Death is a Bargain (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 3) Page 4

  She smiled as she folded the paper and picked up her breakfast tray. “You know, Ballou, after we get Auntie Marlene’s booth set up, I may just have to give my friend Nick Carbone a call.”

  Ballou cocked his head, all ears.

  Kate laughed. What was she thinking? Nick Carbone might be more than an acquaintance, but he was less than a friend. As with so many things about the man, her relationship to him seemed to defy description. Well, hell’s bells, she loved a mystery and, moreover, she had an idea about Whitey Ford—or at least a glimmer of one. She’d give Nick a call regardless of what their relationship was or wasn’t. It wouldn’t be the first murder investigation she’d homed in on.

  The flea market suddenly seemed much more appealing. No doubt there’d be several motives for Whitey’s murder right under her nose in the corridor. Not to mention clues. She’d ask a few questions, no harm in that.

  She’d tossed and turned most of the night, dreaming about taking her boys to the circus at Madison Square Garden, and about how much they’d loved the movie Dumbo, and about those cute dancing elephants yesterday afternoon.

  As she closed the patio door with one hand, juggling the tray with the other, Kate thought of several questions for Donna Viera.

  Chaos greeted her. Marlene’s condo, cluttered at best, startled, no, scared Kate. “What happened here?” She edged around an open cardboard box with streamers of silver tinsel spilling over its sides.

  “Seller’s remorse.” Mary Frances popped up from behind a steamer trunk. “Marlene’s rethinking what she can part with and what she should keep. No contest. Almost nothing goes.”

  Marlene headed toward the kitchen, carrying a pile of Tupperware bowls. Glancing over her shoulder, she gave Kate a defiant look.

  Ballou’s ears drooped. His eyes looked out sadly from the thick fur almost covering them. This had to be the first time ever his Auntie Marlene hadn’t said hello and made a fuss over him.

  Seeing weeks of hard work and harder decisions coming to naught, Kate stifled a scream and said, “Come on, Marlene, you can do this.”

  Straight ahead, Kate spotted all the hula hoops that had been packed and ready to roll, back out on the balcony. The neat-freak side of her personality kicked in.

  “Stop this nonsense. You’re hurting Ballou’s feelings. And wasting everyone’s time. This is unacceptable behavior. Now put those ugly bowls back in the box. We have a place in the corridor leased and paid for and, by heaven, we’re going to work.”

  Ninety minutes later, they made their first sale.

  Kate stared at their first customer, wondering could she have ever been that young? She’d certainly never been as thin or as pretty.

  “I must have that brooch. Big pins are in again, and I love retro, don’t you?” The blonde girl had her own credit card neatly placed in a Coach billfold that she’d retrieved from a large Coach tote laden with her other purchases. Busy bee, this one. The flea market had only opened an hour ago. Kate figured if the young woman had her own American Express account, either she was eighteen or had very indulgent parents. Probably the latter. South Florida seemed to be infested with spoiled teenagers.

  “It’s not a Haskell, you know,” Marlene said.

  The blonde looked blank. Ballou sniffed her feet.

  “Cute dog, but I prefer poodles.” Kate bit her tongue. No matter how tempted, a saleslady can’t lash out at a customer.

  Ballou loved being at the flea market. Ears perked and nose twitching, he’d explored shamelessly all the way from the parking lot to the corridor. So many new sights, so many people, so many smells. Kate had kept an eye out to make sure Ballou wouldn’t decide a certain smell needed to be marked in his own special way, with a jaunty lifted leg.

  The poodle-preferring girl held the pin up to her shoulder. “It’ll go great on black satin.”

  The glass imitation-ruby brooch was so fifties and so matronly that Kate couldn’t imagine Marlene ever wearing it, though they’d all worn fat flowerlike lapel pins back then. More puzzling was why this trendy teenager, with her bare midriff and white shorts that clung to her fanny, would be interested in this quaint piece of costume jewelry.

  They were still unpacking. Mary Frances had tackled the box marked jewelry and arranged all the earrings, pins, and bracelets in the plastic display trays Kate had bought at the dollar store. Nothing had been priced. And Kate couldn’t remember where she’d stuck the tags.

  “How much?” The girl fingered the brooch. “I can’t live without it.”

  Marlene slowly turned from Kate to Mary Frances.

  Kate held her breath.

  “Two hundred and fifty.” Marlene sounded firm.

  “Great.” The girl grinned. “Do you have earrings to match?”

  Except for the three of them, giggling guiltily in the wake of their first customer, the corridor was quiet. The vendors here worked a late shift in order to catch both the matinee and the evening crowd.

  When Kate had arrived in the corridor at eight thirty this morning, lugging a big carton, Jocko, who’d been sweeping the floor, dropped his broom and gave her a hand. Thinking Sean must work his relatives round the clock, Kate had nevertheless been grateful for the clown’s offer to help. And he’d ordered two of the circus roustabouts to leave their chores and “help the ladies set up shop.”

  Now at nine, with only half the cartons unpacked, they’d made a big sale.

  “I think this calls for a celebration,” she said. “I’ll go get some coffee for you two and a cup of tea for me and three of those sinful jelly doughnuts from the bakery in the food tent.”

  “Make mine strawberry,” Marlene said, caressing the AMEX receipt. With the matching earrings, their first sale had totaled three hundred and thirty dollars. Kate’s thirty percent came to ninety-nine dollars. She might learn to like this job.

  On her way to the food tent, Kate made a detour. Yesterday, she’d passed a booth selling signs and posters, created on the spot in big, bold, black calligraphy. She ordered a large poster, saying “Past Perfect.” Marlene once said she liked that name.

  “I’ll be back in an hour to pick it up, okay?”

  She stood in line at the bakery counter, trying to decide if she wanted strawberry or raspberry jelly. Mary Frances had opted for a chocolate doughnut.

  A snort-like laugh caught her attention. Right in front of her, Sean Cunningham, as scruffy out of clown costume as in, had his arm around Donna Viera’s waist and his head bent close to the animal trainer’s ear. But not so close that Kate couldn’t hear him whisper, “You don’t tell that Humane Society dame a goddamn thing, you understand me, Donnie?”

  Eight

  Where the devil was Kate? Ten more minutes of Mary Frances dancing around in cheery collaboration—“Where would you like this, Marlene?…Doesn’t that Pucci scarf just shout, ‘Buy me’?”—and Marlene would have to kill her. Truth be told, she didn’t much like Mary Frances, Broward County’s tango champion. And she had to put up with the ex-nun—prettier and bossier than Maureen O’Hara in The Quiet Man—as vice president on the Ocean Vista’s board of directors. Enough already. And what in the world could be taking Kate so bloody long?

  “You want I should put this last carton down next to the booth, Miz Friedman?” Jocko juggled the heavy package, a pleasant smile on his round, careworn face. “I don’t want to stop your progress. Hard to believe how much you got unpacked in such a short time. The redhead’s some organizer, ain’t she?”

  Mary Frances, overhearing, smiled at Jocko, almost fluting. Then she pointed across the corridor. “That swastika tablecloth must belong to Carl Krieg. Disconcerting isn’t it? Marlene, aren’t you concerned all that Nazi memorabilia will repel your prospective customers?”

  “That’s the least of my worries.” Though tempted to tell Jocko to drop the box on Mar
y Frances’s well-shod foot, Marlene smiled. “Please put the carton next to the table. And thank you, you’ve been wonderful.” She pulled three twenties from her purse. “Here, please split this with the other two guys who helped us out.” Jocko walked away grinning; she wondered if he’d pocket it all. She sighed, then glanced at her watch. Almost ten. The flea market had managed to turn her into a total cynic in less than an hour.

  Her conscience bothered her. A chronic condition. A bit better judgment and fewer lies of omission, and she’d fret a lot less. Hadn’t she learned anything from her checkered past? Apparently not. Sometimes, she wished she could pop a Pepcid AC the way Kate did for stomach distress and make her bad memories disappear like a gas bubble.

  Ballou jumped up gently, putting his front paws on her knee. Looking wistful, he licked her hand, nibbling it. “You’re such a good boy,” Marlene said, feeling better about herself. He seemed to understand and tried to lick her face.

  Mary Frances stamped her foot. “Are you daydreaming? Or going deaf? What about my display? Do you prefer these white leather frames front and center, or shall I move them to the back of the table?”

  Marlene shook her head and held her tongue. After all, the woman, annoying as she was, had volunteered her time and—much as Marlene hated to admit it—talent. “No. They look great there. Thanks.”

  Silence filled the corridor. It occurred to Marlene that without Kate around, she and Mary Frances had nothing to say to each other. Ballou, who’d never cottoned to Mary Frances, circled a carton, then settled back down at Marlene’s feet.

  She felt undeserving of the Westie’s devotion, even though he’d liked her from the day they’d first met in Kate’s kitchen in Rockville Centre. Charlie Kennedy had brought him home as a puppy, a tiny white ball of fur, cute as a teddy bear. Ballou always had been very much Charlie’s dog, slow to warm up to Kate, yet perversely fond of Marlene.

  All that changed when Charlie dropped dead. Kate, in her grief, and Ballou, deprived of his master’s attention, had turned to each other. What had started out as mutual comfort and companionship had blossomed into true love.

  But Ballou had love to spare, and he still made a great fuss over his Auntie Marlene.

  She sighed, a sharp release of breath, muttered “dammit” under her breath, and caught an odd look from Mary Frances, who was emptying the contents of the last carton.

  Marlene went to work, stacking the colorful pottery bowls she’d bought in Arizona almost a half century ago during her brief first marriage. Her hands might be busy, but not as busy as her mind, whirling with images of Charlie.

  Why today? She could go for days, even weeks at a time, believing she’d moved on, then unexpectedly, unrelenting panic would grip her like a vise and hold her captive. Betrayal was an ugly act. An ugly word. And Marlene had betrayed Kate.

  A four-martini one-night stand with her best friend’s husband, during a party that had gone on far too long, on top of a pile of coats in the hosts’ bedroom. A fleeting act of adultery decades ago that, though neither had ever spoken of it again, had haunted both their lives. She hoped that wherever Charlie’s soul had gone, he’d been forgiven and had finally forgiven himself.

  “Marlene, you never mentioned Linda Rutledge has a booth here!” Mary Frances’s squeal jarred Marlene. The woman sounded starstruck.

  Marlene placed a purple bowl into a larger mustard-yellow one, then looked up. “So?”

  Mary Frances ignored her, moving on to greet Baby Boomer Barbie as if she were royalty. “It’s such an honor to meet you, Ms. Rutledge. To think your booth is right next to Marlene’s. I’ve tried to speak to you at doll shows, but you’re always surrounded by such a huge crowd.” Mary Frances was gushing like a fan who’d cornered her favorite rock star. “I’m a collector too.”

  Ballou went into alert mode, eyeing a nervous Precious in Linda’s arms, signaling with perked ears that he was interested, but wagging his tail just enough to show he wasn’t hostile.

  “Is that right?” Linda, in purple spandex, placed the cat on her satin pillow on a high shelf, then opened a cabinet door, pulled out a black velvet cloth, and spread it over the table.

  Precious stared down at Ballou suspiciously from her safe perch, fluffing her fur and flattening her ears. Her body language said, just let that upstart try to come close. She’d sharpened her claws for just such an occasion.

  Ballou showed no fear, going into his treed-a-squirrel pose, waiting. His tail had stopped wagging. That cat wasn’t going anywhere without being chased by him. Precious settled into her soft bed, keeping both green eyes on the threat below. Marlene decided their impasse wouldn’t soon be broken.

  “Oh, yes,” Mary Frances said. “I’m one wife short in my Henry VIII set. I heard at the Miami convention that you have a rare Peggy Nisbet gem. Anne of Cleaves. I’d be most interested in getting my hands on Henry’s fourth wife.”

  “Queen Anne is an elusive lady.” Linda almost smiled. “I do have her, but as a collector you must realize Henry’s wives don’t come cheap.”

  “I’ll pay anything.” History repeated itself. Mary Frances sounded exactly like the flaky teenager who’d been their first customer.

  Ballou wandered off, sniffing his way across the corridor. Good. Marlene didn’t want any pet trouble.

  She started stacking orange dinner plates, wondering why in the world she’d bought a pottery service for twelve, while listening to Mary Frances negotiate with the doll lady. No question, Linda Rutledge had the upper hand and would get her price…which was an astounding six hundred dollars. What kind of a pension did former nuns get, anyway?

  Ballou, who’d been sniffing around the swastika tablecloth, yelped. His barks grew louder and sharper, and he literally ran around in circles.

  Marlene dropped a plate as she hustled over to him. “What’s wrong, Ballou? Why all the commotion?”

  Agitated, the little dog just yelped louder, alternately sticking his nose under the flag and running back toward Marlene.

  She reached down to lift the Westie, but he moved too fast “Stop that! We don’t belong here.”

  Ballou ignored her and using his head, shoved the cloth to one side, revealing a black leather heel.

  “Oh my God!” Marlene screamed, recognizing Carl Krieg’s boot and realizing the boot was connected to a leg.

  Nine

  Donna Viera spun around. Spotting Kate, she sniffed, giving her a long, lingering look that met Kate’s eyes and moved all the way down to her feet.

  The trainer turned back to Sean, whispering. “The old biddy behind us had an earful.”

  Sean, slower to note Kate’s presence, glanced over his shoulder. “Top of the morning, Mrs. Kennedy.”

  Not bothering to hide her anger, Kate said, “The old biddy isn’t deaf. And, yes, I overheard Sean warning you, Donna, or should I say, threatening you?”

  “Now, I didn’t mean anything at all, did I?” Sean’s rice-pudding face attempted a smile that wound up a grimace. “It’s just that those PETA do-gooders sometimes have the wrong idea about what it takes to train an elephant and consider every prod a form of cruelty to animals.”

  Remembering Donna’s forceful prod with the baton, Kate thought the “do-gooders” had the right idea.

  “Is there an official investigation, then?” Kate tried to keep her tone flat and neutral, but knew she came off as judgmental.

  “No, no. Just some volunteer gal from the Broward County Humane Society who has absolutely no authority to poke.” Sean stopped short, looking flustered, as he realized what an unfortunate verb he’d chosen to describe the woman’s mission.

  Kate decided to pay a visit to the volunteer, but she’d start with the trainer. “Why did the Humane Society believe there might be animal abuse, Donna? Had someone here complained?”

  “Those PE
TA people are fanatics.” Donna scowled, almost spitting out her venom. A definite mean streak, Kate thought. “One of those lunatic troublemakers ranted and raved about the tiger’s nails being clipped too short.” Donna flipped her black ponytail. “I told the old cow she could give Sinbad his next manicure.”

  “Now, Mrs. Kennedy, there’s no reason for you to be fretting over this. The Humane Society dropped the investigation for lack of evidence.” Sean spoke with a “been there, done that” attitude. “So, can I buy you a coffee and a muffin?” He’d reached the counter and was gesturing expansively at the array of baked goods.