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

by Noreen Wald

  “I can’t stay, Mrs. Kennedy,” Tiffani said, by way of greeting. Then she actually blushed. “I have plans to meet Sanjay.” She nodded at Marlene. “Hi, Ms. Friedman.”

  “I gather you’re feeling better, Tiffani.” Kate sounded almost as miffed as she felt, And didn’t Sanjay Patel get around? Private yoga lessons with Dallas Dalton at six thirty. Now a date with Tiffani Cruz. Reaching into her pocket, Kate pulled out the slip of paper Herb Wagner had given her. “There are three names here. Since Mr. Wagner has assured me these are the best attorneys in Broward County, Marlene and I were going to suggest drawing one of the three out of a hat.”

  Tiffani put the piece of paper in her pocket. Not an easy task. Her jeans were so tight, she could barely slide it in. “Thanks, Mrs. Kennedy, though I might not be needing any of them. Sanjay’s kind of like advising me. And he knows a really good lawyer.”

  She gave a little wave, pirouetted, and was out the door before Kate could think of a reply.

  “Still think Tiffani’s innocent?”

  Kate said, “Annoying, yes. Guilty, no.” Her mind was on the file in Marlene’s hand.

  “I can’t say I understood most of this.” Marlene held up the four-page prospectus. “Harry didn’t seem bright enough to be part of such sophisticated research. What’s all this scientific stuff about perfectly preserved patients?”

  “Cryonics.”

  “I’ve heard that word before, but can’t recall what it means. Cry-on-ics.” She enunciated as if she were in a spelling bee. “So what does Life Preserver actually do?”

  “Freeze dead people.”

  Twenty-Four

  Kate might need post-life support herself if she couldn’t calm down.

  “Marlene, do you remember a company—I think it was called New Horizons—that opened up near Boca Raton last year?” Sounding as if she were on speed, Kate didn’t wait for an answer. “Some sort of a life extension lab that froze dead people and then, sometime in the future when medical science found the cure for whatever had killed them, would defrost the patients and bring them back to life. Perfectly preserved. Perfectly healthy. But the town, or maybe Palm Beach County, decided the lab had violated some zoning or planning regulations and shut it down. I wonder who owned New Horizons? Not Dr. Gallagher—I’d remember that. Unless he’d been a silent partner. God! Could Jack Gallagher have changed the company’s name to Life Preserver and moved his cryonics business to Palmetto Beach?”

  “Whoa! That’s a real stretch, Kate.”

  “No stretch. Both Life Preserver and New Horizons offered buyers an afterlife that keeps on going…like the Energizer bunny. Physical immortality with, as Harry Archer indicated, a spiritual twist. And that spiritual twist would be the Lazarus Society.” Kate shook her head. “I wonder where your soul goes while your body’s on ice.”

  “Scary thought. But how can you be so sure you’re right about Life Preserver being involved with cryonics?”

  Sure? She’d stake her life on it. “Please, Marlene, listen to me. You need to get Harry Archer alone tomorrow after the screening and chat him up.” Kate had deliberately used the need word. “Tell him you’re sick and that when you die you don’t want to be buried, you want your body to be frozen. Ask him if he has a price list.” Images of dead bodies suspended in an icy cold room, too awful to absorb and too intriguing to delete, floated through Kate’s head, tormenting yet fascinating her.

  “And for all these years, everyone has believed I’m the wild and crazy one.”

  Ballou got restless and struggled to jump off Marlene’s lap. Could he be rebutting her sister-in-law’s sarcastic tone?

  Kate bent down to pet the Westie, stroking his soft white fur as he licked her hand. Not unlike one-upmanship during their childhood squabbles. Feeling foolish, she stood up.

  “Marlene, maybe I really am crazy, but indulge me.”

  “Well, since you’ve indulged my schemes for sixty years, I guess it’s my turn.” As in the past, Marlene’s warm smile brightened Kate’s mood. “You do realize that Swami Schwartz, as Gallagher’s partner, must have known and supported Life Preserver’s goals.”

  Kate nodded. “No doubt Swami planned on being one of those ‘perfectly preserved patients’ who’d be frozen after death, then brought back to life. What he hadn’t planned on was being murdered. Or having an autopsy.”

  “Yeah. I’ll bet a cryonics patient can’t be embalmed, never mind whatever gross stuff a coroner does during a postmortem.”

  A wave of sadness swept over Kate and in its wake, mercifully, carried away the images of dead bodies from her mind. Suddenly, she felt angry and more determined than ever to find Swami’s killer.

  “You know, Kate, if Tiffani told the truth about the screaming match between Laurence McFee and Swami Schwartz, then Magnolia’s grandson might well be our prime suspect. According to Tiffani, Laurence said he’d see Swami dead before he’d allow the McFee money to be used for some science fiction project. Talk about frozen assets.”

  “Talk about a bad pun.” Kate felt better. Marlene seemed to be buying into her theory. “And Sanjay seconded Tiffani’s report. I’ll spend some time with Laurence McFee at the memorial rehearsal tomorrow night.”

  “Who ever heard of a rehearsal for a funeral? Fitzgerald was right. ‘The very rich are different from you and me.’” Marlene shook her head.

  As wound up as she was, Kate grinned, then went right back to the suspects.

  “Last night at Mancini’s, Dallas Dalton was questioning Jack Gallagher about the Lazarus Society as I approached the table. He never answered her.” Kate closed her eyes trying to conjure up the scene. “Then later when Magnolia McFee arrived, she wanted to know if Dallas had joined the Lazarus Society, actually saying, ‘We need fresh blood.’ But Dr. Gallagher immediately blocked my view of Dallas, so I couldn’t hear her response.” Kate shuddered. “While Magnolia’s remark didn’t seem suspicious then, now I’m convinced the Lazarus Society must be some kind of support group for Life Preserver.”

  “If you’re right, Kate, I promise I’ll find out the truth tomorrow. I’ll wheedle it out of Handsome Harry.”

  “If I’m right, you won’t have to drag it out of him. Harry Archer’s a salesman; just let him know you want to live forever. Your date-to-die-for will be delighted to reserve you a spot in cold storage.”

  “Speaking of cold, what about Dallas Dalton’s freezer?” Marlene squinted, her well-arched brows narrowing. “Could it be her very own cryonics alternative to Life Preserver? A really chilly stable for her beloved Thistle? Maybe that horse isn’t stuffed. Maybe he’s frozen.”

  Kate laughed aloud. It felt good. “Marlene, you’ve just raced ahead of me.”

  At eleven thirty, an hour after Marlene had gone home, Kate, totally exhausted, was still at the computer. “This has been the longest day of my life, Charlie.” She’d been having one-sided conversations with her husband ever since he’d dropped dead at their condo closing nine months ago. Her anger had abated, but her sense of loss lingered.

  She so missed this man. Her lover and her friend. A man’s man who listened like a woman and never seemed to judge. “Would you ever have considered being frozen?” God, could she be feeling guilty about not having provided Charlie Kennedy with a chance to come back? Or was she just brain dead?

  Now knowing more about cryonics than any nonbeliever would want to learn, Kate held her head.

  Some cryonics companies offered extensive premedication, some didn’t feel that was necessary for a successful suspension. Most claimed to preserve brain and body structure from decay by cooling the “patient” as rapidly as possible and using cryoprotectants to reduce freezing damage.

  Freezer burn seemed to be a real concern, but the correct neurovitrification process, injection with anticoagulants prior to washout—Kate groaned—and perfusio
n with glycerol should eliminate that problem.

  Patients who wanted to preplan had two options: Full body suspension or head only. The proponents of the latter believed that bringing back your brain would do the trick of regenerating the body.

  One website boasted about the company’s low cost. Though prices could soar to over $120,000, a real bargain—for a head only—was offered at $29,000. But Kate couldn’t determine if that included transportation.

  Some labs only prepared cryogenics patients who would then be transported to a storage facility where they’d be suspended in canisters filled with liquid nitrogen, and preserved at a temperature of minus 320 degrees.

  Two companies provided both patient preparation and storage. One had a “Family Plan.” Moving from site to site seemed like a trip through the Twilight Zone.

  How she and Charlie had loved that show.

  Kate sighed, turned off her computer, and went to bed alone.

  Twenty-Five

  The sun broke through the horizon as a golden halo of light, then settled into the sky like a huge tangerine, warming her yoga mat on the sand as Kate eased into the Upside Down Dog. At her side, Ballou mimicked her movement, kicking some sand in the process. The Westie appeared to have mastered the position far better than she. Kate’s laughter interrupted any chance that she might actually achieve a state of meditation. Her mind, in full throttle since a nightmare about floating heads had jarred her awake at six, showed no signs of slowing down.

  She savored the solitude of the empty beach. Sitting with her legs crossed yogi style, breathing in the fresh air, she stared out at the waves cresting in the ocean, then crashing against the shore, glad she had worn her zip-up nylon jacket in this cool breeze, glad to be alive. Even without Charlie? She bit her lip. Damn, the answer was yes.

  Slowly she stood and stretched, linking her hands behind her back, then touching her toes with ease. Her knees didn’t crack as they had when she started yoga lessons less than three months ago. For a woman of a certain age, she’d mastered the basics quickly. Her balance and her strength had both improved. So had her shape. Tummy tighter. Arms slightly—ever so slightly—firmer. Back straighter. And, even with less than six hours sleep—though she’d have preferred eight—she felt good.

  A tall, lean young woman, the one she’d seen on the beach before with two small boys in tow, walked south from the pier.

  Kate’s memories of her early years—triggered by a smell, a glimpse, or an overheard word—would unfold like a movie, starring herself as a little girl with long, chestnut curls wearing a brown jumper and a beige linen blouse with puffed sleeves. Truly hideous, even in memory. “I hate my uniform, Mommy.” A line of dialogue added authenticity. And she saw action: Walking to school, sitting in a classroom filled with girls—she’d never been in a class with boys—reading a history assignment. Those early memories were so fast-paced, they played more like coming attractions than movies. Fragments from an era long gone, but held dear.

  Some memories remained silent. Still shots. Black and white photographs. Period pieces, frozen in time. Her grandmother’s firm jaw and kind eyes. Her mother and father dressed up for a party. Mommy pretty in a frilly, forties hat. Daddy handsome in a dark suit and tie. Both so young.

  Other memories were felt rather than seen. Out of the past, often unbidden, a memory became a moment, an emotion that intruded on the present. A preteen girl embarrassed by her skinny legs. Or a young mother overwhelmed by the responsibility of caring for two toddlers who could both outrun and outfox her.

  Forty years ago, Kate had been the young woman passing by. This morning, she ached to reach out and touch the little boys.

  Memory could suck you in and not let you escape. In the days following Charlie’s death, Kate had wallowed in that abyss. Remembering the dead had become her life.

  Ballou whined, then nipped at her ankle.

  “Okay, let’s take that walk.” Trying to get a leash on an excited, yapping, jumping Westie brought Kate back to the business at hand.

  She felt a twinge of excitement herself, wanting to get started on her day. So much to do. Right after the walk, she’d go to church. Life might be moving on, but she could take the time to stop and light a candle for Charlie.

  Ballou led the way north toward the pier. While Kate had been down memory lane, several more people had established a beachhead. Two young men, heading south, waved as they jogged by.

  She picked up a piece of driftwood, slender and bleached by seawater and sunshine to an ash gray, considering then rejecting bringing it up to the apartment.

  Near the pier two slender forms, one with flaxen hair, one with hair black as coal, stood side by side, stretching their palms toward the sky. Tiffani and Sanjay were starting their morning with yoga on the beach, just as Herb Wagner had reported.

  If only she could eavesdrop. But Palmetto Beach’s wide expanse of white sand offered nowhere to hide. They were still several yards away and, seemingly, totally absorbed. Should she approach them? Say good morning?

  While debating, she heard a man’s voice call out. “Is that you, Kate Kennedy?”

  She pivoted to the right. Danny Mancini, dressed as if ready to play host at his restaurant in a white shirt and tie, lightweight gray wool trousers, and with sand spilling out of his black leather loafers, barreled down on her.

  She staggered, backing away toward the ocean. What the devil was Danny doing here? Ballou barked. Not warmly. Kate must have conveyed her fear.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  In the bright sunlight, he looked haggard. And his words sounded slurred. Could the man be drunk at seven thirty in the morning? She hesitated, then took a step forward. Danny didn’t seem dangerous. Just confused, out of it.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” He held his head. “No. I’m feeling sick, Kate.” Though the breeze remained cool, sweat ran down Danny’s face.

  She touched his arm. Under the damp shirt, his entire body was shaking. So was Kate.

  “Come with me, back to Ocean Vista. I’ll call 911.” Why wasn’t she carrying the cell phone Marlene had given her?

  “Mr. Mancini, do you need help?” Tiffani Cruz, too, was covered in sweat, but on her it glowed, like a beacon highlighting youth and good health. She whipped out a phone, no bigger than a matchbook, from an invisible pocket in her black spandex pants.

  Sanjay Patel arrived right behind her and spread a large beach towel on the sand. “Please lie down, Mr. Mancini.” Sanjay helped Danny lower himself onto the towel, held a finger to Danny’s neck, then turned to Tiffani. “Ask them to dispatch an ambulance. Tell them to come immediately.”

  “But…” Tiffani’s voice broke.

  “Dial it now,” the doctor ordered.

  Thank God Sanjay had taken control. In her panic, Kate had completely forgotten that a doctor was exercising on the beach. Literally steps away.

  As Sanjay loosened his tie, Danny whispered, “I’m a…”

  “A what?” Sanjay asked, leaning in closer.

  Danny moaned, then closed his eyes.

  Twenty-Six

  St. Elizabeth’s on A1A in Palmetto Beach, two blocks north of Ocean Vista, was a prime example of one of the major differences between New York City and South Florida: Architecture. With its light and airy modern design, its vaulted ceilings, white walls, and planked flooring, and the abstract art in its stained-glass windows, St. Elizabeth differed dramatically from the wonderful old gothic-style churches Kate had attended as a child, from her beloved St. Patrick’s on Fifth Avenue to St. Agnes Cathedral in Rockville Centre where she and Charlie had been parishioners and the boys had been baptized.

  As the church bells tolled ten times, Kate knelt and prayed for Danny Mancini. She truly believed he’d be okay, but a little insurance couldn’t hurt.

/>   On the beach while they’d waited for 911 to answer, Tiffani explained Danny Mancini was a diabetic, then rummaged, in vain, through his pockets looking for insulin. Sanjay had her run over to the Neptune Inn to get some sugar or jam. When the operator got on the line, Sanjay quickly identified himself as a doctor and asked them to alert the paramedics the patient was in shock.

  By the time Danny had been whisked off to the Palmetto Beach Medical Center, both the paramedics and the doctor agreed the patient would make it. Kate felt grateful Tiffani and Sanjay had gone to the hospital with Danny. She couldn’t go with Ballou in tow.

  Could Danny Mancini have been ill yesterday morning when he and Nick Carbone took off from the restaurant with no explanation? At Dinah’s, Tiffani hadn’t mentioned an episode of any sort, not even giving a hint about Mancini having felt unwell. Indeed, she’d implied he and Carbone had gone off together because of a phone call the detective had received. Then this morning, when Kate asked her if Danny had been feeling ill yesterday, Tiffani had shrugged and said, “Maybe. He never felt really good, you know. But nothing like this. I’d have noticed if Mr. Mancini had been this sick.”