by Noreen Wald
Seeing the fury on Marlene’s face, Kate tried again, “But Dallas, how would you get the horse into the condo?” She vividly recalled a baby grand piano being hoisted up twelve floors on a crane, then being pulled through a picture window into her cousin’s co-op in Manhattan.
“The logistics do present a challenge,” Dallas said, in that same calm, seemingly sincere, voice. She’d even toned down her twang. Could she do that on command? “I was thinking we might cut a hole in the roof.”
Marlene drained her martini. “You’re insane.” She sounded almost as sincere as Dallas.
“Now, sugar,” the twang made a comeback. “I said I’d pay for everything. Thistle is priceless. I’ll up my donation to the Ocean Vista Board to a cool million. Hell, I’ll buy the building.”
Marlene sputtered, “You can’t bribe me.”
Dallas stood, reached into her denim jacket’s pocket, and placed a hundred dollar bill on the table. “You’re sweating, Marlene. No need to lose your cool. I only wanted to plant a seed. Thistle’s original quarters may work out just fine.” She winked at Herb Wagner who’d arrived with the menus. “Now you all will have to excuse me. Enjoy your dinner. I have a private yoga session scheduled with Sanjay Patel.”
Twenty-Two
Marlene ordered the lobster, flown in fresh from Maine. “Dallas Dalton has just replaced Mary Frances as my first choice for killer.” She scanned the appetizers. “And, Herb, I’ll start with a double shrimp cocktail.”
“You don’t really believe that Texas gal murdered Swami Schwartz, do you?” Herb, a wise man, asked in his pleasant, easygoing manner.
Kate savored the irony. Marlene’s dislike of Dallas wouldn’t stop her from using the hundred dollar bill to pay for dinner.
“No. And I don’t think Mary Frances did either.” Marlene smiled. “But wouldn’t it be fun if one of those thorns in my tush turned out to be guilty?”
“Kate, what are you having?”
“My usual, Herb. The fried shrimp platter.”
“It’s on our nutty neighbor,” Marlene said. “Have the lobster.”
Kate gave her a dirty look. “I’m having the shrimp, Herb. And coffee. I have plans for after dinner, and I’ve already had two glasses of wine.”
Herb nodded and walked away.
“Plans?” Marlene had a two-martini edge to her voice. “Are you driving somewhere?”
“Pass the rolls, please.” Kate sounded pretty testy herself.
While she wanted to discuss the suspects with Marlene, and looked forward to enjoying her favorite meal, Kate couldn’t stop thinking about Life Preserver. Something she’d read in the company’s prospectus. And something Dallas had said. Some sort of a link. Yes, definitely a link, albeit missing at the moment.
“No, I’m not going anywhere. I want to reread that file I downloaded this morning. If I have another drink, I’ll fall asleep. It’s been a long day, Marlene.”
“Tell me about Tiffani. She’s stopping by tonight, right? Any chance she slipped the cyanide into Swami’s coffee?”
“Anything’s possible, I suppose, but she did lead me to the computer files and she revealed a lot of secrets.”
“Secrets that might be motives for several of the other suspects?”
“Well, yes.”
“So maybe Tiffani’s a lot smarter than we think.” Marlene’s double shrimp cocktail had arrived. “Thanks, Herb, they look marvelous.” Grabbing one by the tail, she whirled it around in the red sauce, then waved it in Kate’s direction. “Can I tempt you?”
“I ordered the fried shrimp for dinner.”
“Oh, hell, Kate, live dangerously. Try one of these too.”
Kate reached for the dripping shrimp, then laughed. “Who says I can’t be flexible?”
“Anyone and everyone who has ever known you. But, tonight, with you wildly devouring two kinds of shrimp, I’m proud to say you’ve proven them all wrong.”
“Here’s how flexible I can be: I’ll accept any one of the suspects as our killer, though at the moment I’m leaning toward Danny Mancini.”
“Really? I don’t like to say this, but I think the sexy Sanjay, much as you admire him, is our guy.” Marlene took a sip of her martini. “He’s positively crawling with motives. He had the hots for Tiffani—even chatted her up at the bar on the night of the murder—and Swami’s death certainly eliminated his competition, right? And, as a bonus, Sanjay wound up as director of the Yoga Institute. I wonder if he’d known he’d be stepping into Swami’s position. And you told me how quickly he’d confirmed Tiffani’s account of the scene between Laurence McFee and Swami. Could Sanjay have been trying to make Laurence appear guilty?” Marlene ate the last olive in her glass.
Had that been her third? Stop counting, Kate. She’d counted Charlie’s beers when they’d been dating, trying to establish three as his limit. He hadn’t been any easier to control than Marlene.
“Or, maybe, Sanjay’s so smitten that he seconded Tiffani’s story about them to keep me from focusing on her.” It pained Kate to utter those words. She didn’t want Tiffani to be guilty, didn’t believe the girl could be capable of murder. Still…she couldn’t be absolutely sure.
Marlene nodded. “And what about the charming Dr. Gallagher? He now owns the Yoga Institute outright.”
“Yes, but he’s such a wealthy man, owning the Institute doesn’t strike me as a motive for murder.” Once again the Life Preserver file floated through Kate’s brain. Could that mysterious company, employing the likes of Harry Archer, be connected to Swami’s death?
“With all these intriguing scenarios, why, exactly, is Danny Mancini your prime suspect?”
Kate forced herself to focus; she’d deal with the file later. “Motive. Two, in fact. First motive: Revenge. According to Dallas, Swami refused Danny’s request for a loan he desperately needed. Second motive: Greed. Swami put his godfather in his will. So now Danny has mucho money to pay off all his debts.”
“Consider your source. I wouldn’t believe anything that Texas twit said. And, for heaven’s sake, Kate, who’d murder his own godson? Danny Mancini always struck me as a decent sort of guy.”
“Another martini, Marlene?” Herb seemed to have a barkeep’s unique radar, always appearing promptly when a customer ran out of fuel.
“Guess not, Herb.” Marlene sounded resigned. “Kate and I have detective work to do tonight.”
“Yeah, I overheard you two talking about the case. About that cute little blonde, Tiffani Cruz, and the handsome, young Indian doctor. About Danny.” Kate sensed Herb Wagner had important information but wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to share it.
“Is there something you’d like to tell us, Herb?” Marlene had picked up the same vibe.
“Well, Tiffani used to wait tables here before she went to work at Ocean Vista. Occasionally, when I’m having my morning coffee, sitting out here on the patio, reading my newspaper, I see her and that young doctor exercising out on the beach, contorted into the strangest positions.”
“Yoga,” Kate said, feeling a pang of…what? Jealousy? Of a girl young enough to be her granddaughter? Resentment? Of her favorite instructor practicing yoga with another student? Had she totally lost her mind?
“Any fool could see that the guy was crazy about her, but Tiffani told my wife she’d fallen madly in love with Swami Schwartz. Go figure. That young doctor’s in trouble; Tiffani’s a tease.”
Kate wondered if Herb spoke from personal experience.
“What about Danny?” Marlene asked, her tenacity coming through loud and clear.
Herb sighed. “Look, I like Danny Mancini and I don’t believe for a New York nanosecond that he killed Swami Schwartz. They were family, you know. But that Dallas gal is right. Danny’s a big gambler. Owes the mob more than a quarter of a million. He’s no
t only in danger of losing the restaurant, he’s in danger of losing his life.” Herb wiped his beefy hand across his brow. “Or he was. Now, with this inheritance, he’ll be okay again. At least until the next sure thing. The next safe bet. Danny’s addicted. He belongs in Gamblers Anonymous.”
From some deep, dank recess of Kate’s mind, Tiffani’s tale about Detective Carbone and Danny Mancini going off together this morning, leaving the waitress and the young cop behind to pack up the evidence boxes, suddenly surfaced, covered in muddy questions itching to be answered.
“Herb, do you know if Danny Mancini and Detective Carbone are friends? Maybe even longtime friends, from decades ago in New York?”
Herb’s hound-dog jowls drooped to what she suspected might be an all-time low. “You’re one sharp cookie, Kate Kennedy. Danny Mancini is Nick Carbone’s godfather too.”
Twenty-Three
If dessert hadn’t been included in the price of her dinner, Kate would have gone straight home. But had she left after Herb’s bombshell, she’d have forgotten to ask him to recommend an attorney for Tiffani. So now she and Marlene were wading through deep-dish apple pie, topped with vanilla ice cream, and mulling over likely lawyers.
“Why don’t we just put the three names in a hat and let Tiffani pick the winner?” Marlene asked, around a mouthful of pie. “I’m much more interested in Detective Carbone’s relationship to Danny Mancini.”
“Do you suppose many people know about that?” Kate somehow didn’t think so.
“Let’s see what we have here. Herb learned Danny was Nick Carbone’s godfather during a poker game between him, Danny and two waiters from Mancini’s. And you were right, Kate. Danny, Nick, and Swami had come from the same neighborhood.”
“Most of those waiters have been at Mancini’s for forty years. Danny would have trusted them. Or maybe Danny didn’t care if people knew Nick was his godson. Maybe it wasn’t a secret.” Kate sipped her coffee. “But Herb sure acted as if it were, and neither Mancini nor Carbone has ever mentioned it.”
Marlene put her spoon down. “I’m outta here. Come on, Kate, let’s go home. We have work to do.”
A breeze had kicked up and the temperature had dropped some, but the crowd on the pier remained thick. Mostly teenagers starting out on this cool February evening, while the early-bird diners and the families with young children headed home.
Not wanting sand in their shoes, they walked back as they had come, along A1A, accompanied by the scent of hibiscus and the rustle of palm trees.
Almost no one walked anywhere in South Florida; tonight was no exception. In both the north and south lanes, traffic whizzed by. Saturday night drivers were always in a hurry. The Neptune Boulevard Bridge must be down, allowing quick access to the mainland. People going over to the movies on Federal Highway, or down to a café on Las Olas, or, maybe, out west to the track to bet on the trotters.
Charlie had loved the track. But Kate usually held the winning tickets. And the horses in the race, the jockey’s record, the owners’ colors had nothing to do with her success. She’d played the same Daily Double combination that her father had played for over forty years. Number Four to Win and Number Six to Show in the first race of the Daily Double; then Number Six to Win and Number Four to Show in the second race. Her father’s betting logic: Number Four—for the number of letters in his first name: Bill. And Number Six—for the number of letters in his last name: Norton. Bill Norton had seldom lost. Nor had his daughter. Kate’s winning “system” drove Charlie crazy. She smiled, remembering. The smile brought tears to her eyes. Even happy memories hurt.
“Godfather or not, Nick Carbone’s too self-righteous to help Danny Mancini cover up a murder, don’t you think?” Had Marlene spotted her tears and tried to distract her? No matter. As tired and vulnerable as Kate felt, it was better to have murder than memories on her mind.
“I’d like to think so, but this morning godson and godfather took off together, leaving the crime scene evidence in the hands of Tiffani and a rookie cop. That’s very strange behavior for such a by-the-book detective.”
“Slow down, Kate.” Marlene was panting. “That entire dinner seems to have settled in my esophagus.”
Kate, who’d taken a Pepcid AC as a precaution before dinner, reached in her pocket and handed one to Marlene. “I can’t swallow this without water.”
Tempted to say, then suffer, Kate nodded encouragingly. “Try. And, if you really can’t get it down, we’re only steps from the lobby. You can use the water fountain near the pool.”
Marlene popped the tiny tablet into her mouth, then, looking miserable, shook her head.
Moving slowly wouldn’t help her sister-in-law’s heartburn. Kate picked up the pace.
Amazing. At eight forty-five on a Saturday night, Ocean Vista’s lobby was as deserted as a graveyard. Miss Mitford’s desk area had gone dark and the piped-in music had been turned off. The water gurgling in Aphrodite’s fountain seemed eerily loud in the silence.
Marlene, who’d kept her mouth shut until she’d reached the water fountain, had swallowed the tablet and was talking again.
“Spooky, isn’t it? There must be a few live ones left in the dining room. What time does Tiffani finish up?”
“Nine thirty.” Kate pressed the elevator button.
“Hold that elevator, sugar.”
Kate, recognizing the twang, turned around. Gone were the too-tight jeans and spangled denim jacket. Dallas now wore black yoga pants and a black cashmere sweatshirt. What she was carrying caught Kate’s attention: A whip, crafted from rich cordovan leather.
“Well, ladies, I didn’t reckon to run into you two so soon.” Dallas glanced around the lobby. “Makes Death Valley look lively, don’t it?”
“Are you bringing that whip up to your apartment?” Marlene sounded shrill, not unlike chalk scratching a blackboard.
“Sure am. Thistle’s on his way home to mama.”
“As president of Ocean Vista,” the shrill had become a shriek, “I forbid you to bring that horse here. Your condo documents clearly state that we don’t permit animals over twenty pounds.”
If that were true, Kate had better put Ballou on a diet.
“Chill out, sugar. My original arrangements worked out. Thistle’s moving into his new quarters on Monday. And tomorrow being Sunday, all the workmen are off, so tonight I’m going to sleep in my new home for the first time. Kind of a test run. I just brought this over from the hotel. Reminds me of Shane’s and my days on the range.” Dallas ran her hand over the leather on the whip, almost caressing it. “I never sleep without Thistle’s saddle next to my bed.”
They rode up to the third floor in dead silence.
“I could seriously strangle that woman,” Marlene said, as they entered Kate’s apartment, Ballou’s yelps of joy and affectionate ankle nips greeting them.
Kate laughed. “One murder at a time, please.”
Marlene scooped Ballou up and sat on Kate’s off-white couch, holding the Westie in her lap.
“Well, I think I’m going to live. Your pill worked. I can breathe again. I’m going on a diet tomorrow.”
“You’re going up to Boca Raton tomorrow. Why put yourself in the path of temptation? I’m sure the Lazarus Society will serve sustenance after the movie.” Kate crossed the room and retrieved the Life Preserver prospectus from the top drawer of a desk near the door to the balcony. “Never start a diet on a Sunday.”
“Is that like one of the Ten Commandments?”
“Yes. Number three.” Kate sat down next to Marlene. Ballou sighed, obviously delighted to be in such close company with the two women he loved best.
“Does he have to go out again?” Marlene asked.
“No, he’d be sleeping if you weren’t here spoiling him.”
“Okay, hand me the prospectus.”
Funny how random ideas—seemingly unconnected—often waltzed together through her subconscious. Maybe talking about Marlene’s viewing of Death Takes a Holiday set her strange but orderly dance sequence into motion: An image of a company up in Palm Beach that had been shut down by the city council segued to the funeral of a famous football player, then to the dead football star scoring a touchdown in Dallas Dalton’s huge freezer, as a “perfectly preserved” Thistle cheered.
“Oh my God!” Kate heard her voice crack.
“What’s wrong?” Marlene jumped.
The doorbell rang.
Flustered and a little frightened at where her subconscious dance had led her, Kate went to let Tiffani in.