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

been strident and stingy. In death, would she be gracious and giving?
    Marlene certainly hoped so, but at the moment she was more intrigued with Nancy’s story and how her attitude toward David Fry kept changing.
    Last night Nancy had seemed frightened, trying to get away from Fry; however, she’d provided him with a bizarre cover story, that “teensy squabble” over a PR article. Then, totally out of nowhere, she’d reminded him about a “meeting,” giving him an excuse to escape from Kate and Marlene’s questions. Yet this morning Nancy sounded ready to crucify Fry in print. Would the true story appear in tomorrow’s Gazette ? Somehow Marlene doubted that. Why would a society reporter be assigned to cover a CEO’s crooked business dealings? What the hell was really going on between Nancy Cooper and David Fry?
    By the time Marlene turned her attention back to Oberon, he’d finished the preliminaries. “And now for you lovely ladies.” The attorney removed his Ben Franklin glasses, smiled, then ruffled the papers in his right hand.
    Putting her suspicions on hold, Marlene focused on Wyndam Oberon.
    “I want you all to know that Mrs. Sajak treasured your friendship and has remembered each of you in her will.” The lawyer put his glasses back on and read, “To the members of my Hearts club, I leave the following items, carefully selected to match the recipient’s personality and talents.”
    Marlene sighed. This should be good.
    “To Mary Frances Costello, I bequeath my Lladró dancer and my mother-of-pearl rosary beads blessed by His Holiness, during my visit to Rome.”
    “Like I don’t already have twenty-two rosaries.” Mary Frances covered her mouth, as if to stop the words, but it was too late.
    Wyndam Oberon, ignoring the interruption, rolled on. “To Nancy Cooper, I bequeath my considerable collection, over five hundred issues, of Women’s Wear Daily and my signed biography of the late Elsa Maxwell.”
    Served Nancy right. She’d just inherited decades of outdated fashion and gossip. And judging by the puzzled look on her face, a book about a long dead society columnist that she’d never heard of.
    “Finally, to Marlene Friedman Gorski Kennedy Weiss, I bequeath the mounted stag’s head over my bed. It’s always been an inspiration to me. And Marlene Friedman is also entitled to an executrix fee, which I trust she will refuse.”
    In the dead silence that followed, a key could be heard turning the lock on the condo’s front door.
    Marlene whipped her head around just as the front door opened, and a good-looking man in his mid-sixties entered. “Stella, where are you, sweetie?”
    Mary Frances jumped up and shouted, “Who are you?”
    The man smiled. Smashing, Marlene thought. Lean and taut like a tiger on the prowl.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t know Stella had company.” The man strode across the room, his hand extended to Mary Frances. “I’m Joe Sajak. Stella’s husband.”

Nine

      
    Kate, who’d spent the m orning poring over Charlie’s files, was getting nowhere fast with the circulation department at the Sun-Sentinel. The manager had gone off to a meeting, but his assistant had picked up his phone and agreed to answer Kate’s questions.
    “So, the truck drivers drop the papers off at selected corners all over Broward County, and then the homeless guys—they’re mostly homeless—sell them.” The young woman’s Bronx accent sounded nasal and jaded, like Kate’s cousins on her mother’s side.
    “Does the newspaper pay these men a salary?”
    “Nah. They keep whatever they get. Gives them an incentive. The more papers they sell and the more money they make, the happier our advertising department is. And, ya know, it’s the ads that keep us in business.”
    “Well, do you have any employment records on a man named Timmy? I’m sorry I don’t have his last name. He left his post on Tuesday afternoon, and never showed up yesterday. He works the corner of A1A and Neptune