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

she?”
    Mary Frances, overhearing, smiled at Jocko, almost fluting. Then she pointed across the corridor. “That swastika tablecloth must belong to Carl Krieg. Disconcerting isn’t it? Marlene, aren’t you concerned all that Nazi memorabilia will repel your prospective customers?”
    “That’s the least of my worries.” Though tempted to tell Jocko to drop the box on Mary Frances’s well-shod foot, Marlene smiled. “Please put the carton next to the table. And thank you, you’ve been wonderful.” She pulled three twenties from her purse. “Here, please split this with the other two guys who helped us out.” Jocko walked away grinning; she wondered if he’d pocket it all. She sighed, then glanced at her watch. Almost ten. The flea market had managed to turn her into a total cynic in less than an hour.
    Her conscience bothered her. A chronic condition. A bit better judgment and fewer lies of omission, and she’d fret a lot less. Hadn’t she learned anything from her checkered past? Apparently not. Sometimes, she wished she could pop a Pepcid AC the way Kate did for stomach distress and make her bad memories disappear like a gas bubble.
    Ballou jumped up gently, putting his front paws on her knee. Looking wistful, he licked her hand, nibbling it. “You’re such a good boy,” Marlene said, feeling better about herself. He seemed to understand and tried to lick her face.
    Mary Frances stamped her foot. “Are you daydreaming? Or going deaf? What about my display? Do you prefer these white leather frames front and center, or shall I move them to the back of the table?”
    Marlene shook her head and held her tongue. After all, the woman, annoying as she was, had volunteered her time and—much as Marlene hated to admit it—talent. “No. They look great there. Thanks.”
    Silence filled the corridor. It occurred to Marlene that without Kate around, she and Mary Frances had nothing to say to each other. Ballou, who’d never cottoned to Mary Frances, circled a carton, then settled back down at Marlene’s feet.
    She felt undeserving of the Westie’s devotion, even though he’d liked her from the day they’d first met in Kate’s kitchen in Rockville Centre. Charlie Kennedy had brought him home as a puppy, a tiny white ball of fur, cute as a teddy bear. Ballou always had been very much Charlie’s dog, slow to warm up to Kate, yet perversely fond of Marlene.
    All that changed when Charlie dropped dead. Kate, in her grief, and Ballou, deprived of his master’s attention, had turned to each other. What had started out as mutual comfort and companionship had blossomed into true love.
    But Ballou had love to spare, and he still made a great fuss over his Auntie Marlene.
    She sighed, a sharp release of breath, muttered “dammit” under her breath, and caught an odd look from Mary Frances, who was emptying the contents of the last carton.
    Marlene went to work, stacking the colorful pottery bowls she’d bought in Arizona almost a half century ago during her brief first marriage. Her hands might be busy, but not as busy as her mind, whirling with images of Charlie.
    Why today? She could go for days, even weeks at a time, believing she’d moved on, then unexpectedly, unrelenting panic would grip her like a vise and hold her captive. Betrayal was an ugly act. An ugly word. And Marlene had betrayed Kate.
    A four-martini one-night stand with her best friend’s husband, during a party that had gone on far too long, on top of a pile of coats in the hosts’ bedroom. A fleeting act of adultery decades ago that, though neither had ever spoken of it again, had haunted both their lives. She hoped that wherever Charlie’s soul had gone, he’d been forgiven and had finally forgiven himself.
    “Marlene, you never mentioned Linda Rutledge has a booth here!” Mary Frances’s squeal jarred Marlene. The woman sounded starstruck.
    Marlene placed a purple bowl into a larger mustard-yellow one, then looked up. “So?”
    Mary