Death With An Ocean View (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 1) (12 page)

Twenty-Two

“Sorry. I didn’t
mean to startle you,” Joe said, then bent and picked up the pooper-scooper, handing it to her like a bouquet.

Kate could only stare at him. A not very tall, slightly good-looking, mild-mannered man wearing a dark suit, white shirt, and muted tie—obviously ready for his dead wife’s visitation—who, however inadvertently, had terrified her.

When she didn’t respond, he continued, “It’s just that I’ve been deep in thought myself. Stella’s and that newspaper woman’s murders keep haunting me. And then you could have been killed, too, Kate. I can’t get those images out of my mind. I took a walk to try and clear my head.”

Images that he’d conjured up or images that he’d actually seen? God. Had Nancy Cooper’s last word been Joe? Kate remained uncertain. Could a double murderer be sharing his feelings?

Kate backed away from him and stumbled. Ballou barked, positioning himself between Kate and Joe. Then the Westie growled and went for Joe’s shin. Kate pulled him off.

“I don’t think your dog likes me.” Joe leaned in and grabbed her arm. “You’re very pale, Kate. Are you okay?” Still unable to find her voice, she nodded. At five forty-five, A1A was bathed in sunshine, the late-afternoon rush-hour traffic filled its north and southbound lanes, and a jogger waved as he ran by. Get a grip, girl. Joe’s not about to shoot you in broad daylight, in front of witnesses. “Kate?”

“Yes,” she said, sounding squeaky. “I felt a little queasy there for a moment, but I’m fine now.” An oily taste coated her mouth, yet her lips were dry. She wondered if Joe knew that Oberon had been spotted with Timmy up in Del Ray Beach, and that the police now had a witness who could connect the attorney to the newsboy. If Oberon had acted as Joe’s middleman, Kate figured he’d have contacted his client immediately after that pay phone fiasco. A rush of anger swept away her fear and she wrenched her arm away from Joe’s grip.

“Did you hear from Wyndam Oberon this afternoon?”

Joe took a step back from Kate and Ballou and shook his head. “No, I spoke to him early this morning, before I went to the funeral parlor with Marlene. However, I’ve been trying to reach him to go over the final arrangements for Stella’s ashes.” Joe’s eyes welled up, but Kate had no sympathy. “Why do you ask?”

Kate shrugged. “Mary Frances and I saw Oberon up in Del Ray this afternoon talking to Timmy, the missing newsboy—who then vanished once again. But both the Del Ray and the Palmetto Beach Police had a long chat with Oberon…
”

“What?”

Either Joe Sajak had trained as an actor or the man was genuinely shocked. The latter wouldn’t prove his innocence; only that Oberon hadn’t called him yet.

“Yes, looks like your old pal Wyndam Oberon may need to hire an attorney.”

“Oberon’s no pal of mine, Kate.” Joe pulled a crisp white handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped his brow. His clothes were way too warm for a stroll in South Florida’s relentless sunshine. “I’d never even laid eyes on the man until I arrived in Palmetto Beach.”

“Is that right?” With Ballou in the lead, the trio turned around and started back to the condo.

“Yes.” Joe slipped out of his jacket and folded it neatly over his left arm. He was walking on the outside, an old-fashioned courtesy that Kate seldom saw these days. “And Oberon hasn’t been very helpful. I’m trying to find out who gave Stella that two-hundred-thousand-dollar cashier’s check, but he keeps on pitty-patting around my questions. I think he knows more than he’s saying about these murders.”

Could Joe be telling the truth? Kate waited.

“Like the yearbook,” Joe said. “I asked him about that and he got all flustered.”

“What yearbook?” He’d lost her.

“Stella’s high school yearbook. I found it next to her bed with a yellow sticky on it. Stella liked to write on yellow pads, and she always used a green pen.”

Where was he going with this?

“Sure enough, the number ‘two hundred thousand’ was scrawled right across that yellow sticky. In green ink. So I knew Stella had put it there.”

“Why would she have done that?” Puzzling over this new information, Kate frowned. “How could that cashier’s check—or the amount that it had been made out for—have anything to do with Stella’s high school yearbook?”

“Beats me. I thought Wyndam might know. But he acted really odd, then totally clammed up when I mention that Stella had ripped a page out of her yearbook. You know, I figured that had to be tied in somehow to the money.”

Kate started. “What page was missing?”

“The one with the photographs of the Science Department. English, Spanish, even Shop—all those teachers’ photos were present and accounted for. But Stella had yanked out the Science page, leaving only a jagged edge behind. Strange.” Joe Sajak wiped his brow again. He’d be wilted before he even arrived at the funeral parlor.

“You went to school with Stella, right? Think. What reason could she have for removing that particular page? Someone special’s photograph? A favorite teacher? Who was in the Science Department during your senior year?” Kate thought: And why now? If Stella had torn out the page around the time that she received the check, had she recently gotten back in touch with one of her teachers? He or she would be well over eighty.

Joe looked deep in thought. “Well, the only science teacher that I remember is Mr. Baum.” Joe’s baritone took on an edge that had to be every bit as jagged as what was left of the missing page. “Martin Baum. I’ll never forget him. He committed suicide on our graduation day. So he couldn’t have had anything to do with that cashier’s check, now could he?”

A specter from Stella’s past…just as she and Marlene had predicted. “How well did Stella know this Mr. Baum? Could there have been something going on between them?” Kate could hear the excitement in her voice.

“Nothing.” Joe’s baritone dropped into a booming bass. “That man had been sleeping with one of his students—or at least that’s what his suicide note said. The student never came forward, but I assure you, it wasn’t my Stella.”

Right.

“Of course not,” Kate responded in her most soothing voice, then switched gears. “Joe, speaking of notes, did you or the police ever find the one that Timmy had dropped off for Stella?”

“No. And they searched for it. I did too. After all, the cops had missed the significance of the sticky. Didn’t Stella leave the lobby right after Miss Mitford handed her the note? She could have tossed it anywhere.”

Yes. And no one had a clue where Stella had gone after reading the note. “I’d just hoped that she’d kept it.”

They turned into the driveway and Ballou strained at his leash, giving a delighted yelp as Marlene, dressed in her best black pantsuit, came barreling out the front door.

“I’ve been looking all over for you two. Kate, I’ve left at least five messages. Where have you been all afternoon? You’re not even dressed. You certainly don’t plan on going to a wake looking like that do you? And Joe, I’ve been knocking on your door forever. I thought you wanted to get to the visitation early, to arrange the pictures or the flowers or whatever.” Marlene shouted, making no attempt to conceal her annoyance. “I never suspected that the two of you had gone off together.”

“We didn’t go off together,” Kate stammered like a schoolgirl. Marlene had rattled her. “I was walking Ballou and ran into Joe.” Then, embarrassed and more than a little annoyed herself, Kate went on the offensive. “Talking about taking off without an explanation, why didn’t you tell me that you’d gon
e to Ireland’s Inn last night?”

Twenty-Three

Joe Sajak scurried
off “to change my shirt,” leaving Marlene and Kate in the lobby. The face-to-face that Kate had wanted. Or had thought she wanted.

Marlene was flushed even though central air-conditioning kept Ocean Vista’s public areas at an almost chilly 68 degrees. Beads of sweat danced on her forehead and upper lip. “Kate,” she said, her chin sagging and her voice breaking, “what can I say?”

Marlene’s contrite body language softened Kate’s resolve. Then, remembering how Marlene had mastered the art of an abject apology that explained nothing, Kate steeled herself, saying, “Well, you can start with why you didn’t tell me that you’d gone out last night.”

She and Marlene had established a “don’t ask; don’t tell” policy long before the U.S. Army. There were areas of Marlene’s life that Kate had never visited and probably wouldn’t want to visit. Her former sister-in-law’s late-night expedition to Ireland’s Inn wasn’t one of those areas.

Staring at the statue of Aphrodite directly behind Kate’s head, Marlene mumbled, “I was ashamed to tell you.”

“Ashamed to tell me what?” Kate tried to keep her voice neutral, while fighting off suspicion.

“That I couldn’t be alone.” Her mumble had become more like a moan. “That I craved male attention. That I wanted to dance. That I didn’t care that Stella’s body hadn’t even been cremated. That I left the dirty dishes and drove to Ireland’s Inn to have some fun. That I ran into Stanley Ferris and he asked me to dance, and I realized that my behavior was every bit as sleazy as his. That I left right after he did, and came home, took a hot toddy to bed with me, and turned on TCM.”

Somehow Marlene’s words comforted Kate. Good Lord, what had she expected to hear? That Marlene had gone to the
Gazette
Building? It was Kate’s turn to feel ashamed.

“Marlene…”

“And then, when you needed me, I wasn’t there for you. You called me, but I was out dancing and you went over to Nancy’s office”—a huge sob escaped, making Marlene gasp—“and someone tried to kill you. And it’s all my fault.”

“Marlene, it’s not your fault—”

“And then this morning, I tried to sound happy when I called to tell you that the cops were hauling Stanley out of the hot tub.” Marlene took a breath and paused, as if reflecting on what she’d just said. “Well, actually, I
was
happy about Stanley being carted off to jail, but down deep I knew that I’d failed you.”

Kate chuckled.

“Mary Frances and I felt happy about Stanley too.”

“And then you went off with the dancing nun and never left me a message. I guess I deserved that.”

“You don’t deserve anything but the best.” Kate leaned over and kissed Marlene’s cheek. “Why don’t we just drop this conversation and get back to murder?”

Marlene seemed to relax. “Okay.” A smile spread slowly across her face. “I still don’t think Stanley’s our killer. He told me at Ireland’s Inn that he was heading over to Federal Highway to the Pink Pussycat, that’s a lap dance joint, less than a block from the
Palmetto Beach Gazette
Building. I’ll bet he parked in the
Gazette
’s lot and decided to use their bathroom—it would be a far better choice than the Pink Pussycat’s john, that’s for sure.”

Kate nodded. “Have you shared that theory with Detective Carbone?”

“No. I didn’t want to admit that I’d been at Ireland’s Inn.”

“We’ll tell him tonight. And after the visitation, I need you to help me create a timeline for Timmy. But first let me tell you about Wyndam Oberon.”

Though Kate had showered and dressed in record time, she kept Mary Frances waiting for almost fifteen minutes.

Now they couldn’t find a spot in the Adams Family Mortuary’s parking lot.

Mary Frances said, “I can’t believe this, Kate. It’s almost seven thirty.” She’d been checking her watch and complaining ever since they’d met in the lobby. “I pride myself on never being late for a wedding or a wake.”

Kate sighed then, for the third time, said, “I’m sorry.” Marlene had no worries about Mary Frances replacing her as Kate’s best friend. If Kate hadn’t promised Nick Carbone that she wouldn’t go anywhere alone, she would have taken her own car and avoided all this
nagging.
Maybe with Wyndam Oberon looking guilty, Carbone would ease his ban on Kate’s solo travel. She wondered if the police had questioned the attorney. Or if they’d even found him.

Samuel Adams, dressed all in white and looking like a cross between a milkman and Kate’s dentist, stood in the foyer in front of the Hepplewhite desk, greeting the mourners in hushed tones, and pointing the way to Viewing Room B.

The size of the crowd surprised Kate. Her least favorite uncle had judged the worth of a man’s life by the number of people who attended his wake. By Uncle Harry’s standards, Stella Sajak’s life had been a success.

Making her way through the crowd, she nodded at her neighbors and waved at Herb Wagner. Somewhere off to the side, a harpist was playing Chopin. Marlene had told her there would be a table next to the urn where she could put her sympathy card.

Miss Mitford, wearing Victorian mourning garb, complete with an ecru eyelet collar, black stockings, and oxfords, sat in the front row, sandwiched between Jeanette Nelson and Mildred Green, dressed to disco. As Kate passed by the trio, she overheard Mildred telling Miss Mitford, “I never wear lavender.” She kept moving.

“Psst. Hello there, Kate.” She recognized Jeanette’s lilt and turned around.

“We’re going dancing at the Senior Center later. Do you want to come along?”

“Sorry, Jeanette,” Kate said, “not tonight. Can I have a rain check?”

“Where’s Stella?” Mildred asked, though she was sitting close enough to the Persian urn to reach over and touch it. “I always like to check out the makeup. The Adams Family Mortuary’s cosmetician tends to pile on the rouge and always uses the most unflattering mauve eye shadow. Makes her clients look sick. I don’t see the casket. Have they stuck Stella in another room?”

While Kate debated how to handle Mildred’s question, and neither Mary Frances nor Jeanette uttered a word, Miss Mitford pointed to the urn.

Mildred shrugged. “In a bowl, is she? Well, at least it isn’t lavender.”

Joe Sajak sat next to the urn, flanked by enormous baskets of lilies, talking to a tall, lanky Texan whom Kate recognized as an Ocean Vista board member. With the condo president dead and the vice-president in jail, would this cowboy become a candidate for president? Or would Joe run for the position, jumping in—like the widows of U.S. Senators often do—to serve out his wife’s term? Making a decision to attend the next board meeting, she could hear Charlie chuckle.

As the Texan moved on, Joe stood and fussed over the photographs of Stella on the large marble top table next to the urn. Several of her personal things were on display as well: a royal blue silk scarf, a mother-of-pearl box, and a ruby slipper, not unlike Dorothy’s. And off to one side, her yearbook.

Kate fought the temptation to snatch it up, search out a quiet corner, and go through it page by page. As if Charlie had whispered in her ear, she suddenly felt convinced that the motive for Stella’s murder had sprung from her past, and that the yearbook contained a clue to her killer. She had to get her hands on it tonight. Before someone else did.

“Good evening, Mrs. Kennedy. Are you all right?” David Fry sounded solicitous, yet patronizing. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Well, this would be the place to see one, wouldn’t it, Mr. Fry? And there’s nothing like a good ghost story, is there?” As he opened his mouth to reply, Kate walked away.

The huge crowd, tough to navigate through, reminded her of Stella’s last stand at Town Hall—and her own nagging senior moment. “Damn.”

Only as Marlene giggled did Kate realize that she’d spoken aloud.

She turned around to find Marlene accompanied by an intense young man with tousled hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and wearing a tweed jacket.

The young man smiled. “I know. I know. The fabric’s a fashion faux pas for fall in South Florida, but it’s the only jacket I own.” He had a New York accent, probably Queens, and a sincere, if nasal, delivery. She liked him instantly.

“Kate Kennedy, this is Jeff Stein, the editor of the
Palmetto Beach Gazette
,”
Marlene said, “and we’ve been chatting about Nancy Cooper.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Kennedy. I’m really sorry about what happened to you the other night when you tried to save Nancy.”

A pang of guilt took Kate by surprise. She’d been so focused on Stella’s murder that she’d hardly thought about Nancy’s.

“I’m so sorry I arrived too late. I didn’t know Nancy Cooper well, but she seemed to love her work at the paper.”

“A good reporter,” Jeff said. “We’ll miss her.”

“Will she be buried in Palmetto Beach?” Kate didn’t know if she could face another funeral.

“No. The coroner promised to release Nancy’s body by tomorrow afternoon. Her sister will fly here and bring her back to Iowa.” Owl-like, Jeff peered over his glasses.

“He also confirmed that the same caliber gun killed both victims.”

Kate could still so clearly feel that gun at her head, that she wondered who was behind her. She spun around to check, her eyes sweeping the room. The widower seemed absorbed in animated conversation with the mayor and two of her councilmen. Mary Frances and the tall Texan were chatting like old friends. Jeanette and Mildred were saying goodbye to Samuel Adams. Miss Mitford was riffling through the sympathy cards. But no one was standing anywhere near Kate.”

“Are you okay?” Kate knew that Marlene’s query had been prompted by genuine concern, but she worried that her emotions could be so easily read.

“Yes. Sorry. I just had a bad moment, but it passed.” Kate smiled. “I’m fine now.”

Theories tumbled through her head. She didn’t want the editor to leave until she asked him a couple of questions. Jeff Stein had kind eyes and an eager-to-please manner. She was about to test those qualities.

“Nancy Cooper had three stories ready to roll in Thursday’s
Gazette
.” Kate tried to sound firm, but fair. “Stella’s obit. An exposé on David Fry. And a mysterious hot scoop. Yet you only published the obituary. What happened to the other two?”

Jeff laughed. “You’re a gutsy lady. If you ever want a job as a reporter, Mrs. Kennedy, give me a call.”

“A good reporter’s questions get answered.” Kate held his gaze.

“Okay. The mystery scoop remains just that. I knew Nancy was chasing after another big story, but I never saw it.” Jeff Stein sighed. “And her David Fry exposé didn’t have two sources, so I couldn’t print it. Not then, anyway.”

“What do you mean, not then?” Anticipation coated Kate’s words.

“I’m printing an Extra tonight—a special edition—we’ve never done that before.” He looked smug. Like her son Kevin had when he received an unexpected A in Trig.

“About David Fry?” Marlene asked.

“Yes. Of course, he’ll deny everything, but the Broward County State’s Attorney has launched an investigation into David Fry’s Sea Breeze Corporation. The alleged charges include bribery, fraud, and cooking the books.” Jeff Stein grinned. “And do you know why the third councilman isn’t here tonight?”

Kate and Marlene just stared at the editor.

“Because he’s not as brazen as David Fry, but Councilman Jerome Clark is also under investigation, alleged to have accepted a bribe from Sea Breeze. He could end up as Fry’s cellmate.”