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

pulled out a surprise, defending the informer. “Yesterday, a package arrived at the shelter. Color photographs showing welts on Edgar’s hind legs. Big, ugly welts. It looked as if someone had whipped the poor animal. Hard.”
    “How do you know those photos were of Edgar? Maybe they weren’t even taken at the flea market.” Marlene had slowed her pace to stay in the conversation. Ballou circled ahead, waiting for them.
    “The elephant was standing under the Cunningham Circus Big Top.” For Mary Frances, case closed.

      
    With Ballou fed and ready for bed, but in no mood to leave the party, the three women sat on Kate’s balcony watching the truly glorious sunset with the Westie curled up into a white furry ball at Marlene’s feet.
    Marlene had mixed a batch of martinis for herself. Kate and Mary Frances sipped white wine. They’d ordered pizza, and Kate had defrosted a homemade apple pie for dessert. Fat city, tonight. She didn’t care; she craved comfort food. She couldn’t stop thinking about Edgar.
    Spearing an olive, Marlene said, “We met that Carl Krieg at the flea market this afternoon, Mary Frances. Turns out he’ll be our neighbor in the corridor as well as here in the condo.”
    “Really?” Mary Frances pushed a red curl away from her left eye. “I’ve been having some serious second thoughts about that man.”
    Kate, not missing Marlene’s grimace, bit her tongue. “Why?” Marlene pointed her plastic stirrer at Mary Frances. A gin-soaked olive, the exact color of Sean Cunningham’s shifty eyes, dangled from its end.
    “I think Krieg might be some sort of neo-Nazi. When I went up to change for our walk, I saw him being interviewed on the six o’clock news. He was wearing a t-shirt with a huge swastika.”
    “On the news? What were they asking him?” Kate’s entire body tingled with the familiar electric charge that heralded fear, excitement, or intrigue. The spark felt good.
    Mary Frances snatched the olive off Marlene’s stirrer and popped it in her mouth. “About some guy in his apartment house—looked like a rundown rental to me, and I wondered how Krieg could have afforded the down payment on a condo here—anyway, earlier this week, some neighbor with a name like a famous baseball player had drowned in his bathtub, under what the police are now calling ‘suspicious circumstances.’”

Seven

      
    Murder had moved Whitey Ford from his burial on the bottom of the fourth page to above the fold on the first. Those “suspicious circumstances” that Mary Frances had heard reported on the TV newscast last evening had morphed into a full-blown homicide investigation in this morning’s Sun-Sentinel .
    Kate gulped her too-hot tea, almost without noticing, too immersed in the story to worry about a slightly singed tongue. The early-morning sun flooded her balcony, so bright she could read without her glasses. Well, the headlines, anyway.
    Ballou rested his head on her bare feet, and she slipped him a very small piece of whole wheat toast topped with strawberry jam. “Don’t tell Auntie Marlene or she’ll have you as fat as a house in no time.” Though Kate had strict rules about not feeding Ballou table food, she violated them often. She just didn’t want anyone else to find out.
    She and Ballou had a busy day ahead of them. Late last night Kate had told Marlene that if the doll lady, Linda, could bring her cat to work, they could bring Ballou. Not only was the Westie well behaved, but Kate would feel a lot better about being at the flea market with her pet at her side. And, in addition to her spirits being lifted, she’d have no guilt about leaving him home alone.
    Marlene had smiled, saying, “Of course Ballou’s coming with us. He’s family.”
    Much to Kate’s surprise, Mary Frances had jumped in. “I have no plans for tomorrow morning. Why don’t I help you move your stuff?”
    Kate glanced at her watch: 7:10. She’d better get a wiggle on. They were meeting at