Death With An Ocean View (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 1) by Noreen Wald Page A

tell.
    “Yeah. I loved her. I didn’t see how I had much choice.” He blushed. “And our reunions were terrific.”
    Kate stood. “Is dinner ready, Marlene? Let’s eat.”
    Stella’s mysterious past went on hold during dinner, as Mary Frances and Marlene regaled Joe with tales of his dead wife’s triumphs during her reign as Ocean Vista’s condo president. By the time Marlene’s pound cake, topped with her million-dollar secret fudge frosting, arrived at the table, a stranger walking in might have thought that four friends had gathered to mourn the death of a fifth.
    But the shaky truce ended over coffee when Marlene asked, “When did Stella move to Chicago, Joe?”
    Her question was met with what appeared to be a genuinely puzzled expression, complete with an arched white eyebrow. And when Joe spoke, he sounded sad. “Look, other than changing planes at O’Hare, to my knowledge, Stella never stepped foot in Chicago.”
    Marlene threw up her hands. “But, Joe, Stella told me that you’d died ten years ago in Chicago and that’s why she moved to Florida.”
    “Stella has said a lot of things over the years.” His voice caught. “But I’m not dead, am I? And I never lived in Chicago, either. Stella moved to Florida from Bedford Falls, Michigan—near where we’d grown up, and where we’d made one last stab at living together. So clearly some of her stories weren’t true.”
    Kate almost felt sorry for him. But he could be lying. Playing the widower’s part. Turning on the tears. Presenting his version of their bizarre relationship. Discrediting the victim. Conning them into trusting him.
    Mary Frances, holding Marlene’s silver coffeepot hovered over Joe. “Let me pour you another cup.”
    Kate’s flicker of pity ignited into anger. “After you left the police station, did you get a chance to stop at the funeral parlor? I know you were quite concerned about the cost.”
    “Gosh, no. After hours of questions, I came directly back here from the police station. Detective Carbone seems to believe that I had something to do with Stella’s death. As you all know, I was fishing out in the Atlantic when Stella was killed. What’s wrong with that man?”
    “You can hardly blame him,” Mary Frances snapped, all semblance of flirting forgotten. “Your alibi had enough holes in it to sink your friend’s sailboat.”
    Joe sighed. “Yeah. But my weak alibi somehow seems to be a plus with Carbone, maybe the only asset I have.” And maybe, Kate thought, Joe Sajak was a lot smarter than he sounded.
    “Anyway, Carbone’s grilling made me nervous, so when I got home, I called Wyndam Oberon to ask if I should hire an attorney. He offered to represent me for now, and if, God forbid, I were to be arrested, he’d recommend a criminal attorney. Then he gave me some good news.”
    Marlene, helping herself to another piece of cake said, “Do tell.”
    “I told Wyndam how worried I was about the cost of the funeral.” Joe’s voice sounded deeper than ever. “Though I wanted the best for Stella, I wondered how I could afford to pay for it. She didn’t have a lot of money, you know, no life insurance either, and I sure didn’t have much money. Or at least that’s what I thought.” He smiled broadly. “But now Stella can have a first-class sendoff. Turns out just last week she’d deposited a cashier’s check for two hundred thousand dollars into her checking account.”
    Marlene dropped her fork. “Two hundred thousand? Where did the money come from?”
    Joe said, “Since it was a cashier’s check, Wyndam is clueless. Looks like Stella’s murder isn’t the only mystery we have to solve.”

Fifteen

      
    Could a copy of that cashier’s check have found its way into the file that Stella had given to Nancy? Or maybe a receipt? Or a stub that identified its purchaser?
    Kate paced her balcony, the fresh ocean breeze and now starry sky doing nothing to soothe her nerves. Ballou, keeping her company, had