Death Rides the Surf (3 page)

After Katharine had
locked herself in Marlene’s guest bathroom, running the hot water until it steamed out from under the door, Kate called Mary Frances, the Liz Smith of Ocean Vista, to get the scoop on the surfers.

Three of the Four Boardsmen of the Apocalypse didn’t have day jobs. Jon Michael, Katharine’s crush, worked three nights a week as a bartender in a “gentleman’s club.” Good God, maybe at the Pink Platinum where Katharine hoped to get a job. Two of the boardsmen were Palmetto Beach born and bred. Jon Michael Tyler, the son of a single mother, lived with his grandmother, who ran a tanning salon, and Claude Jensen, another bronzed blond and a self-proclaimed cracker whose father was in jail. Claude had attended high school with Jon Michael. Though unemployed, Claude sometimes substituted for the lifeguard whose chair was only twenty-odd feet away from the gate leading to Ocean Vista’s pool.

The third boardsman, Roberto Romero, a Cuban exile, was, in Mary Frances’s words, as handsome as Fernando Lamas had been when he swam with Esther Williams. How Roberto had landed in Palmetto Beach was a mystery. Where he got his money—he dressed in designer duds and surfed on a custom-made board—was a bigger mystery.

The fourth, Sam Meyers, the least skilled of the surfers, a tall, geeky guy from New Jersey, worked nights as a computer programmer and kept his fellow boardsmen supplied with beer and hot dogs from the Neptune Boulevard Pier.

“They all live to ride the waves. And they’re all between eighteen and twenty-two.” Mary Frances finished, breathless. For the dancing ex-nun, men were never too young or too old.

Kate thanked Mary Frances, searching for the off button on her new cell phone.

“What’s your interest in those boys, Kate? Thinking about signing up for surfing lessons?” She giggled.

“You know, that’s a great idea.” Kate snapped the phone shut, rendering Mary Frances speechless.

She marched down the hall to the bathroom and banged on the bathroom door. “If you don’t come out of there, young lady, I’m calling your mother and father. You’re wasting time and money. If you continue to behave like a child, I’ll treat you like one.”

Marlene, on Kate’s heels, shouted, “Don’t force her.”

Except for Marlene’s dramatic outburst and the water still running full blast, Kate’s threat was greeted by silence.

“Okay, Katharine. I have my cell phone ready and I have your mother on speed dial. I’m counting to five. That’s Jennifer.” Kate wasn’t bluffing; she’d place the call. “One. Two. Three. Four.”

The door opened. The steam heat almost bowled Kate over.

Her granddaughter, red as a lobster and wrapped in a purple towel, glared at Kate.

“Aunt Marlene said I can stay.” A defiant Katharine swung her head toward Marlene, who started.

What was wrong with Marlene? Puzzled, Kate decided she couldn’t be distracted. “Don’t use that tone of voice with me, Katharine.”

“Nana, I can’t talk to Mom and Dad.” Katharine sounded contrite, and something else. Frightened? Determined? “They’d never understand.”

Sure she was being played, but wanting to find out what the devil was going on, Kate said, “Let’s have a cup of tea, Katharine. I’m sure we can work this out.”

The muscles in her granddaughter’s jaw relaxed.

Marlene made pancakes and Katharine, who’d lost weight, too much in her grandmother’s opinion, dug in like a stevedore. Kate took that as a sign that Katharine still believed her grandmother could somehow make everything okay.

On her fourth cup of tea of the morning, Kate decided to call her daughter-in-law and sell Jennifer on the idea of Katharine spending her fall break in Palmetto Beach. A week ought to buy them enough time to sort it all out.

Jennifer and Kevin weren’t aware that Katharine had left New York City, but her daughter-in-law agreed to Kate’s suggestion. If Kate’s plan worked out, maybe Katharine’s parents would never have to know she’d run away from home. Not to mention classes, college, and chastity.

“Okay, I’ll move to your condo this morning, Nana,” Katharine said. “Just know I’m never going home. I’m getting a job and an apartment and I’m staying in Florida forever.”

Right. Kate had six days to find out what the hell was going on and to get her granddaughter back to college. “So darling, would you and Auntie Marlene like to have lunch with Nick and me?”

Katharine grinned, her grandfather Charlie’s grin.

God, Kate hoped her invitation hadn’t made it sound as if she and Nick Carbone were a couple.

The Sea Watch
Restaurant perched above the dunes on a wide expanse of sandy beach, a mile south of Ocean Vista. From their window table, the teal blue Atlantic seemed to stretch from here to eternity and soft, puffy clouds hovered over the whitecaps. Kate knew the food was as wonderful as the view. Snowbirds weren’t yet in full flight, but at noon, the restaurant had no empty tables. Those without reservations waited at the bar.

Their waiter, a buff blond, asked, “What can I bring you guys?”

Kate cringed. When had that annoying way of waiters addressing customers reached South Florida?

Nick replied, “The three
ladies
will have piña coladas. And this
guy
will have a Scotch and soda.”

Katharine smiled at Nick. Katharine damn well knew her parents would have ordered her a Diet Coke. Kate was surprised Carbone, a by-the-book detective, could break the law so cavalierly. But his gesture broke the ice as well. If Kate didn’t like Katharine dating a surfer, her granddaughter hated the possibility of her grandmother being interested in any man other than Grandpa Charlie. Nick’s treating Katharine like a grown-up had been a smart move. Not that Kate was all that interested in Nick.

And why did Marlene look so smug? Kate felt her cheeks redden.

The drinks arrived and they sipped in silence. Kate had prepped Marlene, providing her with an opening line that would distract and intrigue Katharine, who shared her grandmother’s avid interest in crime and punishment. However, Marlene now nodding at a dapper seventy-something gentleman at the next table had missed her cue. Kate kicked her sister-in-law’s foot, none too gently. “You wanted to ask Nick about…”

“Diamond Lil.” Marlene pulled her meticulously lined and shadowed eyes away from Mr. Almost Right—at least number five hundred in that category—and batted them at Nick. “Any leads on that jewel-bedecked old broad who robbed the Sun Trust Bank on Federal Highway and Kate’s and my branch on Neptune Boulevard last week?”

Kate chimed in. “Mary Frances was depositing the Sunday collection from St. Paul’s when Diamond Lil—catchy name the
Sun-Sentinel
dubbed the thief, isn’t it?—pulled a gun in our bank and the teller, Mr. Porter, filled her knitting bag. Then the old lady grabbed Mary Frances’s duffel. Over two thousand in cash, plus the parishioners’ checks, which are probably useless.”

Nick chuckled. “No. Not useless. Diamond Lil changed St. Paul’s to Sutton Place Antiques and cashed one in Fort Lauderdale. Waved a driver’s license at the antique dealer. The guy said he never suspected a nice old broad would be carrying fake ID. So Lil got to buy herself yet another bracelet for two hundred dollars.”

Nick almost sounded as if he admired the bank robber.

Katharine giggled. “Does Diamond Lil wear lots of bling?”

The giggle warmed Kate’s heart. “Yes. From her dangling earrings to her ankle bracelet. Both her sunglasses and her tiara are trimmed with rhinestones. But she dresses like a bag lady: a shapeless cardigan, in all this heat, and a wrinkled housedress as ancient as I am.”

“Don’t forget the torn sneakers.” Marlene motioned to a copper-colored, dark-haired waiter. “I love the fashion statement of a rhinestone ankle bracelet worn over sweat socks.”

Their new waiter smiled. “Another round, guys?”

“Hell, no.” Marlene handed him her empty glass. “This gal wants a double martini on the rocks.”

The young man blushed. “Right away, ma’am.”

“How many banks has this Diamond Lil hit?” Katharine asked.

“Three in Palm Beach County, plus the two here in Palmetto Beach.” Nick growled, then yelled after the waiter. “Make that two double martinis.”

Kate intercepted Katharine. “Don’t even think about it. You’re having a Diet Coke.”

Mary Frances appeared
at the table as dessert was being served. “Hi. I’m so glad to see you ladies. I had the most exhilarating morning.” Her red hair grazed her shoulders, her emerald green eyes danced in the sunlight, and her olive linen jumpsuit, deceptive in its simplicity, showed off her curves.

Marlene groaned and coughed to cover the sound.

Katharine grinned and asked, “Where were you, Miss Costello?”

Nick stood and invited Mary Frances to join them.

“Well just for a few minutes; I’m meeting my astrologist for lunch and a verbal tour of Venus.”

“Can I come along for the ride?” Marlene asked.

Nick laughed, then asked the waiter to bring a chair over from a nearby table with only three diners.

Ignoring Marlene, Mary Frances sat in Nick’s empty chair.

Kate, admittedly a little jealous, admired their unexpected guest’s creamy complexion. Could lifelong virginity be the solution for wrinkles?

Mary Frances Costello, who’d won the Broward County Tango Championship for two years in a row, looked more like Maureen O’Hara in
The Quiet Man
than like a sixty-year-old ex-nun.

According to Joe Sajak, widower and womanizer, during the weekly poker games in Ocean Vista’s rec room, side bets were being placed on Mary Frances’s virginity. The odds were two-to-one against. But Kate figured putting money on Mary Frances’s chastity would be a safe bet. Maybe safer than betting on Katharine’s.

“So where were you this morning, Miss Costello?” Katharine tried again.

Mary Frances beamed. “I had a private session with the world-famous talking skull.” She paused for dramatic effect.

Kate watched as Nick’s fleshy jaw dropped.

“His owner is based in Fort Lauderdale. She travels the world with Mandrake, you know, but they’re in residence here for the summer. They just returned from a conference in Cairo. I was lucky to get an appointment. My astrologist’s a personal friend of the skull and his owner.”

Katharine stared at Mary Frances—Kate thought with amazement, but it could have been fear.

“For God sake’s, Mary Frances!” Marlene banged on the table. “How can a former high school principal be such a superstitious sucker?”

Nick drained his glass, shaking his head—Kate guessed in disgust, not amazement.

“Miss Costello,” Katharine’s voice was shaky. “You spent the morning with Florita Flannigan?”

“Yes, I did, indeed.” Mary Frances seemed pleased that Katharine had heard of the skull reader. “In addition to running Golden Glow, Palmetto Beach’s best tanning salon, Florita reads skulls. For only fifty-five dollars, selected clients can enjoy private sessions with her crystal skull—reputed to have been found in an Aztec ruin—and get advice from the world beyond.” Mary Frances ran her right hand through her hair, messing her curls just enough to make them flatter her more than ever.

Nick waved the waiter over. “Another martini here.” He turned back to Mary Frances. “I know the place. The advertisements brag that Golden Glow is the only tanning salon/skull reading operation in Broward County. We’re monitoring Ms. Flannigan’s activities very closely.”

“Why?’ Katharine asked. “Florita Flannigan is an honorable, hard-working woman.”

“Have you met her?” Nick asked.

“Well, I haven’t actually met her yet, but Mrs. Flannigan is my boyfriend Jon Michael’s grandmother. He absolutely adores her.”

Halloween was only
two days away. Back in Rockville Centre, Long Island—where Kate and Charlie had lived for over forty years—the frost would be on the pumpkins and the neighborhood children would be stuffing scarecrows and getting costumes ready for trick-or-treating.

Ocean Vista’s residents, some of them in their second childhoods, Kate thought uncharitably, were getting ready for Halloween. At last year’s bash, the condo president had been found murdered on the beach. Kate didn’t see how her neighbors could top that, but God knows they were trying, eagerly planning this evening’s pre-Halloween picnic.

Instead of autumn leaves and sweater weather, the temperature at three o’clock hovered at eighty degrees. When Kate and Marlene returned from walking Ballou, the beach was awash with gossip about who would be going to the beach party as Sonny and Cher and how Joe Sajak had rented a Batman costume with extra padding in the tights.

The warm sea was capped with rough-for-South-Florida waves and the surfers were driving some of the seniors out of the water.

Great, Kate thought as she sank into her beach chair, Ballou at her feet.

Three of the Four Boardsmen were in the surf. Kate watched Katharine try out a brand-new surfboard, purchased on their way home from lunch. A wave knocked her granddaughter off the board and into the sea. Katharine screamed so loud that Ballou, more than fifty feet away, barked. As Jon Michael helped Katharine back onto the board, Kate felt a pang of fear. Why? How could she feel such intense, collective dislike for young men she’d never met?

While shopping for the surfboard, Kate had asked about Jon Michael, feeling that was fair game since Katharine had blurted out at the Sea Watch that he was her boyfriend. Other than admitting she’d met him in Acapulco and followed him here—“How convenient that they came to Palmetto Beach, Nana”—her granddaughter had supplied precious little information.

Kate gathered that Katharine had surprised her “boyfriend” last night. And maybe Jon Michael had been less than delighted to see her. She worried Katharine would be spurned. Or worse.

Marlene’s questions had determined that Katharine also had met Claude, the local Palmetto Beach surfer, and Roberto, the Cuban, in Acapulco. Had the other young men been glad to see Katharine? Though Kate had missed them greeting each other, she doubted that.

More important: had the three surfers still been in Acapulco when that other young woman disappeared?

Ballou nuzzled Kate’s left foot, comforting her. The Westie always sensed when she felt unsettled. She rubbed under Ballou’s left ear and he licked her free hand. Kate squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stem the tears. Oh God, Charlie, I wish you were here. You’d know what to say to Katharine.

Marlene grabbed Kate’s arm, shaking her. “Quick! Look out there in the ocean.”

Kate’s eyes flew open in time to see Jon Michael shove, and then hold, Katharine’s head under the water as she flailed her arms about, splashing. The other blond surfer’s loud cackle caused Kate to leap up and scream.

By the time Kate, Marlene, and Ballou reached the water’s edge, Katharine had surfaced. She laughed off her grandmother’s concern. “Oh Nana, I’m fine.” Still, Katharine’s voice seemed strained; perhaps her laughter was covering up anger. Directed at Kate? Or at Jon Michael, who stood, caressing his board like a lover, his gaze fixed on his feet? He needed a pedicure.

Since none of the young men made an attempt at introductions, she spoke up. “I’m Kate Kennedy, Katharine’s grandmother, and this is our friend, Marlene Friedman.” The Westie sniffed Jon Michael’s left foot and moved on to smell his board. “And that’s Ballou.” Kate smiled as the little dog kicked sand on the surfboard.

A hand reached out. “My name is Roberto Romero. It is always a pleasure to meet two lovely señoras like you.” Smooth as silk. Tall, dark, and handsome, with a Latin lilt and a sexy smile. Mary Frances was right. Roberto did evoke memories of Fernando Lamas in an old MGM musical.

He held Kate’s eye for a moment, made an almost imperceptible bow, and then glanced toward the other surfers. “Jon Michael, where are your manners?” Roberto turned his attention back to Kate. “Señora Kennedy, please excuse Jon Michael, he is embarrassed—how you say?—his joke went too far.”

“Yeah,” Jon Michael mumbled. “Hey.” His tanned, square face looked pained. No warmth in those ice blue eyes. He had great shoulders and biceps, must workout regularly. Kate offered her hand. His palm felt sweaty. The boy gave a weak shake, then dropped her hand, hoisted his board to his right shoulder, and stepped behind Katharine.

Yeah
and
hey
, Kate thought. Jon Michael was quite the conversationalist.

The third surfer smiled, revealing yellow teeth, his left incisor missing. “I’m Claude, ma’am.” The short, skinny boy appeared to be about sixteen, but Mary Frances had said that all the boardsmen were between eighteen and twenty-two. What idiot on the Palmetto Beach City Council had hired this kid as a substitute lifeguard?

Kate felt a fleeting moment of pity. The boy’s blond hair had started to thin. His washed-out gray eyes were dull, almost blank. Had Claude Jensen shut down before leaving his teens? His red nose was peeling, almost raw, and his pasty skin would always burn, never tan. He spoke with a drawl. From Alabama, Kate guessed. Or maybe Florida’s Redneck Riviera, abutting Alabama.

Claude’s nod included Marlene. “Nice to meet y’all.” He reached down and ruffled Ballou’s fur. The Westie, who loved almost everyone, pulled away.

Marlene, who’d been unusually quiet, sighed. “Three Boardsmen down, one to meet.”

Katharine scrunched her nose. “You promised me a surfing lesson, Jon Michael. Let’s go.” She waved dismissively, saying, “See you later, Nana and Auntie Marlene,” over her shoulder. Her round bottom wiggled as she walked into the ocean. Jon Michael turned and, without a word, followed Katharine to the sea.

“Not to worry, Señora Kennedy,” Roberto said. “Jon Michael is a strong swimmer and a great teacher. One day soon you will watch with pride as Katharine rides the waves.”

Kate doubted that, but the Cuban seemed so sure and so sincere she smiled. “I hope you’re right, Roberto.”

“Just how did you land in South Florida, Roberto?” Marlene came across like a brusque New Yorker. Well, of course, she
was
a brusque New Yorker, but tempered by a kind heart and generous soul. Right now neither her heart nor her soul was on the beach. Just her nose…which had smelled trouble.

Claude cackled, appearing ready to enjoy his fellow surfer’s discomfort.

Roberto’s charm never wavered. He grinned at Marlene, then spoke in his soft Latin lilt. “My mother and I fled from Castro’s terror years ago. Our small boat was overcrowded. We were several miles from Deerfield Beach when the boat capsized.”

Smooth, Kate thought. Too damn smooth.

“I dove for hours, trying to find my mother. To find anyone. But at thirteen I found myself alone in the Atlantic Ocean. I swam the rest of the way to shore and I kissed the sand. My
tia
Rosita in Miami took me in.”

“Come on, we surfing or what?” Claude shoved the back of Roberto’s head.

“If you ladies will excuse me, I must join my friends.” Roberto nodded, picked up his surfboard, and followed Claude.

“Did you believe a word of that sob story?” Marlene shook her head.

“I’m going to ask Nick to check out Romero. Find out if there’s really an aunt in Miami.” Kate had almost fallen for Roberto’s glib patter.

Only the missing boardsman, Sam Meyers, had a real job. How did these young men fund their passion? Surfing in Acapulco costs money. Flying from Mexico to Florida didn’t come cheap.

Jon Michael worked part-time as a bartender. If Claude had money, why didn’t he have his teeth fixed? The well-groomed Roberto, who, according to Mary Frances, dressed in Armani, seemed to be the money man. Where did he get it?

Kate turned to Marlene. “Do you think Roberto’s aunt is rich?”

“Aunt, my tush. I’ll bet he’s a kept man. Some old women will do anything for sex.”

“Is that right, Marlene?” Kate laughed. It felt good.