Death is a Bargain (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 3) Read Online Free

air-conditioning wasn’t too cool, Kate shivered. Something sleazy about that clown Jocko. Something sleazy about the entire Cunningham operation.

      
    Finally free of Sean, they started back to the parking lot. Kate, exhausted and wanting to get home and walk Ballou, wondered if she could work in the corridor.
    “Marlene, do you realize that the only vendor Sean didn’t badmouth was his brother, Jocko? He made it sound as if all the others had grudges against Whitey.”
    “Right.” Marlene nodded. “So do you think Whitey Ford’s drowning wasn’t an accident?”
    Kate shrugged. “I’m guessing Sean believes Ford was murdered, so he kept trying, none too subtly, to convince us that everyone in the corridor—except the Cunninghams—had a motive.”

Five

      
    “How could I have known Carl Krieg was some kind of fascist? Hell, he didn’t wear his SS black leather trench coat to the interview in the board room.”
    Marlene’s mantra, chanted all during the ride home, had begun to wear on Kate’s nerves. “His references were impeccable: a minister, a former governor, and old Mrs. Wagner on the fourth floor. Even Mary Frances liked him, and she’d vet the Pope.”
    “I only asked about Krieg’s application process and its status.” Kate sighed. “I’m not accusing you of dereliction of duty.” Aware that condo candidates were usually automatically approved, but unable to resist, she added, “You must have noticed his accent.”
    “What’s really going on here, Kate?”
    Marlene whipped into her coveted covered parking spot in the owners’ lot to the right of the condominium, then stepped on the brake so heavily Kate was thrown forward. If her seat belt hadn’t been fastened, she’d have hit the dashboard.
    “Are you mad at me about Carl Krieg’s Ocean Vista interviewing process or are you mad at yourself for promising to help me out at the flea market?”
    Yet again, Marlene had sliced through the surface muck and gotten down to the swamp at the bottom of Kate’s min d where the real problem—the flea market—festered. Kate remained surprised by Marlene’s mind-reading skill, though she’d been doing it for decades.
    “Well.” Kate allowed a small smile. “Maybe the flea market isn’t my cup of tea.”
    “Too Earl Grey or too Apple Spice?”
    “Just not Lipton.” Kate laughed, acknowledging she seldom varied her routine.
    “You’re in a rut, Kate. You need to get out of your apartment, meet new people, take a break from sand and surf, our fellow condo owners, and your crossword puzzles.” Marlene popped open her seat belt. “I grant you the flea market’s not Lord and Taylor’s, but branch out, woman. Expand your horizons. Try another brand of tea. Work with me and make some money. Listen, with any luck, Whitey Ford’s accidental death will turn out to be murder, and you can question the suspects between sales.”
    They entered by the side door. Ocean Vista’s sea-foam lobby, furnished with small clusters of rattan tables and chairs, two large dark green chenille couches, and scattered tall baskets holding plastic plants, had faux marble flows and too many mirrors for its aging population. In the center, a life-sized imitation alabaster statue of Aphrodite stood in a fountain, surrounded by six winged cupids—mixing, probably unintentionally, Greek and Roman myths.
    Large even by Florida standards, the lobby boasted elaborate glass double doors opening onto a circular driveway, edged with royal palms and sweet-smelling jasmine, which swept down to A1A, known in Palmetto Beach as Ocean Boulevard. The rear door led to the recreation room, the pool area, and the Atlantic Ocean.
    Though Kate had begun to think of the over-decorated apartment building as home, she still missed the staid redbrick Tudor in Rockville Centre, her real home, where she and Charlie had lived more than forty years prior to moving down here. Charlie, who’d so wanted to live on the beach, had died