Death by Marriage by Blair Bancroft Read Free Book Online

North Bypass Mall worked for me and any other business that needed space at a rent we could afford. Downtown Golden Beach, after a struggle, had emerged as an upscale tourist attraction, our main street lined with boutiques featuring fine women’s clothing, beachwear, jewelry, candy, candles, gourmet sandwiches, seashells, sharks’ teeth, and, inevitably, real estate. My mother, Golden Beach’s top Realtor, had an office downtown, which also included a seasonal rental department. Take my word for it—in Golden Beach winter rentals were sold out by the previous July. For certain properties, someone had to die before you could get a foot through the rental door.
    My stomach rumbled. Might as well start with DeFranco’s Deli next door. Sal and Angelina DeFranco had been running the deli since well before DreamWear moved in. The food was always excellent and served with a smile. To gild the lily, their seventeen-year-old son Tim had developed an interest in costumes, particularly the Medieval era, and was one of our most dependable “flexible extras,” willing to fill in after school and weekends when DreamWear needed help.
    While I munched on tuna, lettuce, tomato, and pickles, washed down by the best unsweet iced tea in Golden Beach, I absorbed the purpler parts of the gossip grapevine that had passed through the deli that morning. Santa Claus, in the form of Martin Kellerman, had been so high on Christmas cheer (schnapps, cocaine?) that he’d tried to fly. Vanessa Kellerman, in a burst of overwhelming greed, had pushed poor old Santa over the side. Jeb Brannigan, his eye ever on the gold ring, had managed the whole thing without ever leaving the wheelhouse. Or maybe it was Scott Wallace—Angelina shot me an apologetic glance. After all, everyone said the delectable Vanessa Kellerman had something going on the side. And after seeing her in the French Maid Mrs. Santa, there wasn’t a soul who didn’t believe it.
    “Bull,” Sal growled. “Every word. What killed him was standing up there on the bow. Anyone could have told him that’s an accident waiting to happen.”
    “It’s the Intracoastal,” Angelina stated with exaggerated patience. “The canal part. It’s like glass.”
    Sal gave her the eye. “With the wakes of twenty boats ahead of you? Come on, Angie, you don’t have to be Christopher Columbus to figure that one out.”
    “Those boats were barely moving, and you know it.”
    Time to insert a little truth. “I saw the whole thing,” I said. “It looked like Martin had an attack of some kind, probably heart. He simply stumbled forward and fell.”
    Sal and Angie gulped air as their mouths snapped closed over whatever they’d been about to say. Angie’s liquid brown eyes gleamed. “You were there ? We were on Center Bridge—couldn’t see much from there.”
    Evidently no one was feeling creative when the Intracoastal canal cut Golden Beach off from the mainland—perhaps the result of still simmering tempers at Town Hall. The three new bridges that connected downtown and the beaches to the mainland were named North Bridge, Center Bridge, and South Bridge. Only many years later did the South Bridge officially become Circus Bridge in honor of the departed Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey. The scene of last night’s disaster was about a hundred yards south of the Center Bridge.
    I gave the DeFrancos an expurgated version of what I’d told Boone Talbot, leaving Jeb Brannigan out and emphasizing Scott’s role as a hero.
    Angie patted my hand. “He’s a good boy. One of these days he’ll settle down. We nearly gave up on Joseph, our oldest, and look at him now.” She tossed her hands in the air, palms out. “Wife, two babies, good job. Keeps in touch, even though they’re in Philadelphia. Just you wait, it’ll happen for Scott one of these days. I promise.”
    I reached for a smile, murmured my thanks, and escaped. I vaguely remembered Joseph DeFranco, solely because he’d been on the