Death Rides the Surf (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 5) by Noreen Wald
Authors: Noreen Wald
Tags: amateur sleuth books
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hair and Florita’s thick white hair were not unlike the bank robber’s. Annette’s hair was longer and she was a larger woman than Florita, but both resembled the general, if somewhat garbled, descriptions of Diamond Lil.
Marlene heard a moan from behind the bedroom door. Jeez, she’d better get out of there. She dropped the air conditioner cover and then jumped as it banged shut. Pirouetting around the counter, she had her hand on the doorknob when Annette’s voice stopped her cold.
She spun around, rehearsing what to say, but was rendered speechless when she saw a half-naked Annette standing in front of the former Naval officer who wore purple silk boxer shorts and a sheepish grin.
“What are you doing here?” Annette shrieked.
“I forgot my cigarettes,” Marlene managed to croak out.
Annette smiled. “That’s all right, then. I was afraid Sam asked you to follow us. That boy is so provincial. I just hope his jealousy doesn’t break us up. You have a safe trip home, Marlene.” Annette turned and pushed her guest back into the bedroom.
Driving through Hillsboro Mile, with some of the priciest real estate per capita in the United States, Marlene firmed up her plans for the afternoon. First she’d pay a condolence call to Florita Flannigan, ask a few questions, and then she’d drop by Claude Jensen’s house. Both Sam and Florita had painted him as a very bad egg. She wanted to see if the cracker lived up to his reputation. She’d felt sorry for Grace Rowling and, convinced that Claude and Roberto had been involved in Amanda’s disappearance, Marlene had lots of questions for Claude.
She stopped at Dinah’s for coffee. Funny how two beers in the morning had left her sleepy, even though she’d later washed them down with several Diet Cokes. Maybe she should have a slice of that fudge cake sitting under the glass on the counter. After all, they fed soldiers chocolate bars for energy, didn’t they?
Why hadn’t Kate called? Marlene pulled out her cell phone and shook her head. She’d forgotten to turn it on this morning and she had two messages from Kate. She glanced at her watch. Based on Kate’s second message, Jennifer—and when the hell had she blown into town?—Katharine, and Kate might still be meeting with Nick Carbone.
As she drank her coffee, she asked Myrtle for a slice of cake, and then decided she’d drive by the Palmetto Beach Police headquarters to see if Kate’s car was in the lot. She didn’t want to call and interrupt the meeting. Kate had sounded frazzled. Jeez, did Nick Carbone think Katharine had been involved in Jon Michael’s death?
Fortified with caffeine and sugar, two of nature’s finest food groups, Marlene got in line to cross the Neptune Boulevard Bridge to the mainland.
The Palmetto Beach Police Department parking lot was jumping, with lots of squad cars coming and going. After New Year’s Eve, Halloween was the busiest day of the year for the police. Kate’s car was parked near a gleaming black Cadillac, bigger than Marlene’s ’57 convertible. Probably some pimp’s car, she thought, and then started when Roberto Romero stepped out from behind an SUV the size of Chicago, opened the door to the Cadillac, and got in the driver’s seat. It wasn’t until Roberto was pulling out of the parking spot that she noticed the redhead in the front passenger seat: Mary Frances Costello. Marlene’s second odd couple sighting in less than an hour and a half. Happy Halloween.
She drove on to her self-appointed rounds.
Florita Flannigan’s house looked sad. A large black wreath covered a third of the Florida bungalow’s front door, but that wasn’t why. An aura of gloom had seemed to settle over the place, shrouding the house in sorrow. Marlene knew that, in theory, it wasn’t possible for an inanimate object to have emotions, but she’d swear this house was in mourning.
The door opened and Florita greeted Marlene in tears. “My beautiful boy is
Marlene heard a moan from behind the bedroom door. Jeez, she’d better get out of there. She dropped the air conditioner cover and then jumped as it banged shut. Pirouetting around the counter, she had her hand on the doorknob when Annette’s voice stopped her cold.
She spun around, rehearsing what to say, but was rendered speechless when she saw a half-naked Annette standing in front of the former Naval officer who wore purple silk boxer shorts and a sheepish grin.
“What are you doing here?” Annette shrieked.
“I forgot my cigarettes,” Marlene managed to croak out.
Annette smiled. “That’s all right, then. I was afraid Sam asked you to follow us. That boy is so provincial. I just hope his jealousy doesn’t break us up. You have a safe trip home, Marlene.” Annette turned and pushed her guest back into the bedroom.
Driving through Hillsboro Mile, with some of the priciest real estate per capita in the United States, Marlene firmed up her plans for the afternoon. First she’d pay a condolence call to Florita Flannigan, ask a few questions, and then she’d drop by Claude Jensen’s house. Both Sam and Florita had painted him as a very bad egg. She wanted to see if the cracker lived up to his reputation. She’d felt sorry for Grace Rowling and, convinced that Claude and Roberto had been involved in Amanda’s disappearance, Marlene had lots of questions for Claude.
She stopped at Dinah’s for coffee. Funny how two beers in the morning had left her sleepy, even though she’d later washed them down with several Diet Cokes. Maybe she should have a slice of that fudge cake sitting under the glass on the counter. After all, they fed soldiers chocolate bars for energy, didn’t they?
Why hadn’t Kate called? Marlene pulled out her cell phone and shook her head. She’d forgotten to turn it on this morning and she had two messages from Kate. She glanced at her watch. Based on Kate’s second message, Jennifer—and when the hell had she blown into town?—Katharine, and Kate might still be meeting with Nick Carbone.
As she drank her coffee, she asked Myrtle for a slice of cake, and then decided she’d drive by the Palmetto Beach Police headquarters to see if Kate’s car was in the lot. She didn’t want to call and interrupt the meeting. Kate had sounded frazzled. Jeez, did Nick Carbone think Katharine had been involved in Jon Michael’s death?
Fortified with caffeine and sugar, two of nature’s finest food groups, Marlene got in line to cross the Neptune Boulevard Bridge to the mainland.
The Palmetto Beach Police Department parking lot was jumping, with lots of squad cars coming and going. After New Year’s Eve, Halloween was the busiest day of the year for the police. Kate’s car was parked near a gleaming black Cadillac, bigger than Marlene’s ’57 convertible. Probably some pimp’s car, she thought, and then started when Roberto Romero stepped out from behind an SUV the size of Chicago, opened the door to the Cadillac, and got in the driver’s seat. It wasn’t until Roberto was pulling out of the parking spot that she noticed the redhead in the front passenger seat: Mary Frances Costello. Marlene’s second odd couple sighting in less than an hour and a half. Happy Halloween.
She drove on to her self-appointed rounds.
Florita Flannigan’s house looked sad. A large black wreath covered a third of the Florida bungalow’s front door, but that wasn’t why. An aura of gloom had seemed to settle over the place, shrouding the house in sorrow. Marlene knew that, in theory, it wasn’t possible for an inanimate object to have emotions, but she’d swear this house was in mourning.
The door opened and Florita greeted Marlene in tears. “My beautiful boy is