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

  Praise for Noreen Wald

  Mysteries by Noreen Wald

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  Copyright

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  The Kate Kennedy Mystery Series

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  GHOSTWRITER ANONYMOUS

  MACDEATH

  DEATH BY BLUE WATER

  MURDER ON A SILVER PLATTER

  PORTRAIT OF A DEAD GUY

  Praise for Noreen Wald

  THE KATE KENNEDY MYSTERIES

  “Sparkles like the South Florida sunshine...Kate Kennedy is a warm and funny heroine.”

  – Nancy Martin, Author of the Blackbird Sisters Mysteries

  “Miss Marple with a modern twist...[Wald] is a very funny lady!”

  – Donna Andrews, Author of the Meg Langslow Mysteries

  “A stylish and sophisticated Miss Marple, seeking justice in sunny South Florida instead of a rainy English Village, and meeting the most delightfully eccentric suspects in the process.”

  – Victoria Thompson, Author of the Gaslight Mysteries

  “Kate Kennedy’s wry wit, genuine kindness, and openness to adventure make her a sleuth to cherish. Death is a Bargain is another top-notch entry in a great series.”

  – Carolyn Hart, Author of the Death on Demand Mysteries

  THE JAKE O’HARA MYSTERIES

  “Murders multiply, but Jake proves up to the challenge. She sees through all the subterfuge and chicanery, solving a mind-boggling mystery in a burst of insight. All the characters are charmingly kooky and fun…a good beginning for a new series.”

  – TheMysteryReader.com

  “[Wald] writes with a light touch.”

  – New York Daily News

  “The author keeps the plot airy and the characters outlandish.”

  – South Florida Sun-Sentinel

  Mysteries by Noreen Wald

  The Kate Kennedy Series

  DEATH WITH AN OCEAN VIEW (#1)

  DEATH OF THE SWAMI SCHWARTZ (#2)

  DEATH IS A BARGAIN (#3)

  DEATH STORMS THE SHORE (#4)

  DEATH RIDES THE SURF (#5)

  The Jake O’Hara Series

  GHOSTWRITER ANONYMOUS (#1)

  THE LUCK OF THE GHOSTWRITER (#2)

  A GHOSTWRITER TO DIE FOR (#3)

  REMEMBRANCE OF GHOSTWRITERS PAST (#4)

  GHOSTWRITER FOR HIRE (#5)

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  Copyright

  DEATH OF THE SWAMI SCHWARTZ

  A Kate Kennedy Mystery

  Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

  Second Edition | March 2016

  Henery Press, LLC

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, LLC, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2016 by Noreen Wald

  Author photograph by Matthew Holler

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-943390-89-2

  Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-943390-90-8

  Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-943390-91-5

  Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-943390-92-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Peggy Hanson and Cordelia Benedict,

  with thanks

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  IN WASHINGTON, D.C.

  Many thanks to Pat Sanders who read, edited, and critiqued as I wrote. And to my other Sunday walking pal. Dr. Diane Shrier, for answering my medical questions. Any wrong diagnosis is mine, not Diane’s.

  I am so grateful to the Rector Lane Irregulars: Donna Andrews, Carla Coupe, Ellen Crosby, Peggy Hanson, Valerie Patterson, Laura Weatherly, and Sandi Wilson.

  I thank Susan Kavanagh for listening to my writing woes and cheering my small successes.

  IN SOUTH FLORIDA

  I couldn’t have researched this book without Gloria and Paul Stuart who keep my room ready in their beautiful Boca Raton home, and keep me in a South Florida state of mind.

  Thanks to Diane and Dave Dufour for fifteen years of friendship and support.

  And thanks to Joyce Sweeney, my writing workshop teacher and mentor.

  IN NEW YORK AND NEW JERSEY

  Thanks to Professor Tom Johnson for his medical knowledge and amusing, on-target observations.

  Thanks to Doris Holland, my dear friend for over forty years, and Billy Reckdenwald, my dear son for over forty years.

  And many thanks to my agent, Peter Rubie.

  Thanks to the Henery Press team for putting new life into Jake and Kate. A special thanks to my lead editor, Rachel Jackson. The new covers designed by Kendel Lynn are great.

  One

  “If I subtract ten years and thirty pounds, do you think I’ll hear from a few good men?”

  Marlene pushed her airbrushed glamour shots toward Kate for her scrutiny. The best would be posted on LastRomance.com, an online dating site for seniors.

  Kate answered her former sister-in-law gingerly. “You might get more responses, but if you lie about your age and weight, what happens when you meet Mr. Right in person?”

  Marlene laughed, that raucous, infectious laughter that Kate had enjoyed for almost sixty years. Ballou, Kate’s West Highland Terrier, nestled against Marlene’s left ankle.

  They were sitting on Kate’s balcony, watching surfers struggle in a rough-for-South-Flori
da sea and creating a brief biography to accompany Marlene’s picture.

  The warm winter wind seemed to temper the mid-morning sun’s rays, but Kate, so fair-skinned she burned, peeled, and freckled in a matter of minutes, had swathed her face and arms in SPF 40 sunscreen and plopped a huge straw hat over her short silver hair. Old gray sweatpants covered her long legs.

  Marlene wore a red and orange print tankini, its matching chiffon caftan crumpled up on a nearby chaise, her tanned-to-whole-wheat-toast body begging for more.

  “You think the guys aren’t lying too?” Marlene spread light strawberry cream cheese on a poppy seed bagel.

  Kate’s eyes followed the trail of tiny black seeds as they slithered down to the floor, leaving miniature polka dots on the ivory tile. She’d earned her “June Cleaver” nickname the hard way: Terminal Tidiness. But as she’d done so often during decades of marriage and motherhood, she bit her tongue. She’d mop the tile after Marlene left.

  “Mary Frances had a lively email exchange with a ‘sixty-three-year-old’ who bragged about what great shape he was in, then turned out to be over ninety and on a walker.” Marlene sipped her tea, frowned, then added another spoonful of sugar.

  Since Mary Frances Costello, their Ocean Vista condo neighbor and an ex-nun, was the reigning Broward County Tango Champion, Kate knew that guy would never have been a match for her.

  While Marlene pecked at her laptop’s keyboard, Kate, too recently widowed to have any interest in romance, stood and stretched. Her classes at the Palmetto Beach Yoga Institute, complete with meditation techniques, were keeping her mind occupied and her body flexible—she was almost ready to solo on a headstand. Kate’s attempts to master that position while her instructor or another student held her legs up straight had been exhilarating.

  Tonight the institute’s founder, Yogi Swami Schwartz, would be honored by the board of directors at Mancini’s, Kate’s favorite Italian restaurant. Her late husband, Charlie, had loved their baked ziti, saying it was every bit as good as Angelo’s in Little Italy. Kate had been invited to the party as board member Mary Frances’ guest and was looking forward to toasting Swami with champagne. Or maybe not…the yogi probably didn’t drink.

  Kate smiled as she pictured Swami—the man who had changed her life—then easily reached and touched her toes ten times and sat down.

  “The Last Romance passion prompt is asking me to pick the category that best describes my body type.”

  Appraising Marlene, most certainly overweight but with remnants of a former Olympic swimmer’s body, still rather firm and strong, Kate weighed her answer. “What are the choices?”

  “Slim. Toned and Terrific. Athletic. Pleasingly Plump. Starting a Diet Today.”

  Feeling like Solomon, Kate nodded. “Well…can you select more than one?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Marlene groaned, then shrugged. “Which ones?”

  “Athletic and Pleasingly Plump. You’re an appealing combination of those two categories.”

  Marlene grinned and swung around to her keyboard, causing Ballou to yelp indignantly. “Kate, say that again, slowly. You’re talking faster than I can type.”

  Two

  With its light ocean breezes, bright sunshine, and cooler temperature, February in South Florida could seduce a transplanted New Yorker into believing she lived in paradise, but Kate still had serious reservations about the other eleven months.

  On the beach with Ballou, she kicked away a clump of olive green seaweed, then watched a pale yellow moon slowly rising in a Wedgewood sky. Matching her pace, her thoughts meandered from Marlene’s dating game to local politics.

  In a town still smarting from a scandal redolent of Barry’s Washington, Buddy’s Providence, and Tammany Hall’s New York, Palmetto Beach’s current mayor and council had been elected on a reform platform. They were a dour lot. The mayor, a minister who boasted a LL.B. as well as a D.D., had vowed to return the town to its former glory. His current crusade against lap dance clubs “sullying the scenery on Federal Highway,” waged from his pulpit and while presiding at the Town Hall meetings, had made headlines and had resulted in attendance at both venues dropping dramatically. Meanwhile, the lap dance clubs continued to thrive.

  The three councilmen—a butcher, a baker, and a candlestick maker (the latter, a woman, owned a factory over on Powerline Road that produced novelty items, including monogrammed candlesticks) were equally aggressive in asserting how ethically they behaved and in believing their own press releases.

  Sometimes Kate found herself yearning for the crooked council she’d helped unseat.

  Ballou yanked on the leash, eager ears slightly askew, twisting around to look up beguilingly at his mistress. “Okay,” she laughed. “I know I’m a slowpoke.”

  She moved faster, breathing in the salty, fresh ocean air, letting it smart then clear her sinuses. Suddenly, overwhelmingly missing her husband, Kate glanced up at the man in the moon’s profile and sighed. As if infused with a dose of Charlie Kennedy’s NYPD-Homicide-Detective common sense, she decided residents of a town who wanted—and voted—to retain its sleepy charm, shouldn’t complain when progress halts and reactionaries rule.

  Marlene, Ocean Vista’s newly elected condo president, had been making noises about running for town council next year, saying her campaign would promise to put a condom in every pocket. Kate worried that her former sister-in-law might be serious. Maybe flirting through Last Romance would distract Marlene from her political ambitions.

  “Come on, Ballou, we’re heading home. I have a dinner party to go to.” Though somewhat surprised and more than a little guilty, Kate felt excited about her evening out. It would be fun to wear her blue silk dress again, to pay homage to her yoga instructor, and to feast on Mancini’s baked ziti.

  Oh God. Could she be getting used to life without Charlie? He’d been gone nine months. Long enough to give birth. Long enough to accept death?

  Debating whether or not to apply eye shadow and mascara—Marlene had given her a makeover at Neiman’s for Christmas—Kate assessed her fine lines, soft jaw, and too-pale skin. Strange how her chestnut hair turning silver had also turned her pink complexion sallow. The portable plastic tray that held all Marlene’s magic potions sat in front of her. Sighing, Kate applied more blush and reached for the mascara. Charlie had liked to watch her “fix her face.” She hoped he was still watching. Just in case, she told him, “I’m ready to rock and roll.”

  A familiar rat-a-tat-tat announced Marlene. What did she want? Kate was meeting Mary Prances in five minutes. Not hiding her annoyance, Kate opened the door.

  Marlene burst in, waving several sheets of paper. “Can you believe this?” She shoved the papers under Kate’s carefully powdered nose. “My picture and bio have been on Last Romance for four hours and I have four responses.”

  “Really?” Kate came off as surprised, masking a swift pang of what might be jealousy mixed with awe at Marlene’s bravado.

  “Of course, three of them are losers. Bachelor number one wanted to know if I had a spare room. Bachelor number two thinks Gore Vidal is a wrestler, and number three still lives with his mother and likes to be tucked in. But this guy,” Marlene shuffled the papers and handed one to Kate, “is perfect.”

  Kate stared at a hazy photo of a man in a tuxedo who looked vaguely like a moon-faced politician her father used to bring home for dinner.

  “His grammar is correct, his vocabulary includes words longer than seven letters, and he has season tickets to the Performing Arts Center and the opera.”

  What about character? Or didn’t that count at all?

  Marlene read from his email. “I enjoy fine dining, French wine, and Italian films. You sound like a warm, witty woman, whom I would enjoy getting to know and to share my interests with.”

  Kate nodded. Not many longer-than-seven-letter words in that ex
cerpt. And he’d ended a sentence with a preposition. She’d better watch out, she was bordering on petty.

  “Doesn’t he sound wonderful?”

  Because she loved and didn’t want to disappoint her best friend, who’d been married three times and still yearned for another man in her life, Kate said, “Yes.”

  “We’re meeting at the Breakers for brunch tomorrow.”

  “What? I hope he’s treating.”

  “All according to the passion prompt’s advice. In broad daylight. Ugh. Who needs that? In a safe place, open to the public. And I’m driving myself up to Palm Beach, so I can leave whenever I want…but with this dreamboat, why would I want to leave?”