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

Joe Sajak. As the storm raged, Mary Frances placed a less than tentative hand on Joe’s arm. More clutching than comforting. Marlene, in total violation of the dining room’s policy, lit a Marlboro and blew a smoke ring, which hovered over Joe’s head. The man in the middle appeared nervous, first patting Mary Frances’s hand, then jerking up his arm to wave away the smoke ring, forcing her to release her grip. Marlene, after whispering something in Joe’s ear that elicited a nod, put out her cigarette in a coffee cup. Wait till Tiffani saw that.
    A cacophony of thunder made Kate’s heart jump. A lifetime ago, to quell her fear, Kate’s mother had assured her that thunder was the sound of angels bowling. If so, Gabriel—or maybe Charlie—must have thrown a strike. Kate smiled, squared her shoulders, and crossed the room.
    For the second time in a matter of hours, a man jumped up and pulled out a chair for her. It felt strange. Almost eerie. At the condo closing, Charlie had pulled out Kate’s chair, sat down himself, winked at her, and using the Mont Blanc that she’d given him last Christmas, proudly signed the ownership papers, then dropped dead. From that day to this day, she’d been pulling out her own chairs.
    Seated between Marlene and Mary Frances, Kate leaned across the latter to thank Joe Sajak. His smile dazzled; some dentist had made a small fortune capping those teeth. So many senior men seemed to be spending big bucks and ending up with far whiter teeth in their old age than they ever had in their youth.
    “I never saw that shirt before. Silk, isn’t it?” Marlene sounded surprised. Or peeved? Kate couldn’t decide.
    In an impish moment, counting on winding up between two women wearing black, Kate had changed, putting on a bright melon shirt, soft and silky, that she’d bought—but never worn—just before she and Charlie had moved to Palmetto Beach.
    Giving Marlene a quick nod, confirming that the shirt was silk, Kate turned to Mary Frances. “You all must have had an interesting morning.”
    “Well, I’d say so.” Mary Frances laughed. Nervous, not happy laughter. “Like that old movie where Irene Dunne shows up after Cary Grant has believed that she’d been dead for seven years and was about to marry. Gail Patrick, I think. Anyway Irene, not being dead, turns everyone’s life upside down.”
    Kate remembered the movie —My Favorite Wife —recalling its old-fashion charm, and then decided that, despite what Marlene thought, David Fry was no Cary Grant.
    “Except Stella always knew that I wasn’t dead.” Joe Sajak spoke in a deep baritone. Almost too deep and too booming for such a narrow, compact man. “And I never suspected that Stella was dead.” He shook his head, coming across as sad and rueful. Kate didn’t buy it. Why wasn’t he more grief-stricken? Or even just more surprised? Or making phone calls to friends? Or heading over to the funeral parlor? “I truly loved that gal, though I readily admit that we had a most unusual marriage.”
    “Joe was just about to explain his and Stella’s…arrangement when the storm began,” Marlene said, letting Kate know that while she might have missed Act One—the reading of the will and Joe’s entrance—Act Two hadn’t really started yet. “Why don’t we order? Then, while we’re eating lunch, Joe can tell all.”
    Marlene, as usual, had her priorities.
    As Tiffani arrived with the menus, Kate wondered if Detective Carbone had any idea that Joe Sajak was alive and well and ordering lunch in Ocean Vista’s dining room.
    Over salmon and salad, Joe Sajak talked. “I’ve known Stella most of my life. We married young, over forty-five years ago, but we haven’t really lived together as man and wife for a long time. Since we never had any kids, when Stella wanted to move to Florida and I didn’t we decided to go our separate ways, but we never divorced. Never even talked about it. We’d agreed at the time that if one of us