Death is a Bargain (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 3) by Noreen Wald Read Free Book Online Page A

Dodge.” A huge sob punctuated her sentence.
    Kate dropped the carton, and the three doughnuts tumbled out as the cups hit the floor, splattering coffee and tea all over her new gray and white sneakers.
    An agitated Ballou yelped when he spotted his mistress and ran out from under the swastika tablecloth to Kate’s side. She bent and scooped him up, pausing amid all the chaos to note how heavy he’d gotten—too many of Marlene’s treats.
    As Kate murmured, “It’s okay,” the Westie covered her face in wet kisses.
    “Quick, call Nick Carbone, Kate!” Mary Frances screamed. “The 911 operator just put me on hold.”
    Clutching Ballou, Kate spun around to Marlene.
    Her sister-in-law appeared stricken and, despite her tanned face, pale beneath well-applied makeup.
    “Is it Carl Krieg?” Kate’s voice, barely above a whisper, cracked. She fixated on a black boot. “Is he dead?” Ballou barked, squirming in her arms. “It’s okay,” Kate said again, thinking it probably wasn’t.
    “I thought so,” Marlene said, breathing hard, as she rose from her knees. “But it seems he’s only dead drunk.” She lifted a corner of the tablecloth and gestured toward Carl’s still, florid face. “Take a whiff. He’s passed out cold.”
    “Why don’t you ladies take a coffee break?” Sean Cunningham said. “I’ll sober him up. God knows, I’ve done it often enough, haven’t I?” The clown came across as sincere, sounding concerned for all involved.
    Where had Sean come from? And how long had he been standing there, observing them?
    “Give Jocko and me fifteen minutes. You gals go on over to the bakery.” He glanced down at the carton and its former contents, then pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket. “My treat.”
    Both his movements and his dialogue seemed orchestrated.
    “Does that invitation include me and Precious?”
    Sean crossed the corridor and draped an arm around Linda’s shoulder. “Absolutely, my dear.” He tucked the twenty into the deep V of her purple spandex t-shirt.

      
    As they sat in the shade of a huge umbrella-topped table near the circus entrance, Mary Frances and Marlene, fighting to hold the floor, recounted what Kate had missed in the corridor while buying the doughnuts.
    This time, the doll lady, Linda, had gone for coffee. Since animals weren’t allowed in the flea market—except for the Cunningham corridor vendors’ special dispensation—Linda had left Precious in Marlene’s arms, warning, “Mind you, Mrs. Kennedy, keep your Westie in his proper place.”
    The Westie in question sat at Kate’s feet, watching the cat.
    “So, of course, I assumed Carl was dead.” Marlene finally finished the story.
    “We all did,” Mary Frances begrudgingly agreed. “I was terrified, thinking the vendors might be murdered, one by one.” She glanced at Marlene.
    Kate didn’t feel ready to share her brief moment with the beautiful little boy—it had affected her too deeply to be examined just yet. Instead, she launched into her meeting with Sean and Donna in the bakery, and her suspicions that the killer knew Whitey had shot the incriminating photographs.
    “A man called the Humane Society.” Marlene frowned. “It’s a real stretch to conclude that man was Whitey Ford.”
    “She’s right, Kate.” Mary Frances again sounded less than eager to be caught agreeing with Marlene.
    “Well, we can’t prove anything—at least not yet.” Kate shrugged. “But I’d bet the condo that Whitey took those photographs and made the call.”
    “Whitey Ford couldn’t take a proper picture to save his arse.” Linda Rutledge placed a large cardboard box filled with doughnuts and cinnamon raisin bagels on the table. “The best photographer in the corridor is Freddie Ducksworth.”
    Interesting, Kate thought, wondering how much the doll lady had overheard. Hadn’t Sean whispered that Freddie, the comic-book vendor, and Whitey, the Dewar’s pitchers vendor, hadn’t spoken in