Free Death of the Swami Schwartz (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 2) by Noreen Wald Page A

rough, almost hitting too close to home, but even today, one of the busiest and most difficult days of his life, he’d fielded them well, employing the charm and grace that had become his trademarks.
    All of the newspaper men—the women were never in doubt—would be in his corner, except for that lean and hungry young New York City transplant, Jeff Stein, editor of the Palmetto Beach Gazette. How ironic. Jack Gallagher’s hometown paper would be the only one to hint at something…but the hint would be as vague and unformed as Jeff Stein’s wild questions. Vague enough to do no harm to the town’s most beloved doctor. In fact, any ugly innuendo might backfire on the editor.
    Jack just had to keep going, plowing through this sunny Saturday, a day when he’d violated all that he believed in. A day demanding precision planning. A day utilizing all of his skills as a surgeon. A day draining him dry as he’d performed the autopsy—even more bloody and gross than he’d remembered.
    At twenty-one in medical school, a stranger’s body had revolted him, but this time around had been unspeakable. He would never have offered to do the procedure if it hadn’t been for Swami Schwartz, his long-time friend and business partner. He’d thought of Swami as a son. That’s what made all of this so tragic.
    With a bit of time before his next appointment, and he sure as hell wasn’t relishing that encounter, he deserved a break. Why not leave the car in the Riverside Hotel’s parking lot and take a stroll down Las Olas Boulevard? Might put him in a better mood.
    The young men lounging in the sidewalk cafés got better-looking every season. Jack smiled at a magnificent creature with dark curly hair, so slim and perfectly groomed he had to be a model.
    Not too many years ago, Dr. Jack Gallagher would have merited a nod or a smile in return. Some small gesture of acknowledgment. But now he’d crossed over into old age and, like so many senior citizens, had become invisible. Younger people never noticed people of a certain age. Looked right through them. He hated being an invisible man.
    He supposed age had its compensations, though at the moment he couldn’t think of one. All he wanted was to see a glint again in some young admirer’s eye. Or the hint of a wicked grin. Some indication that he was still considered attractive. Virile. Appealing.
    “Jack, you old sweet thing, fancy running into you.” Dallas Dalton was under his nose before he saw her coming. “I’ve just found the perfect chapeau to wear at Swami’s memorial service.” She gestured with her left hand, causing the large hat box hanging on her wrist to swing in his direction.
    “Hello, Dallas.” He had to get away from her. Now.
    “Why don’t you buy me a Scarlett O’Hara, sugar? This being South Florida, we can’t wait for the sun to be over the yardarm. I could really use a drink. Let’s go to the bar in the Riverside Hotel. It’s nice and dark in there. Cool, too. All these sidewalk cafés are so outdoorsy. And you and I need to talk in private, don’t we?”
    “I’m really sorry, Dallas. I’ll have to take a rain check.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m running late as it is.”
    “Sorry don’t cut it, sugar. Not when I’m funding your research to the tune of two million dollars. We need to talk about Thistle.” She thrust the hat box at him, opened her Hermes, pink Birkin—leave it to Dallas to have the “baby” Birkin—and handed him a cell phone. “Cancel your appointment, Doctor.”
    Jack shook his head, but took the phone.
    “I want my horse here with me. No more excuses. I moved to Palmetto Beach so I could be near Thistle. Now I’m here and he’s not. You keep stalling me. I want that horse transported to South Florida tomorrow. What’s wrong with you? We had a deal. In Texas, we honor our word. And Swami promised. How can you be so cruel?”
    “Please, Dallas, lower your voice.” Several passersby were staring at