  “Would you like a glass of champagne?” Harry lifted her hand to his lips. “Suddenly I feel like celebrating.” He waved the waiter over and ordered. “You’re quite right, Marlene. I expect we’ll have eternity to discuss our past lives. I tell you what: Let’s toast today, and, maybe, if I’m lucky, tomorrow. Could I persuade you to come with me to see a special showing of one of my favorite old movies, Death Takes a Holiday?”

  “Where?” Like it mattered. She’d have gone alligator wrestling in the Everglades with him.

  “At the Boca Raton Resort and Club. A group of my special friends has arranged to show the film there, then we’re having a party and discussion afterwards. Should be stimulating.” He kissed her hand again.

  “Here we go, sir.” The waiter had arrived with the champagne.

  As they clicked glasses, Harry grinned, the endearing grin of a schoolboy, and said, “Tomorrow is forever. Remember that, Marlene. It’s a belief I live by.”

  Marlene had some hazy recollection of a World War II movie about Nazis and Hitler’s youth called Tomorrow Is Forever. Natalie Wood. And Orson Welles? That old flick couldn’t possibly have any connection to Harry’s philosophy, could it?

  “A religious belief?” Damn. Why had she asked that? She wasn’t ready for a deep discussion, wanting to keep the conversation as light and happy as the champagne made her feel.

  Harry smiled. “Not exactly, though some might say so.”

  Double damn. Not an enigma. She preferred her men uncomplicated. The only puzzle she wanted in her life was the one in the Sunday Times. Why couldn’t they talk about the movie they were going to see tomorrow? Such a posh and pretty place. Marlene couldn’t wait. But…would Harry turn out to be weird and spoil everything? How had they segued from Death Takes a Holiday to Tomorrow Is Forever? Though tomorrow might be forever, if Death took a holiday.

  Trying to keep it light, and hoping for the best, she said, “Is your belief sort of like Annie singing about how things will be better tomorrow?”

  “Annie who?”

  How could a man who professed to love both Broadway shows and movie musicals not have known, immediately, that she’d been referring to Little Orphan Annie?

  “Never mind. Tell me more about your group of friends who’ll be sponsoring the Death Takes a Holiday discussion. Do they all believe tomorrow is forever?” Harry’s romance potential was dropping faster than her jaw line.

  “Yes. You’ll love them. And you’ll love learning and coming to accept the possibility of your own immortality.”

  “Immortality?”

  “Yes, my lovely, immortality for those who believe, those who are ready, and prepared to enjoy life everlasting where tomorrow is forever. Come to a meeting, you’ll see.”

  A religious zealot? Somehow she didn’t think so.

  “What’s the name of your group, Harry?”

  “The Lazarus Society.”

  Fifteen

  Nick Carbone ordered Tiffani and Kate out of Swami’s office. Ballou nipped at his ankles, but the detective wasn’t in a playful mood. Paper was spewing out of the printer and, in a bold, large font, “Tantra Workshop” filled the computer’s monitor.

  Kate probably had “guilty” written across her forehead in equally big, bold letters. The only saving grace in this compromising situation was the reminder she’d stuffed a hard copy of the Life Preserver prospectus file into her sweatpants’ pocket.

  Standing there, with her straw hat in one hand and her sunglasses in the other, she hoped Nick Carbone had assumed even though he’d caught her snooping, she had nothing to show for her effort.

  God, she must look a fright. Strangely, she felt just as uncomfortable about Carbone catching her minus makeup, her hair uncombed, and her sweat suit looking every bit as grimy as she did.

  “Just a minute, Detective, this is my office too. I’m just doing my job.” Surprising Kate, Tiffani was barking back at Nick Carbone. “Why don’t you let me finish?”

  Snatching up one of the Tantra Workshop printouts, he glanced at it, then said, “Young lady, you are finished. Take Mrs. Kennedy and get out of here. Wait for me in Sanjay Patel’s office.”

  “But,” Tiffani protested.

  “Now.” Carbone’s face contorted, and a vein in his forehead appeared ready to pop.

  Without having said a word to Nick Carbone, not even a hello or a good-bye, Kate walked through Swami’s office to the door, with a still-muttering Tiffani trailing behind her.

  Twenty minutes later, Carbone was dropping Kate and Ballou off at Ocean Vista.

  Though he’d coldly chastised her in front of Sanjay Patel and Tiffani Cruz, telling her to mind her own business or he’d charge her with obstructing justice, there had been no conversation during the ride from the Yoga Institute, not even during the seemingly endless wait for the Neptune Boulevard Bridge to go down. And, worse, the detective had totally ignored Ballou’s obvious delight in seeing him again. Ballou’s droopy ears expressed his reaction to the neglect.

  Now, as a scowling Carbone drove up the driveway, lined on either side with fat azalea bushes and small palm trees, and braked at her front door, Kate panicked. Tiffani sat weeping softly next to her in the backseat, all bluster gone. Her next stop would be the police station.

  Back in the Yoga Institute’s reception area, Kate’s offer to accompany the waitress there had precipitated the detective’s tirade. Tiffani was on her own. Kate desperately wanted to comfort her, to whisper a word of motherly advice about her upcoming interview, but remained silent, afraid that anything she said might make it harder for Tiffani.

  Squeezing the girl’s hand, Kate opened her door—no gentlemanly manners from the detective today—and, clutching Ballou, stepped out of the car. Carbone took off without a glance in her direction.

  Mary Frances huddled in a corner of the lobby, chatting with—or more accurately, at—the recent widower, Joe Sajak, who nodded when necessary. Most Ocean Vista residents considered them to be an item. Kate and Marlene had decided that Joe was only one of several items on Mary Frances’s romance shopping list.

  Circling around the far side of the fountain, she approached Aphrodite’s statute, praying they wouldn’t spot her. As she passed by the cavorting Cupids, thinking she was home free, she heard Mary Frances calling her.

  “Kate, Kate, please come over here.”

  Caught. Damn. And double damn. A few more feet and she’d have made it to the elevator.

  “Okay, Ballou, let’s go over and see Mary Frances.” Kate pushed her damp hair off her face.

  “Mrs. Kennedy, what are you thinking?” The sharp rebuke in Miss Mitford’s voice made Kate shiver. “You know you shouldn’t have that animal in the lobby. And not even on his leash.”

  “In every adversity there’s the seed of an equivalent benefit.” Or some such saying. Charlie Kennedy had always been quoting Napoleon Hill. Now Kate could cite Miss Mitford’s reprimand and escape from Mary Frances.

  She waved at the desk clerk, then looked over at Mary Frances. “Sorry, I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Mary Frances stood and said something to Joe Sajak. Then she started toward Kate. “You’ll want to hear this. Marlene locked herself in Dallas Dalton’s freezer. I’ll ride up in the elevator with you.”

  Kate groaned. Mary Frances had to have heard her, but like a fullback carrying the ball, she charged forward.

  They met as the elevator door opened. In its harsh fluorescent light, Mary Frances stared at Kate. “Good heavens. Where have you been all morning? You look like death warmed over.”

  Sixteen

  In the shower, w
ith warm water pelting her back and reviving her spirit, and her hair covered in Dove shampoo, Kate reflected on Mary Frances’ report about Marlene and that huge ice box she’d stumbled upon in the middle of Dallas Dalton’s condo’s vast square footage.

  What in the world could the Texas glamour girl be planning on freezing in there?

  Mary Frances, visibly upset, had confessed to Kate that she was worried about how the Ocean Vista board would answer that question, among many others, to their fellow owners, at the next condo meeting.

  As Kate rinsed the shampoo out of her hair, feeling almost like a person again, she wondered if the condo officers, even inadvertently, had allowed Dallas to do something unethical. Or worse, illegal? Some violation of the building code? Could that be why Mary Frances, the board’s vice-president, had been so upset?