Death Storms the Shore (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 4) by Noreen Wald

“And?”
    The August night air surrounded them like wet woolen drapes, smothering, relentless in its stillness.
    “And I watched as someone left the beach, came through the pool gate, and headed into the parking lot.” Marlene had stepped back, but kept her voice low.
    “Who?”
    Marlene’s dramatic delivery, an obvious attempt to build up suspense, was annoying Kate.
    “Your new best friend, S. J. Corbin. At the time I didn’t think much of it, figured she’d been checking out the beach and was on her way to get her car.”
    “Kate Kennedy.” She spun around. Nick Carbone, sweating in a wrinkled blue shirt, walked toward her. “So you’ve discovered two bodies in two days. Is that your personal best?”
    “Hey, I found this stiff.” Rosie oozed indignation. “If ya got any questions, Detective Carbone, fire away. I’m kinda in a hurry, ya know. And when can you get Detective Parker’s body out of my car? I’d like to catch the last set at Ireland’s Inn.”
    Carbone flushed. His olive skin turned redder than Rosie’s dress. “You’re not going anywhere, Ms. O’Grady.” Kate leaned against the hood of Marlene’s car, feeling faint from the heat, but trying to focus. Pajamas popped into her mind. Why were Bob Seeley’s pajamas so crisply pressed if, as he said, Marlene had just roused him from bed?

Sixteen

      
    In what Kate considered very unorthodox police procedure, Nick Carbone had led them all, including Miss Mitford, who’d been hovering at the front desk, into Ocean Vista’s recreation room, ordered them to sit there and wait, instructed a uniformed officer to stay behind, then returned to the scene of the crime. The sudden move from oppressive heat to aggressive air conditioning left Kate wishing she had a sweater.
    The young policeman, in his slightly wilted but otherwise spiffy Palmetto Beach uniform, inhibited conversation. Too bad. Some of Kate’s many questions might have been inadvertently answered; people said the damnedest things under stress.
    Oh well, there was always body language.
    Miss Mitford’s crossed arms and furrowed brow shouted indignation. She sat, her back ramrod straight, far removed from the condo owners, in a chair near the door to the lobby, seemingly ready to return to sentinel duty as soon as the inquisition ended.
    Lucy paced in front of a dais still covered in red, white, and blue crepe-paper streamers from the Fourth of July party. In the harsh, fluorescent lighting, the former prosecutor appeared haggard. Kate felt grateful she couldn’t see herself, sure she looked like death warmed over, one of her grandmother’s many right on-target descriptions.
    Bob Seeley’s expensive navy blue pajamas remained as stiff as his personality. Nary a wrinkle. How could that be? No sweat? Strong starch? A great, no-iron-needed miracle fabric? Still ashen, he held his hands in his lap, and stared down at his matching leather slippers. Bob didn’t strike Kate as a man who’d appear in public in his nightclothes. Even if awakened by Marlene and confused about what had happened or who’d been murdered. Could his vagueness and the pajamas be props? Part of an act? Not unlike Lucy acting so sorry about Lee Parker’s death.
    Marlene fidgeted with the marabou, tugging her dressing gown closer, adjusting the slippery satin sash, pulling it tighter.
    Rosie O’Grady broke the silence, whistling, rather well, “Shall We Dance?” The young cop, standing a few feet in front of Rosie, smiled and tapped his right foot.
    Kate, remembering what Charlie had told her about how the New York City DA’s office advised their witnesses to behave in court, sat as straight as Miss Mitford, with uncrossed legs, feet planted on the floor, hands folded in her lap. She hoped her demeanor would impress Nick Carbone.
    Within five minutes, everyone in the room was either pacing or squirming in their seats, including Kate. So much for her courtroom decorum.
    She’d just started to review the