Death Rides the Surf (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 5) Read Online Free PDF Page A

third surfer smiled, revealing yellow teeth, his left incisor missing. “I’m Claude, ma’am.” The short, skinny boy appeared to be about sixteen, but Mary Frances had said that all the boardsmen were between eighteen and twenty-two. What idiot on the Palmetto Beach City Council had hired this kid as a substitute lifeguard?
    Kate felt a fleeting moment of pity. The boy’s blond hair had started to thin. His washed-out gray eyes were dull, almost blank. Had Claude Jensen shut down before leaving his teens? His red nose was peeling, almost raw, and his pasty skin would always burn, never tan. He spoke with a drawl. From Alabama, Kate guessed. Or maybe Florida’s Redneck Riviera, abutting Alabama.
    Claude’s nod included Marlene. “Nice to meet y’all.” He reached down and ruffled Ballou’s fur. The Westie, who loved almost everyone, pulled away.
    Marlene, who’d been unusually quiet, sighed. “Three Boardsmen down, one to meet.”
    Katharine scrunched her nose. “You promised me a surfing lesson, Jon Michael. Let’s go.” She waved dismissively, saying, “See you later, Nana and Auntie Marlene,” over her shoulder. Her round bottom wiggled as she walked into the ocean. Jon Michael turned and, without a word, followed Katharine to the sea.
    “Not to worry, Señora Kennedy,” Roberto said. “Jon Michael is a strong swimmer and a great teacher. One day soon you will watch with pride as Katharine rides the waves.”
    Kate doubted that, but the Cuban seemed so sure and so sincere she smiled. “I hope you’re right, Roberto.”
    “Just how did you land in South Florida, Roberto?”
    Marlene came across like a brusque New Yorker. Well, of course, she was a brusque New Yorker, but tempered by a kind heart and generous soul. Right now neither her heart nor her soul was on the beach. Just her nose…which had smelled trouble.
    Claude cackled, appearing ready to enjoy his fellow surfer’s discomfort.
    Roberto’s charm never wavered. He grinned at Marlene, then spoke in his soft Latin lilt. “My mother and I fled from Cuba years ago. Our small boat was overcrowded. We were several miles from Deerfield Beach when the boat capsized.”
    Smooth, Kate thought. Too damn smooth.
    “I dove for hours, trying to find my mother. To find anyone. But at thirteen I found myself alone in the Atlantic Ocean. I swam the rest of the way to shore and I kissed the sand. My tia Rosita in Miami took me in.”
    “Come on, we surfing or what?” Claude shoved the back of Roberto’s head.
    “If you ladies will excuse me, I must join my friends.” Roberto nodded, picked up his surfboard, and followed Claude.
    “Did you believe a word of that sob story?” Marlene shook her head.
    “I’m going to ask Nick to check out Romero. Find out if there’s really an aunt in Miami.” Kate had almost fallen for Roberto’s glib patter.
    Only the missing boardsman, Sam Meyers, had a real job. How did these young men fund their passion? Surfing in Acapulco costs money. Flying from Mexico to Florida didn’t come cheap.
    Jon Michael worked part-time as a bartender. If Claude had money, why didn’t he have his teeth fixed? The well-groomed Roberto, who, according to Mary Frances, dressed in Armani, seemed to be the money man. Where did he get it?
    Kate turned to Marlene. “Do you think Roberto’s aunt is rich?”
    “Aunt, my tush. I’ll bet he’s a kept man. Some old women will do anything for sex.”
    “Is that right, Marlene?” Kate laughed. It felt good.

Eight

      
    The city of Palmetto Beach has a downtown that the natives referred to as the village center. One of the smallest downtowns in the USA, it stretches for one short and two long blocks from the Atlantic Ocean to the Neptune Boulevard Bridge which led to the mainland. West of the short block, abutting the beach and bisecting the village, A1A ran north and south.
    Kate and Marlene, holding Ballou’s leash, had showered and changed, and were on their way to the island’s