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

if—and why—the building inspector had approved the plans for that room.
    Without looking around, Jeff Jones shook his head, but a s they approached Mary Frances, who appeared to be flirting with the plumber in the foyer, Jones stopped short, turned, and placed his right hand on Marlene’s still cold forearm. “It might be best for both of us, ma’am, if you don’t mention your little side excursion to Miz Dalton.” Then he gave a quick polite half-bow, like a s mall boy at dance class, and headed back toward the statuary hall. Or maybe to the freezer.

      
    With the top of her 1958 white Caddy convertible down and the mid-morning sun on her face, a defrosted Marlene was driving up A1A to the Breakers. And, by God, she wouldn’t let her fifteen-minute delay, even those chilling few minutes in the freezer, ruin her date-to-die-for. The single-lane traffic was moving and with any luck—she deserved a break—she might arrive in Palm Beach on time.
    She would have taken I-95; however, highway driving on a Saturday morning in season would totally destroy any shred of serenity—not to mention sanity—that she had left.
    As she passed through Delray Beach, the Atlantic on her right and a Mizner mansion on her left, Nat King Cole sang “When I Fall in Love, It Will Be Forever.” Marlene smiled, not exactly her theme song, but one lived in hope. She raised the volume and sang along with Nat.
    Having a man in her life was like having a bagel for breakfast. She could get along without one, but why would she want to?
    She’d loved all three of her husbands. Truly. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t still be looking, would she? Her heart jumped as Nat sang “Mona Lisa.” Lying to herself, how devious could she get?
    Hell, she’d be looking for a guy even if she’d hated all her husbands. All her boyfriends. All those men who fell into neither category. Truth be told, Marlene needed a man in her life. Sometimes the wrong man. Too often, the wrong man.
    She shuddered in the warm sun, remembering some of the losers. And the one she’d wanted the most, an insatiable itch that made her betray Kate. A careless four-martini one-night stand, when they’d been very young. And, if possible, he’d felt even guiltier than she had. Adultery is an ugly word, so Marlene Friedman and Charlie Kennedy never spoke it aloud again. And Kate, thank God, had never known. Marlene had lived with the residual scars, marring body and soul, blotting what might have been great days.
    D amn it. She was destroying her own serenity. And sanity. She’d have to deal with the guilt, as she’d done for decades. Anything else would only hurt Kate. She loved Kate like a sister. A much longer, far more enduring love than all the others.
    Marlene changed the song and repressed the memories it had stirred up. Fred Astaire singing Cole Porter always cheered her up.

      
    If Brideshead had been built on the beach, it might have resembled the Breakers. Though she’d been here several times, the approach to one of the most elegant resorts in the world still took Marlene’s breath away. The driveway, wide and sweeping. The lovingly nurtured, abundant foliage, wild with color. The manicured lawns on either side, green and lush. In the distance, off to the right, two impeccably outfitted men were playing golf. The weather-beaten shingles in no way detracted from the grand hotel’s enduring charm: an architectural marriage of beach cottage and manor house that appeared both imposing and inviting.
    In a setting where one almost expected a footman to appear and take your luggage, Marlene settled for valet parking.
    Remnants of the Roaring Twenties lingered in the huge, traditionally decorated lobby. Here, again, the Breakers reminded Marlene of a British estate turned into a hotel. Settees and tables grouped in courtly open areas, as well as cozy nooks for private conversations, two fine restaurants, a beautiful bar with an ocean view, smart, upscale shops, and