Permanently Booked (11 page)

Summer peered warily into the cat carrier, and the little animal blinked back at her. She was kind of cute, actually. Not all ornery, like Mr. Bitey. “She’s okay.”

Maybe she could convince Dash to adopt the kitty for Juliette-Margot. She’d already gotten them that turtle, though. And cat fur might not go so well with the Hamel-LeBlancs’ designer furniture and white rugs.

Lorella’s condo was small and superneat, even after the cops had gone through it—if you didn’t mind all the books stuffed in every room. The place was full of clunky, ugly old furniture—the creepy, dark, carved kind that would have been perfect for...well, one of those creepy Tudor houses. Or maybe Professor Bell’s office.

That was what the place reminded her of, except Lorella’s bookshelves were perfectly organized. But that wasn’t a huge shock. After all, the woman was a librarian.

Summer felt a little guilty as she and Dorothy snooped around, but she tried to be as respectful as possible about the dead woman’s stuff.

There wasn’t much in any of her drawers, and hardly anything in her closet. Mostly heavy materials like wool and tweed. She must not have gone outdoors, like, ever.

No makeup in the bathroom, either, except for a jar of superthick face cream that looked as if it had been bought in 1948, a tub of generic petroleum jelly, and one classic red lipstick.

The tube was Chanel. And beside it stood a bottle of Chanel No 5—the perfume version, not the less expensive toilet water spray.

Nice, Summer told herself. Lorella had some secret indulgences. She tried the lipstick out on the mirror. It really was a cool, vintage-type color, but she hardly ever wore red.

“That shade is called Pirate,” Dorothy said. “I used to wear it myself,” she added, sounding a little sad.

“Yikes, it looks like blood.” Summer quickly tried to wipe the lipstick from the glass with her finger. “The cops will know someone was here if they come back.”

“It looks as if Lorella turned the master closet into a little office,” Dorothy said, stepping back into the bedroom. “There’s even a desk in here.”

“Her computer’s gone,” Summer said, joining her friend and running a hand over the desktop. “See, no dust over this big, square spot.”

“Except now there’s a streak of red lipstick,” Dorothy pointed out.

Oops. Summer reached for a few tissues from the dispenser on the desktop and rubbed it off. “Hey, there are some files boxes behind here,” she said, ducking under the desk. “Like the ones Lorella was using at the library. Nothing’s labeled—just a bunch of folders and a few Moleskine notebooks. Probably all her old professor notes. The police must have gone through them already, I guess.”

“I’ll be right there, dear. Maybe we can take a few with us, and come back later to double-check the rest for clues, just in case.” Dorothy was busy perusing the headboard of Lorella’s bed, which had bookshelves built into it. No surprise here. The librarian must have run out of room for all her books.

“Just look at all these Angelina St. Rose titles,” Dorothy added. “My friends and I used to head to the bookstore to buy the latest ones the minute they arrived.”

“Huh.” Summer crossed the room to peer over her friend’s shoulder. “I actually read some of those when I was a kid. My first and third stepmoms were big fans. They didn’t want me to have them, though.”

“Well, I can understand that,” Dorothy said. “Angelina St. Rose is a bit racy for younger readers, wouldn’t you say?”

“I guess,” Summer said. She’d read some of her stepmoms’ other books that were a lot worse.

As Dorothy continued to look at all of Lorella’s books, Summer made her way through the rest of the bedroom. Beneath a fake red rose in a vase, a small ivory and gold jewelry box caught her eye. She carefully lifted the lid.

Rats. It was empty. Summer was about to put the lid back on, but her finger caught a tiny tab. Some kind of secret compartment? She pulled on it gently and her mouth dropped open. Underneath the blue velvet liner was a gorgeous bloodstone ring in a fancy gold setting.

Where had she seen a ring like that before?

“My, that looks like the one Georgiana was wearing at the party,” Dorothy said, coming up beside her with a tote bag of file folders.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Summer said. How could she have forgotten that? The ring Dash’s mom had worn was a little bigger, maybe. But otherwise the same. How could Lorella Caldwell and GH Hamel possibly have anything in common?

It was a really weird coincidence that the quiet librarian and the famous mystery writer had the exact same taste in jewelry.

But they didn’t. Georgiana wore huge, swingy earrings, and from what Summer could tell, Lorella had owned a single pair of pearl posts.

She took out her phone to snap a picture of the ring as Dorothy headed toward the sliding doors. “Let’s go, dear,” her friend said. “We still have a lot to do before the book club meeting. But we’ll come back.”

“Okay.” Summer put her phone away and slipped the bloodstone onto her ring finger. Pretty tight. But hey, her pinky was a perfect fit.

Maybe she should take this with her, in case it was needed for evidence somehow. The cops had probably missed it in that secret compartment. And she could always put it back later, when she and Dorothy returned.

Summer pocketed the ring, picked up the pitifully meowing Guinevere in her carrier, and followed her sleuthing partner through the sliding doors.

Chapter Eleven

Dorothy checked her reflection in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door. She had chosen her freshly dry-cleaned, peach linen suit—the one that always made her feel attractive and confident—to wear for the book club kickoff.

A bit formal, perhaps, but as her mother had always insisted, it was better to be overdressed than underdressed for special occasions.

Unfortunately, she could very well be late to her own party. Her mother had a few expressions for those occasions, as well—which did not, as Dorothy recalled, include “better late than never.” But she’d been at her wits’ end this afternoon, wrangling two very unhappy felines.

“Bitey, stop that!” she scolded as she walked into the living room and discovered the orange tomcat chasing poor Guinevere around and around the ottoman. Fortunately, Mr. Bitey was not quite as nimble as the tiny gray kitty. “Get over here, young man.”

He didn’t pay a scrap of attention, but Guinevere made a break for it and tried to hide behind Dorothy’s shoes.

“All right, that’s it,” Dorothy informed both rascals. The three of them would be here the entire afternoon, at this rate. Fortunately, Summer was already over at the Magnolia Events Room, helping Jennifer and Parker set up.

She reached down to grab Guinevere and carried her toward the powder room, with Mr. Bity hot on their heels. Thank goodness she hadn’t worn hose, as she’d initially considered, or they would be in shreds by now.

“I’m sorry to do this to you,” Dorothy told the little gray cat as she placed her on the powder room floor and firmly shut the door. “But you’ll be better off in here.” She’d already put down food, water, and a makeshift litter box for her guest.

As Dorothy left, she could hear Mr. Bitey scratching at the powder room door, but she’d just have to deal with the damage later. She had exactly ten minutes to get over to the Towers.

“Hi, Dorothy!” Carrie Dunbar, her braids rather unsuccessfully bobby-pinned on top of her head, smiled broadly from four feet away in the hall. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Dorothy touched a relieved hand to her chest. “Heavens, you gave me such a fright.”

“Oh, I’m really sorry. I heard you talking to those people inside your condo, and I was just about to knock. Sounded as if there was something crazy going on in there.” Carrie picked up the canvas book tote—custom-printed with the same tiara-ed photo as her business cards, Dorothy noted—from the carpet beside her, supporting it with both hands. “Wow, this thing is heavy. I’ve got so many of my books in here, you know? Parker said we had enough already, but I figured we might need some extras.”

“Mmm.” Dorothy headed toward the elevator at a brisk clip. Hopefully, she had remembered to tuck that travel-sized bottle of Tylenol in her purse.

Carrie practically skipped along beside her, even with the loaded book bag. “I wanted to walk in with you, Dorothy, since you know everyone. I’m on the agenda, right? I know
A
Killing Fog
is my new book, but I really want to give a sales boost to my first one,
Debut for Death
, too.”

“Of course,” Dorothy murmured, stabbing at the elevator button.

“I have a few ideas to present them both, maybe right after Georgiana’s,” Carrie went on as the doors finally opened. “What would you think if I started with—”

“You know, Carrie, this is just a small, introductory book club meeting, really,” Dorothy broke in. “No doubt all of our new members will be eager to learn more about your novels, but overselling things might not be wise, at this point.” Or at any point, she added silently.

“Oh.” Carrie looked a half-smidge deflated. “Right.”

“Why don’t you consider redirecting your energies a bit, dear? Maybe toward promoting literature and reading in general?” Dorothy suggested. “For a start, of course.”

“Uh, sure.” Carrie readjusted the weight of her book bag to one hip, hitching up the side of her pleated tan skirt. “By the way, Parker and I are putting together a few fun, low-key promo events this week at some trendy spots around Milano. Do you and Summer want to join us? And maybe, since you guys know Georgiana and her family so well, you could get Georgiana to come along, too.”

“Why, thank you,” Dorothy said. “We’ll see.”

Mercifully, an empty Hibiscus Pointe shuttle bus picked them up as they emerged from the building and delivered them directly to the Towers. If Dorothy had been forced to listen to this young woman’s chatter for another five minutes, she might very well have thrown herself under it.

When she and Carrie arrived at the top floor of Tower B, Dorothy was astounded to see that the Magnolia Events Room was packed with residents—and outsiders, too. Gracious, how did that happen?

Lorella would have been so pleased.

“Great turnout,” Carrie said. “I can’t believe all these people are here to see me.”

“And GH Hamel, perhaps,” Dorothy reminded her, lightly. “Not to mention they’re expecting a book club launch.”

The young woman had the good grace to blush. “Oh, I meant that. But isn’t Parker just the best publicist ever? It must have been all those flyers. I am so glad I hired her. She’s worth every penny.”

“Yes, she’s certainly doing a marvelous job,” Dorothy said, scanning the crowd. The publicity assistant was circling the crowd with her tablet, handing out promotional bookmarks and obtaining signatures for something. Carrie’s email list, no doubt.

Summer, dressed in a splashy, Hawaiian-themed shift, was popping maraschino cherries into her mouth as she set up blenders for daiquiris and piña coladas—goodness, that would be noisy during the meeting, Dorothy suddenly realized—while Jennifer directed the catering staff in pouring bottles of wine and sparkling water. Faux-silver trays lined with cookies, blondie brownies, cheese, crackers, and grapes lined the serving tables, which were draped with golden tablecloths.

Quite the “do.” Hopefully, the meeting itself would be met with equal enthusiasm.

She should start making her way toward the podium, Dorothy realized, tamping down tiny embers of nervousness. People were beginning to find seats. If only Harlan and Maddie could see her now. She did so hate speaking in public, but this was for a very good cause. And if reestablishing the Hibiscus Pointe Book Club would help solve Lorella’s murder, it would be worth a few moments of personal discomfort.

Was this how the shy former professor and librarian had felt when she was forced to face the public? And if she had stayed buried in her books, as she’d clearly preferred, would Lorella have been running this meeting today?

Dorothy smoothed her suit and made her way toward the central aisle toward the podium, still thinking of her predecessor.

The racy romance novels, the bold Pirate lipstick, the gorgeous bloodstone ring, the secret relationship with a younger man... The dead woman clearly had had her passions. And it was up to her and Summer to uncover whatever lurked behind them.

* * *

Summer grabbed a red plastic cup from the stack on the table beside her and poured herself a piña colada tester. Not bad. “Want to try one?” she asked, filling a cup for Jennifer.

“No, thanks,” Jennifer said. “I can’t drink when I’m working.”

“Oh, right.” Summer wiped the sticky coconut crème from her fingers with a Hibiscus Pointe paper napkin. “I’ll just leave it here, in case you change your mind later. I need to make sure Dorothy’s okay up there. She looks a little nervous.”

“Well, hurry back.” Jennifer glanced toward the door. “GH Hamel hasn’t arrived yet, and people are getting restless. I think we’re going to have to put out more drinks soon.”

“Guess we could have made some bucks on this,” Summer said. “Too late.”

“Well, that’s a good idea anyway. People could charge alcoholic drinks to their resident accounts, like they do at dinner.” Jennifer uncorked another bottle of Chardonnay. “We’d make a fortune, and it might even help me get Roger off my case. Next time, for sure.”

There wasn’t going to be a next time, Summer told herself. Not if she and Dorothy could solve Lorella’s murder today, anyway. But first they needed their suspects to show up.

She headed toward the podium, where Dorothy was trying to deal with that prune face Helen Martin, but stopped when she heard a commotion near the Events Room entrance.

Summer blinked in the sudden bright light. WMLO reporter Felicia Hernandez and her TV crew had just walked in, cameras already rolling. Who had called the media? Well, that was a no-brainer. Carrie and Parker were right there at the door to greet them.

Someone else was posted near the entrance, too. Yep, Professor Charles Bell had shown up. Was he trying to get on TV?

Summer glanced Dorothy’s way again. Uh-oh. Peggy Donovan had rolled up to the podium now, too, and it looked as if she was taking on Helen about something. Poor Dorothy was trying to intervene.

Jeez. Well, her sleuthing partner would want her to go after their suspect, for sure.

The professor, wearing a different navy blazer and the same pair of jeans, didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the news crew. Instead he kept looking out into the hall, clutching a beat-up-looking leather man bag.

Summer made it over there just as there was another burst of activity and GH Hamel swept into the Magnolia Events Room, followed by Dash and a black-lace-clad Juliette-Margot.

Nice dress, Summer thought. She wouldn’t mind getting one like that for herself. She was pretty sure they made that one in grown-up sizes.

Georgiana wore a red silk tunic over black silk pants, ropes of giant white beads, and a candy-cane-striped head scarf.

Oh, and that bloodstone ring. Summer peered at it more closely. Yep, exactly like Lorella’s.

“Move back, please, everyone!” Parker started shooing people—including her own client Carrie—off to the sides of the room to make way for the famous author.

Georgiana played the part, too, as she nodded and gave the crowd a royal wave or two. Elbow held steady and twist of the wrist, to cut down on arm jiggle.

“Daiquiri, please,” Summer heard Georgiana mutter to Dash, but he was already on it. She quickly grabbed Juliette-Margot’s hand so she wouldn’t get trampled by her grandmother’s fans.

The kid didn’t seem that worried. “Juliette-Margot brought this for the book club meeting,” she said, holding up a picture book with a messy-looking girl about her age on the cover. “See?
Eloise.
She speaks French, just like me.”

“That’s nice.” Summer kept her eyes on the professor. He was shifting around, looking nervous, as people began to find seats.

“Ms. Hamel?” He suddenly broke toward Georgiana, trying to pull something out of his bag. Looked like some kind of package.

Summer pushed Juliette-Margot behind her. Did the guy have a bomb?

Just as Summer was about to make a move, Parker stepped up and blocked the professor. “No questions now, please, sir. We have time built in for Q&A at the end of the authors’ talks.”

“I have to give GH Hamel something,” he said. “It’s very important.”

Summer was about to warn Parker when she realized the package was just a couple of superthick manila envelopes, held together with a jumbo rubber band. Phew. And Georgiana was so busy acknowledging her other fans that she hadn’t even noticed.

“Sorry,” Parker said to Professor Bell. She brushed him away like an annoying bug and tried to hustle Georgiana down the center aisle toward the front of the room, where Dorothy—and Carrie, who had run up there like a shot—were ready to start the meeting.

But Georgiana didn’t budge. Her attention was glued to the giant photo of Lorella on an easel near the first buffet. It was Dorothy’s idea, and Jennifer had blown up the librarian’s dated, blurry obituary photo.

“That’s her?” Georgiana asked Summer loudly, over her shoulder. She looked confused, and a little shocked, maybe. “The one who got murdered in this place?”

For a second or two, the Events Room went dead quiet—except for the sound of Jennifer popping another cork. Yep, she was probably ready to start drinking on the job now.

And yikes, poor Juliette-Margot, hearing that. Summer tightened her grip on the little girl’s hand, but she wasn’t acting scared. She seemed just as morbidly fascinated as everyone else. Jeez, where was Dash?

She spotted her friend near the drinks table, looking as frozen as the two strawberry daiquiris he’d been transporting. It had to be tough having Georgiana for a mom. GH Hamel might be a famous mystery writer, but she wasn’t exactly the queen of tact.

She might even be more embarrassing than Harmony Smythe-Sloan.

A buzz began to rise from the crowd, as if the Magnolia Events Room had been invaded by a swarm of killer bees. Summer frowned. Everyone at Hibiscus Pointe had to know already that Lorella was murdered. Gladys Rumway had probably made sure of that by now, if the residents hadn’t figured things out themselves, with all the cops and crime tape and extra security.

Not to mention the media. It was Felicia Hernandez’s lucky day—she and her news team would get two stories for the price of one. GH Hamel—no way could they really be here for Carrie—and the murder at fancy Hibiscus Pointe.

The media might not be able to get much out of Jennifer, but someone else would blab. Gladys, for sure, but there were plenty of others who’d want their fifteen seconds of fame, too.

Dorothy tapped on the microphone. “We’re going to start, everyone.” Her voice came out a little muffled and wobbly, but she leaned forward and raised her voice. “Quiet, please.”

The buzzing immediately stopped. Wow, Summer thought. Impressive. But then, everyone always listened to Dorothy Westin.

Even her.

“I’d like to welcome you all to the very first meeting of our new Hibiscus Pointe Book Club,” Dorothy said. “It is my honor to dedicate this event—and the club itself—to the memory of its founder, Lorella Rose Caldwell. Let’s take a moment of silence to remember Lorella, and continue to keep her in our thoughts and prayers.”

And solve her murder quick, Summer added to herself, glancing at Professor Bell in the last row of seats. He was staring straight at Georgiana, his man bag on his lap. No way would she let him out of her sight—or near Dash’s mom, even if she was one scary lady. There was something really sneaky and shady about the Professor. Not to mention, he was one of their top suspects. Had he realized the gold bookend in his office—the possible mate to the murder-y one—was missing?