Death With An Ocean View (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 1) (14 page)

Twenty-Seven

Still in her
terry cloth robe and bedroom slippers, Kate carried her and Ballou’s breakfast out to the balcony. Surprisingly, she’d slept well, her exhausted body shutting down her troubled mind for eight blessed hours.

Another designer day. Somehow, this morning, she didn’t resent the “as promised by the Chamber of Commerce” weather. The sun was still high enough in the heavens to let the breeze from the aquamarine ocean work its magic, and the baby blue sky was almost cloudless. A perfect day for a wedding. Or a funeral. Stella, the beach lover, would have approved.

The
Palmetto Beach Gazette
Extra had arrived at her front door sometime during the night She spread strawberry jam on her bagel, sipped her tea, put on her glasses, and read the headline:

CAN DAVID FRY TAKE THE HEAT?

And the lead:

ICE RINK BURNS BROWARD COUNTY STATE’S ATTORNEY

Jeff Stein had a sense of humor. Could he have been serious about offering her a job?

She read on with glee:

Councilman Jerome Clark held secret negotiations with David Fry, CEO of Sea Breeze Inc., in January of this year. These negotiations resulted in Clark receiving $500,000 and the promise of a Vice-President’s position in the Sea Breeze Corporation, in exchange for presenting to the council the corporation’s plans to raze the Palmetto Beach waterfront and construct a multimillion-dollar hotel complex and ice rink in its place, and convincing the mayor and his fellow councilmen to award the project to David Fry’s Sea Breeze Inc.

Sources close to Fry say this was the same method he’d employed to obtain a similar contract for a multiplex Sports Arena in Coconut Cove. Those same sources are now cooperating fully with the Broward County State’s Attorney’s Office. With former Coconut Cove mayor Frank Larkin currently serving as Sea Breeze’s Vice-President of Public Relations, under an ongoing investigation, yesterday afternoon Coconut Cove’s councilman Barry Oskar resigned. Requesting anonymity, another council member alleged that Oskar had made a deal and would testify as a witness for the prosecution when the Broward County State’s Attorney convenes a Grand Jury.

So golden boy David Fry was tarnished.

A flush of pleasure started at her toes and ended in a smile. Like Charlie, Kate believed the bad guys should be punished. It looked like Stella Sajak might win a posthumous victory. If so, the pier and the waterfront would remain intact and David Fry wouldn’t be razing Ocean Vista to build a parking garage.

Kate raised her teacup toward the sky. “Good going, Stella.”

Kate and Ballou hit the beach at eight thirty. Following his lead, she turned north toward the pier. Except for a jogger and another dog walker, she had the beach to herself. And Ocean Vista’s chaises were empty too.

As they passed the pool area, Kate watched all the activity going on near the glass doors that led into the recreation room. Two men, dressed in white cutaways, were carrying tall baskets filled with white roses. No wonder Stella’s flower bill had been so bloody expensive. And from a van, parked on the north side of the building, two more men were unloading white satin slipcovers. Joan Crawford came to mind. No bare metal chairs allowed at a memorial service directed by the Adams Family Mortuary.

On this glorious morning, Kate didn’t want to deal with death and she’d deliberately ignored Nick Carbone’s advice about not going out alone.

“Come on, Ballou, let’s walk along the surf.” As a gentle wave rolled over her foot and a seagull soared above her head, she felt close to Charlie, almost as if she could reach out and touch him.

“You’ll never walk alone…”

Kate almost tripped over Ballou.

Could that sweet soprano be an angel singing? Had she lost her mind?

A lovely girl about her granddaughter Katharine’s age and her Pekinese passed by on Kate’s left. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Sometimes, I don’t realize how far my voice carries.” The girl and her dog had the same tawny color hair.

“Not at all. You sing beautifully.” Kate smiled. “And that’s one of my favorite songs.”

Ballou sniffed the trembling Pekinese from stem to stern, then seemed to lose interest.

“Hi. I’m Kate Kennedy and that sniffer over there is Ballou.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Jennifer Holland,” the girl said, then pointed to her dog, “and this is Serendipity.”

“Serendipity?”

“Yes.” Jennifer laughed. “She used to be Samantha, but that’s so passé, don’t you think? So I changed her name and now she’s Serendipity.”

Kate felt her heart leap. Of course. Serendipity. A message from Charlie. He’s sent the clue that could crack this case.

She needed more color in her cheeks. Kate wanted to look as good and as strong as possible today. And black could drain the color from your face.

Charlie used to say that perception and image were sometimes all a detective had going for him. Or her. Kate’s challenge today would be to prove her theory—no easy task. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on Stella’s yearbook.

After taking a half hour to apply her makeup, she revisited her hair and put a few rollers on top. A little height wouldn’t hurt. She hadn’t fussed like this since Charlie died. It felt right; she wanted him to be proud of her.

The black silk pantsuit was slimming. She added her mother’s pearls, a single, matinee-length strand and matching earrings, and stepped into her black leather pumps. Then she switched the essentials—keys, cash, and comb—from her camel tote bag to her small black purse. Pausing in front of the full-length mirror, she thought: Not bad for an old gal heading to a funeral. She could swear she heard Charlie agree.

The service started at ten. She checked her watch: nine forty-five. She decided to go down to the lobby and get her mail. During that very long yesterday, she’d forgotten to pick it up. Miss Mitford manned her station, though she’d dressed in her mourning attire and looked grim.

“Good morning, Miss Mitford,” Kate said. “Are you going to Stella Sajak’s memorial?”

“Yes. I’m closing up shop in five minutes. And the desk will stay closed out of respect for Mrs. Sajak for the rest of the weekend. So those who haven’t collected their mail or messages will just have to wait till Monday.” She sniffed. Inconveniencing the condo owners seemed to please her. “Would you like your mail now?”

“Yes, thank you.” Kate fought an impulse to curtsy. The woman reminded her of Sister Leonarda, her high school principal, who’d instilled fear in the souls of her charges.

“Here, Mrs. Kennedy, take one of these flyers too.” Miss Mitford handed Kate an eight-by-ten sheet of white paper, bordered in black. Its bold words were in black too.

During these sad times, with Stella Sajak’s demise, please remember that Ocean Vista’s Board of Directors needs a smooth transition of government.

In our upcoming special election, vote for Stanley Ferris, DDS, your current Vice-President, to serve as your new President.

Experience Counts!

The Stanley Ferris Election Committee

Rage swept through Kate like a hurricane. No way would that man be elected president. She’d make sure of that. And revenge, not rage, would be her weapon.

Twenty-Eight

“What do you
mean you can’t write a check, Ms. Friedman? You’re the executrix, aren’t you?” Samuel Adams puffed out his chest as he directed one of the catering staff to the recreation room’s kitchen.

Marlene was going crazy. Since all the waiters were wearing white, she couldn’t tell them apart from the undertakers. And both groups were scurrying around like an invasion of Palmetto bugs.

“The Adams Family Mortuary doesn’t press to be paid immediately for services rendered.” What a pompous jerk Samuel
A
dams
was. “But the Carlyle Caterers aren’t as accommodating.”

A large,
unsmiling
,
square-jawed woman holding a tray of quiches said, “Damn straight,” then looked at the funeral director and laughed.

“Lower your voice, Mrs. Carlyle,” Adams snapped. “The mourners are being seated.”

“Well, if you want those mourners fed and watered, you better get me a check, pronto.”

Marlene had to admit the recreation room looked lovely and she gave Samuel Adams all—well, most of the credit. With the drapes wide open, the Atlantic Ocean was aquamarine, highlighted with whitecaps, and the sun’s golden rays became the backdrop for Stella’s urn. The white slipcovers made the metal chairs look warm and inviting. And the dozen tall baskets, filled with white roses, were an elegant—if expensive—touch.

Adams had brought along an Edwardian era console table to hold the urn, the old photographs, and the yearbook. Joe Sajak was fussing around with those mementos. Sympathy cards were displayed, and could be dropped off, on a round table positioned near the door that led to the lobby. A man in white stood behind that table. Though she couldn’t be certain, she thought he was part of the funeral, not the wait, staff.

Mrs. Carlyle pointed to Joe Sajak. “That’s the widower, right?”

Marlene nodded.

“Okay, hold this.” The caterer shoved the tray at Marlene. “I’ll get a check from him.”

And she did.

Joe stopped rearranging Stella’s relics, dashed upstairs, and returned with a check. As he passed Marlene, who’d put the quiche in the kitchen, he said, “When the estate is sealed, I expect to be reimbursed.”

It was the kind of morning that even as it unfolded seemed blurred. A morning of memories destined to be hazy. Faces lost in the crowd. Garbled words of grief.

Maybe that was how family and friends made it through a funeral.

The pianist, a painfully thin young man whom Samuel Adams employed at all of his nonsectarian funerals—churches and synagogues usually having their own organists—played the opening bars of “Nearer, My God, to Thee.” The memorial service had started.

Marlene took a seat in the second row, behind Joe Sajak, and waved Kate and Mary Frances over to join her. Mary Frances said, “Why would Stella have requested this song? I thought she didn’t believe in God.”

Joe spun around and gave Mary Frances a dirty look.

Marlene whispered to Kate, “Where’s Wyndam Oberon? This has turned into a real mess. There are bills to be paid. Someone needs to settle Stella’s estate.”

Kate whispered back, “Dead.”

Joe Stein, in the row behind them, said, “Suicide. Right. If you buy that, I’ll sell you an acre in the Everglades.”

The music stopped and Samuel Adams stood at the microphone directly to the left of the urn. The mourners sat at attention as he gave a dramatic reading of the Twenty-Third Psalm. Stella Sajak may have lived as an atheist, but the funeral director—or maybe the widower—had decided to give her a true believer’s sendoff.

When the reading was over, the pianist played and sang a selection of Cole Porter songs, including “Miss Otis Regrets.” Then Joe Sajak stood, walked over to his wife’s urn, placed both hands on it, and from memory, recited Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s most beloved sonnet. Before he even got to
,
“Let me count the ways,”
Marlene, Kate, and Mary Frances were all in tears.

Breaking the silence that followed Sajak’s performance, Jeff Stein poked his head between Marlene and Kate and whispered, “The State’s Attorney’s Office carted off Nancy Cooper’s computer this morning.”

Back at the microphone, Samuel Adams, a better memorial master of ceremonies than Marlene had imagined, asked if any of the mourners wanted to say a few words about the deceased.

With so many of Stella’s neighbors in attendance, most of the eulogies were pretty much the same until Stanley Ferris took the mike. “You all know that I discovered Stella’s body and was, unjustly, arrested for her murder. Now I want to continue her fight to save Ocean Vista.” Marlene watched Kate’s jaw clench and was about to speak when a crisp clear voice announced from the back of the room. “I’d like to say a few words, please.”

Mayor Brenda Walters was down the aisle and at the mic before Stanley seemed to realize that he’d been upstaged.

Wearing a navy blue suit and white blouse, accessorized with expensive navy leather pumps and tote bag, the mayor looked as crisp as she sounded. She smiled warmly at her audience. “Stella Sajak proved to be not only a community activist, but a worthy opponent. I will miss her feisty spirit. But I want you all to know that Stella’s spirit will live on. She fought the good fight and now she has won the battle to save Ocean Vista and Palmetto Beach’s waterfront and pier. Recent events have proven that Stella Sajak was right about the questionable business practices of the Sea Breeze Corporation and that my council and I had been duped.” The mayor rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and clasped her hands as if in prayer. “You have my word: There will be no rink, no razing, and no restoration, during my reign as mayor.”

The Ocean Vista residents gave the mayor a standing ovation.

Marlene said, “We just witnessed a miracle here. Our mayor morphed from Machiavelli to Mother Teresa.” Then as the pianist’s rousing rendition of “The Music of the Night” filled the room, she, Kate, and Mary Frances followed Joe, carrying the urn, out toward the pool area.

On the beach, a tall, over tanned man wearing jeans, a baseball cap, and sunglasses stood under a palm tree. When Marlene looked his way, he waved.

Holy God! She gasped, stumbled, and almost fell into the pool.

The man was Timmy.