Death is a Bargain (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 3) (6 page)

T
welve

Kate answered her cell phone with sticky fingers. In the mid-afternoon sunshine, vanilla-fudge ice cream dripped out of the bottom of Billy’s waffle cone at an alarmingly fast speed. She’d tried to ebb the flow by shoving a wad of napkins under the leak.

Marlene, who knew better, was sneaking a small piece of chocolate icing from her Dove bar to Ballou.

“Nick Carbone, returning your call. What do you want?” The detective didn’t sound happy.

“I’m fine, thank you. And how have you been, Nick?” Either the man had never been taught common courtesy or he deliberately chose rudeness as a way of life. Kate suspected the latter.

She pictured him in his messy office, smoking a smelly cigar. Overweight and overbearing, with Brooklyn smarts and capable of surprising insight.

“Why did you call, Kate, to give me a lecture on manners? To make small talk? You’re the one who never returns my messages.” Some truth in that. Even the thought of a social relationship with Nick made her nervous, unsure of herself. Maybe he had a right to be annoyed. Nonetheless, his arrogance grated. “I’m in the middle of a homicide investigation.”

“Exactly. And I have information that might lead you to Whitey Ford’s murderer.”

“Damn it, Kate. I don’t want your help—or need it.”

Kate wiped Billy’s mouth and fingers, a losing battle. “Lick faster,” she told him, trying to whisper.

Carbone laughed. “What did you say? Have you gone—” Choosing to be rude herself, she interrupted. “Look, Marlene and I took over Whitey’s booth at the flea market yesterday, and Sean Cunningham went to great lengths to drop the names of Whitey’s corridor colleagues with motives to murder him.”

“Is that right, Miss Marple?” His voice dripped with sarcasm thicker than the ice cream melting through Billy’s cone.

“There’s another motive, one Sean didn’t mention.”

“Yes?” Cold tone, yet she could hear his curiosity. “Those photographs. I think Whitey Ford made the phone call and sent the photographs documenting elephant abuse to the Humane Society. And that’s probably why he was killed.” Even as she spoke, her fellow corridor vendors’ possible motives kept crisscrossing her mind.

“Now, you listen to me, Kate. Stop playing detective. This case is more complicated than a poisoning in the vicarage.”

“But—” She was talking to air. Carbone had hung up. Pesky man, anyhow.

Ballou pranced ahead of Marlene. Billy, still dripping, scrambled to keep up. The Westie delighted in the flea market’s many different smells and the nonstop foot traffic. Plastic shopping bags blowing in the breeze, so many children on spring break, shouting and laughing. So many strangers to sniff.

“Rein him in,” Kate said, pressing the red END CALL
button.

Not everyone was friendly. Some passersby gave them disapproving looks. They deserved every one. Pets were banned from the flea market, and Kate, always law-abiding, felt guilty about breaking the rules.

“We’d better head back,” Marlene said. “I don’t like leaving the booth unmanned—unwomaned, I should say.”

“The guard’s on the Cunningham payroll; he’ll protect our stuff.”

A huff wrapped itself around Marlene like a blanket, and Kate ceded ground. “You and Ballou go on back. I’ll take Billy for a walk, I need to pick up something.”

“What?” Even Marlene’s voice sounded huffy.

“Never mind, it’s a surprise.”

“I like surprises,” Billy said, glancing shyly at Kate.

“You shall have one.” Kate remembered a Bucking Bronco ride near the calligraphy booth. And surely she could find a table selling toys. Maybe a truck. Peter and Kevin had been crazy about toys-on-wheels at Billy’s age. Dump trucks and Dino the dinosaur. Kevin could spell
brontosaurus
before his third birthday.

Ballou seemed happy to go off with Auntie Marlene, but Billy was upset that Ballou couldn’t come along with him and Kate.

He’d forgotten all about the Westie by the time Kate hoisted him up on the Bucking Bronco. She smiled, full of pride, wishing Billy were her grandson, as he yelled and cheered, bouncing about and tossing up and down on the mechanical horse.

After two turns, Kate convinced him to move on. Excited, Billy chattered away about cowboys and Indians. And horses. Should she rethink that truck?

They entered the arts and crafts tent to a blast of welcome air-conditioning and approached the calligraphy table hand-in-hand.

Kate was admiring the PAST PERFECT sign when she spotted Suzanna Jordan and Freddie Ducksworth in front of a nearby booth containing sympathy cards. Their voices were raised, and they appeared to be quarreling.

“You’re insane, Freddie!” The ladylike Suzanna screamed like a banshee.

Shoppers stopped in mid-transaction. The calligrapher dropped the PAST PERFECT sign. A startled Billy clung to Kate, who caught the sign before it hit the ground.

“You degenerate. How dare you suggest my Olivia was romantically involved with Whitey?”

“Photographs don’t lie!” Freddie waved a black-and-white glossy under Suzanna’s nose. His customer-friendly round face twisted with rage, so red and strained his cheeks looked ready to explode.

Suzanna’s slim, black-clad body moved like lightning; she grabbed the photo, crumpled it with one hand, and slapped Freddie hard across the face with the other.

“Haven’t you ever heard of negatives?” Nothing funny about the comic-book vendor’s delivery of that line. Freddie Ducksworth sounded not daft, but dangerous. “I’m considering giving one to the police.”

“You’re a lying vulture.”

“No, not a vulture. A man with excellent, owl-like night vision. A photographer who aimed his camera through Carl’s window at just the right moment. A witness who will testify under oath about everyone who arrived to visit Whitey on the night he enjoyed his last bath.”

Th
irteen

Except for the guard, the corridor was empty. Marlene and Ballou could have extended their lunch hour, enjoyed themselves. Kate had some secret mission up her sleeve, and Billy was a cute kid, as kids go. Marlene didn’t much like being here with neither competitors nor customers.

Sitting alone at the dead man’s table, where he’d been a vendor for so long and until so recently, struck her as eerie and wrong, almost like robbing a cemetery. Kate’s instinct had been right. They’d metaphorically jumped into Whitey Ford’s grave.

Though she always complained about the heat, Marlene started to shiver. Well, hell, she’d better get hold of herself. Sean would have leased Whitey’s spot to the first hot prospect. Why shouldn’t she have been the one to take advantage of the situation, sad as it was?

Laughter and screams of delight wafted from the circus into the corridor. Soon that happy audience would be turning into potential buyers. The thought cheered her up.

She stood. “Ballou, it’s just you and me. Kate’s left you for a younger man with big blue eyes.”

The Westie nuzzled her ankle and jumped up to lick her hand, almost as if he understood what she’d said. He often seemed to sense or understand more than most animals. She bent and scratched his ears. “Smart boy, aren’t you?” Ballou chewed her hand in agreement.

“Not as smart as my Precious, of course, but for a dog, he’s pretty cute.” The doll lady had returned from lunch. Linda carried her cat in a purple tote bag that matched her own outfit. Marlene noticed Precious wore a purple bow on her collar as well. “We went off campus for lunch. I really like that House of Pancakes. All that free coffee. And Precious just loves their blueberry syrup.”

Dog and cat were both on alert, defensive, but Marlene felt glad to see Linda, who put Precious on a high shelf celebrating Mexico. The cat searched for a cozy spot on the geometric tapestry and closed her eyes. Siesta time at the dollhouse hacienda.

“Where’s Kate?”

Marlene shrugged. “I don’t know. She had an errand, and she wanted to take Billy for a bronco ride.”

“Poor little lad.” Linda pulled out a mirror and reapplied her lip gloss. “His mum is no better than a trollop, is she?”

Marlene had no strong convictions about Donna’s sex life, but she did have concerns about Donna’s treatment of the circus animals, so she encouraged Linda to keep talking. “I don’t like her much, myself.”

“Why would you? That tart has slept her way through South Florida, hasn’t she? And there’s considerable evidence to back up the theory that Donna did him in. We corridor people all consider her the prime suspect in Whitey’s murder.”

Marlene felt inexplicable sympathy for Donna. Maybe something to do with Marlene herself, waking up a lifetime ago in a Sarasota hotel room with a midget in her bed.

“What evidence, Linda?” Curiosity about a current murder took precedence over a checkered past.

“Well, Donna took him to court in a paternity suit, didn’t she?”

“Good Lord! Is Whitey Ford Billy’s father?” Marlene didn’t shock easily, but this news staggered her. She grabbed the table for support.

“Not according to the accused, but the judge ordered Whitey to pay child support. DNA doesn’t lie, does it?” Linda fussed over a Marilyn Monroe doll, adjusting the teeny high-heeled shoes, then moving her to a more prominent spot at the front of the table. “Circus audiences fancy celebrity dolls. I usually display my Marilyn Monroes next to my Jackie Kennedy bridal dolls. They provide an interesting contrast and my customers often buy the pair, but I’m clean out of Kennedys.”

“Good marketing plan, Linda.” A sly twist, Marlene thought, but she couldn’t focus on the doll lady’s marketing strategies right now, her heart was racing too fast. Billy told Kate his father had died, but who would have guessed he’d been murdered? Talk about twists. “So, tell me, did Whitey pay child support to Donna?”

“At first. But he’s not paid her a penny for the last year. Spent most of his money on booze, the ponies, and the ladies. Selfish sod. Not that Donna behaved any better. She was about to haul him back to court. He tried to appease her, saying he’d provided for Billy in his will. They had a big fight right here in the corridor. Donna screamed at Whitey, ‘You’re only forty-six. Billy and I can’t wait for you to die of old age.’ Heard her with my own ears, didn’t I?”

“Do either of you ladies know where my mother is?” Marlene hadn’t seen or heard the Jordan girl approach. She sounded upset. What was her name? Olive? No, Olivia. Such a sackcloth-and-ashes outfit. And an attitude to match. Could the young woman be doing penance? Still, she had great skin and fine features. With the right makeup, Olivia would be very pretty. Why couldn’t Mama Suzanna, the svelte fashion plate, have passed down clothes and cosmetic tips to her daughter? Wasn’t that what mothers were for?

“Hasn’t come back from lunch yet,” Linda said, placing an adorable miniature, black patent-leather hatbox next to the Marilyn Monroe doll.

Marlene put on her glasses to read the price tag on the hatbox. “Sorry, I haven’t seen your mother either.”

Olivia whirled around, checking out the other booths. “Where is everyone?”

“Odd, isn’t it?” Linda asked another of her cockney-style questions that required no answer. “The matinee’s almost over, the guard’s on break, and most of the corridor vendors have gone missing.”

A fresh surge of panic jolted Marlene. Could something have happened to Kate and Billy?

“What about Carl Krieg?” Olivia asked. “Has he woken up yet?”

Linda glanced at her Mickey Mouse watch. Freddie Ducksworth had one just like it, Marlene thought as she stroked a restless Ballou, trying to shake off a deepening sense of impending doom.

“No,” Linda said. “Carl’s been sleeping for over six hours. Any respectable drunk would be back in action by now.”

Olivia sighed. “I went home for lunch. Mother had a date with someone, so I drove over to the beach; we live on A1A, you know.” She spoke quickly, as if she had to get her story out, but enunciated like a prep-school student. “I picked up the mail. I’d ordered a book of poetry from Amazon, and I wanted to see if it had arrived, thought I might start it over lunch.”

Was Olivia going anywhere with this tale? Despite her good diction, she’d started to ramble. Marlene pulled a Kate and just nodded. Even the opinionated Linda, who shot a puzzled look at Marlene, was listening for once.

“And there in the mail was a note from Freddie.” The young woman sounded sick. “A very cruel note.”

Ballou began to bark. Sharp, repetitive barks, demanding Marlene’s attention.

He darted over to the circus entrance, getting more and more excited. His sharp barks took on a staccato beat, bordering on hysteria.

“It, it…I think Freddie is trying to blackmail us.” The girl shuddered. “Blackmail me.”

“Shut up, Olivia.” Suzanna strode across the corridor, just as Marlene smelled smoke.

Ballou ran back to Marlene, urgency in every movement. He kept up his cadence of barking.

“Smoke!” Linda screamed, pointing to the circus door. “There’s a fire in the Big Top!”

Marlene watched as smoke seeped in. It smelled like logs in a damp chimney.

Ballou kept barking out his high-pitched alarm. Marlene shouted, “Good dog!” She grabbed the cash box and the Miriam Haskell display case and followed him toward the tent’s exit yelling, “Everyone, get out now!”