Permanently Booked (12 page)

“Thank you, member and guests,” Dorothy said, after what seemed to Summer like an eternity. “To start our meeting off on an extra-special note, I’d like to thank the two wonderful author guests who graciously agreed to join us.” She turned and smiled at Georgiana and Carrie, who sat next to each other in the velvet-cushioned Events Room chairs. “GH Hamel, of course, whose bestselling works of romantic suspense I’m sure many of you have already read. And I’d also like to introduce an up-and-coming young author, Carrie Dunbar.”

“I’m on my second book, actually,” Carrie broke in, with an apologetic little wave to the audience. “But I feel like it’s kind of my debut, since this is my first author tour. I’m so excited to meet you all, and thrilled to be sitting here next to Georgiana. I’ve been reading her books since I was twelve. She’s just one of my biggest idols.”

The idol didn’t appreciate the backhanded compliment, Summer noticed. Georgiana looked ready to laser Carrie through her Lucille Ball fake eyelashes.

“Georgiana, as our guest of honor, would you like to come up now and get us started?” Dorothy said quickly.

Parker went over and said something into her ear. “Oh,” Dorothy said. “It seems our authors would prefer to wait until we finish our book club business, and after they speak the refreshment tables will reopen for the reception.”

“Hear, hear,” Gladys called out. “Let’s open those tables back up now.” A few people applauded.

Dorothy ignored that, and picked up a pile of pages from in front of her on the podium. “I trust you all took the handouts by the door—just some general guidelines and book suggestions—but why don’t we go over a few ground rules before we discuss them?”

Ugh. This was exactly like school.

“Oh, and one more thing.” Parker hurried back over and leaned into the mic. “Carrie and Georgiana have some fantastic author events coming up very soon, since they’re both in town. We’re still working on the details, but tomorrow night we’d love for you to join us at Milano Book & Bar for a cocktail party and author signing. Jennifer, your Resident Services director, is making arrangements for Hibiscus Pointe shuttle transportation. Hope to see you there!”

“We’re meeting at 7:00 p.m. in the main lobby,” Jennifer added, over the enthusiastic chatter.

“Thank you, ladies,” Dorothy said. “That does sound like fun. We’ll all look forward to that. So let’s get back to our discussion, shall we?”

Wow. Dorothy was smooth.

Summer tuned out temporarily to watch Professor Bell as her friend outlined the way the club would work. Two meetings a month. One to discuss a short story and the other a whole book. Rules for how the discussions would work, and being polite. Blah, blah.

The professor wasn’t paying much attention to Dorothy, either, Summer could tell. He frowned in concentration, making a bunch of notes in a little black notebook he’d taken from his man bag. It looked like some kind of journal.

How could she get a look at whatever he was writing? Maybe if she snuck over and distracted him...

Dash and Juliette-Margot, her nose in her
Eloise
book, were sitting in the same row. The perfect cover. Summer could pretend she was joining them.

“So now that you’ve all had a chance to look over the title suggestions, what do you think?” Dorothy was saying as Summer picked up a pre-poured piña colada from one of the drinks tables and moved as nonchalantly as she could toward the back of the room. “What type of books would you like to read first? I’ve already had some requests for mysteries and thrillers.”

“Police procedural!” Peggy Donovan called.

“Private investigator!” Gladys shouted over her. “The more hard-boiled, the better.”

“I like a good spy thriller myself,” Ernie said. “You know, like Tom Clancy. Or Robert Ludlum. Lots of action.”

Helen Murphy shuddered. “No, thank you. I abhor violence. I’m sure most of the ladies here would prefer to read something a little more romantic.”

Gladys snorted. “You mean, like Angelina St. Rose? Puh-
leez.
”

Guess there was no point in suggesting any
Citizen’s Arrest
books, Summer told herself. Too bad. They probably could have done a viewing party instead of a discussion for the next meeting.

Dorothy cleared her throat. “Well, I’d like to make another suggestion, if I may. How about GH Hamel’s latest title,
Good Night
,
Sweetheart
? Since so many of us have already read it, and Georgiana is here to give us some insights into the story, it seems like a wonderful choice for our first discussion.”

Everyone seemed okay with that idea. Georgiana actually smiled out at the audience, and Professor Bell glanced up from his notebook, all attention now. Good, Summer told herself. He wasn’t going anywhere before she got over there.

The only person who wasn’t happy about Dorothy’s suggestion was Carrie. She’d bust out bawling any second.

“And, of course, we can read Carrie’s new book for the next meeting.” Dorothy’s voice was soothing but perky at the same time.

The younger author instantly brightened, her face as pink as her way-tight, moth-eaten velvet dress. “
A
Killing Fog
,” she threw out, for anyone who cared. “But don’t forget about
Debut for Death
, too.” She smiled at Dorothy. “I can come back for the meeting.”

Pathetic. Summer had just made it to the back of the room, and was about to start up the center aisle toward the professor, when she noticed a woman stop by the door in an obvious, Party-Hearty store black wig. And those wraparound glasses people wore after they had eye surgery.

The woman bent down toward the box of beat-up and duplicate library discard books Dorothy was hoping people would take on their way out. There was no disguising the curvy figure under that oversize black sweatshirt and denim leggings.

Summer had to hand it to Trixie Quattrochi. The woman had guts, showing up here. Or else she was just begging to get nabbed.

Trixie had to know by now the police wanted to talk to her. Not to mention Summer and Dorothy. Oh, and Jennifer, about those skipped rent payments. She wasn’t here for the book club launch, or to pay her respects to Lorella, for sure. What did she want so badly that was worth the risk of anyone recognizing her?

This time, Summer decided, she wasn’t going to scare Trixie off by letting her know she’d spotted her. She needed to know what Trixie was up to first. She’d just sit casually down at the end of Dash and Professor Bell’s row, and then turn her head very casually...

Too late.

Trixie had already disappeared from the doorway.

Summer jumped up and tore out of the Events Room, running smack into the WMLO cameraman on her way.

The hall was empty. Summer ran toward the elevators and checked above the doors to see which floor Trixie was on by now. One elevator was heading up, but the other was stopped at 7.

She was way faster than the elevator. If she took the emergency stairs, she could beat Trixie downstairs to the lobby of Tower B and intercept her suspect before Dorothy finished the book club meeting. She could drag Trixie back with her until the cops got there and keep an eye on Professor Bell at the same time.

Piece of cake.

Summer pushed through the exit at the end of the hall, hopping a little as she removed her huarache sandals. Trixie would be in for a Texas-sized surprise.

Chapter Twelve

“Summer, please,” Dorothy said as her friend sprawled miserably in Dorothy’s comfy chair. “Stop blaming yourself. It wasn’t your fault. You did the best you could.”

“I should have taken the stupid elevator. Aargh!” Summer hugged a crocheted pillow. “I can’t believe I lost Trixie. Twice. No, three times, if you count the RV.”

“And I can’t believe those emergency doors were blocked at the ground floor,” Dorothy said, frowning. “That is a very serious safety violation. We need to talk to Jennifer about that.”

“Trixie probably did it somehow,” Summer said. “I wouldn’t put it past her. Maybe she saw that the elevator wasn’t leaving the top floor. But I really don’t think she knew I saw her, so she couldn’t have known I was following her.”

“Well, so far Trixie has proved to be very observant,” Dorothy said. “It would be a mistake to underestimate her.”

Summer sighed. “I guess. And Detective Donovan was supposedly ‘out’ again when I called. Yeah, right. And even Merle didn’t believe me when I said I’d seen Trixie at the book club meeting, I could tell.”

The girl pouted just like Maddie had when she was frustrated by something—usually, when she felt she wasn’t being taken seriously. Or her feelings were hurt. Dorothy had seen that expression many times, from both her friend and her daughter. “I’m sure you’re reading a little too much into things, dear,” she said gently.

“No, I’m not.” Summer just sounded stubborn now. “I mean, isn’t Detective Donovan ever at the station anymore? Or maybe he’s just not taking my calls, because he doesn’t want us working on the case. Or it might be because of Jennifer...”

What on earth? “Wait,” Dorothy broke in. “Jennifer? What does she have to do with any of this?”

Summer studied her manicure. “Oh, nothing. But either way, it wouldn’t be very professional of him to ignore me, or any important stuff for the case.”

“Summer,” Dorothy said, with a frown, “if there’s one thing we do know, it’s that Detective Donovan always conducts himself professionally. He’s very serious about his work.”

“Then he should listen to us,” Summer said. “Hey, quit it!” she added to Mr. Bitey, waving the chair pillow at him.

Gracious. Now Dorothy’s ill-behaved cat was trying to bat at Guinevere from behind her friend’s ankle. She clapped her hands at Mr. Bitey. “No, no,” she told him. “You’re being very rude to our guest.”

“I don’t think he cares much,” Summer said, with a glance at the badly gouged powder room door.

“No, he doesn’t. I shouldn’t have let Guinevere out yet.” Dorothy scooped up the protesting tomcat and carried him firmly toward the powder room. “Now it’s his turn in kitty jail.”

She had to find a home for poor Guinevere soon. Right after her owner’s murder was solved. That was the most pressing thing at the moment. A bit inconvenient for both her and the little gray cat, perhaps, but so be it.

“So, what do you think Trixie wants?” Summer said as Dorothy returned to the couch and rubbed her ankles. She’d been on her feet the entire day, and they were throbbing mercilessly. “I mean, if she’s on the run, why doesn’t she just leave town for good? Especially if she’s the one who killed Lorella.”

“An excellent question. It doesn’t make much sense, does it?” Holding her peach skirt in place, Dorothy lifted first one leg, then the other, up onto the couch. Now she was sitting almost the same way as Summer. It felt rather comfortable.

“Remember what Trixie said in her letter to Lorella, about the rat-killing thing?” Summer said. “I did a search on the internet, and she wasn’t talking about killing a bunch of vermin. ‘Rat killing’ is some Texas expression that means, like, taking care of business.”

“Well, that’s interesting,” Dorothy said. “I hope she didn’t mean killing Lorella.”

“Exactly,” Summer said. “But we still can’t forget about Professor Bell. What happened with him after I left?”

Dorothy sighed. “He tried to pester Georgiana again, at the reception. It seemed he had a manuscript he wanted her to read. A very long one, I might add. The package looked quite bulky.”

“That makes sense,” Summer said. “He’s writing a romance, I think. Can you believe that? He’s not bad-looking, but he’s, like, the least romantic guy on earth. Sooo boring. What did Georgiana say?”

“Well, she was so mobbed by fans after she and Carrie gave their talks, it was difficult to hear,” Dorothy said. “Georgiana didn’t look very happy, it’s true, but she told him to bring it to the author signing at Milano Book & Bar tomorrow night.”

“So Professor Bell was pretending he just came to the meeting to get Georgiana to look at his book,” Summer said. “That guy is such a sneaky stalker. And probably a murderer, too. I don’t know how he’d tie in with Trixie, though.”

“True,” Dorothy said. “And we need a bit more evidence before we bring him up to Detective Donovan as a serious suspect. We have that possible matching murder weapon, of course, but as the professor pointed out to you, those bookends are quite popular.”

“I hate to say this,” Summer said, slowly, “but there’s another person we might want to think about as a suspect, too. Ol’ GH Hamel. Even if she’s Dash’s mom.”

“Georgiana?” Dorothy sat up straighter on the couch. “You can’t be serious. Why, she just arrived in town. And she didn’t know Lorella.”

“She might have,” Summer pointed out. “Remember, when we almost had breakfast yesterday at the crepe place, we found out they went to the same college? Wellsburg, or whatever it was.”

“Wellsmount,” Dorothy murmured. It was true, that odd coincidence had slipped her mind. She’d meant to ask Georgiana about it. But right now she was tired. And hungry. She’d been so busy running the meeting and speaking with everyone afterward that she hadn’t had a single bite to eat at the reception.

“Remember when Georgiana saw Lorella’s picture on the easel when she was walking into the Events Room?” Summer said. “She stopped in the aisle and made a big deal of asking if that was the person who got murdered. She acted really surprised. Maybe she was faking so everyone would
think
she didn’t know Lorella.”

“That might be reaching a bit,” Dorothy said. “What kind of motive for murder could Georgiana possibly have, supposing she was even acquainted with Lorella?”

“Well, she knows how to get away with a crime,” Summer said. “She has to be sneaky in her books, right? Or her characters do, anyway.”

“But Georgiana arrived in town after Lorella was murdered,” Dorothy pointed out.

“Actually, we don’t know that,” Summer said. “Remember, Dash said she came down here a few days early? Maybe she didn’t really go to that bookstore when she got off the plane. Or maybe she did, but her flight got in superearly that morning.”

Dorothy’s head was beginning to spin. A revered author like GH Hamel would never be involved in a terrible crime like murder. That idea was just impossible. Lorella had been a professor—and a librarian, too. Both women obviously shared a love of literature. Preposterous.

“There’s another thing, too. Georgiana and Lorella both had that same bloodstone ring.” Summer took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this earlier, Dorothy. But I kind of borrowed Lorella’s ring from her jewelry box. You know, to give to the police later.”

Dorothy frowned. “Why didn’t you mention that, dear? It could be important to the investigation, somehow.”

“I know.” Summer’s voice sounded very small. “I guess maybe I was thinking the rings might be like the bookends, or something. A dime a dozen, so it would be okay to keep it myself for a while.”

Goodness. Dorothy’s young friend was like a magpie with a shiny bauble. But no harm done, Dorothy supposed. “Where is the ring now?”

“In my undies drawer,” Summer said. “It’s really safe there, I promise.”

“Mmm,” Dorothy said.

Summer checked her phone. “It’s almost five,” she said, clearly eager to change the subject. “Are you going to dinner in the dining room tonight?”

“I suppose,” Dorothy said, with a sigh. She didn’t have much choice, because there wasn’t a single food item in her fridge again. She’d skipped the last shuttle bus to Publix. The idea of mingling with a crowd again so soon was not terribly appealing. No doubt some people would want to discuss today’s book club meeting—or worse, argue about the title choices again.

“Well, I have an idea,” Summer said. “My friend Esmé—you remember her from Chameleon, right? —picked up a second job at La Volpe downtown. She just texted me that it’s really dead there right now, and we might be able to get a free dinner if we go superearly. What do you think?”

“I think that sounds marvelous,” Dorothy said, standing up. “Just let me grab a light jacket.”

She felt miraculously better already.

* * *

Esmé hadn’t been kidding about this place being dead, Summer told herself as she and Dorothy waited for service at a marble-topped table for two near the tiny bar area of La Volpe. The bartender, a good-looking Italian-American guy a year or two younger than her—okay, maybe five or six—had thrown them a smile when they walked in, and then disappeared for good.

Jeez. It sure was dark in here. Kind of gloomy, actually. A lot of wooden paneling and marble, with a bunch of creepy-looking busts of old guys with beards. Good wine list, though, and there was a candle and a single red rose in a bottle on every table.

Where was Esmé, anyway? Or, more like, where was anyone?

“I don’t understand it. This restaurant was once very popular,” Dorothy said. “Harlan used to bring me here, years ago, and it’s one of Ernie’s favorites, too.”

“Huh,” Summer said. “Maybe it’s more of a guy place. You know, lots of spaghetti and meatballs and stuff. I bet a lot of couples used to get engaged here, with all the roses and opera music.”

“Yes, it did have atmosphere.” Dorothy looked a little sad.

“Hi, guys.” Esmé appeared at their table, a little out of breath, and handed them each a menu. “Sorry about the wait. I just finished up at Chameleon, and got over here as fast as I could. Matteo was supposed to cover for me till I got here, the rat. His parents own the place, and they’re on vacation.”

“How nice to see you, Esmé,” Dorothy said. “You look lovely.”

“You do,” Summer agreed. “That’s a great outfit under there.”

Esmé grinned and pulled aside her long white waitress apron to strike a pretend model’s pose in her formfitting black dress, glittering gold earrings, and designer pumps. Her long dark curls, which she usually wore braided or tied back in a scarf or butterfly clips, were semitamed by a wide black headband. “Thanks. It’s my new, classy look. Had to step up my game to work at this place. Plus, I have a hot date later.”

Personally, Summer liked Esmé’s usual funky style a tiny bit better—her friend was a part-time design student with the coolest clothes—but she would never say that. “So, what’s good to eat here?” she asked.

Esmé shrugged. “I’d stick with the lasagna. The seafood’s supposed to be fresh, but it seems a little nasty, until they dump all the sauces over it.”

“Oh.” Dorothy shuddered, just a little. “How about the Italian salad?”

“Good choice,” Esmé said. “And the bread is always good. How about some wine first? There’s a pretty good bottle of Shiraz open that’d go with the lasagna.”

“Great,” Summer and Dorothy both answered, at the same time.

“So you never really told me how the rest of the book club party went, and I haven’t heard anything from Dash,” Summer said when Esmé had left. “Was Georgiana a big hit with the crowd? And what about, uh, Carrie?”

“I thought things went rather well,” Dorothy said. “Better than I expected, in fact. Georgiana enthralled everyone with the most fascinating stories about her research trips to all kinds of exotic locales, and Carrie also held people’s interest, I think.”

“What did she talk about?” Summer asked.

“A little bit of everything,” Dorothy said. “Her books, her long, difficult journey to becoming a published writer, her plans for the future. I felt a bit sorry for her, I have to say. She had a tough time breaking into the book business, but hopefully, she’s on her way now.”

“Why didn’t she publish her books herself?” Summer said. “A lot of people do that now.”

“I’m not sure,” Dorothy said. “But if you don’t mind dear, I’m afraid I’m feeling a little book-clubbed out. Do you mind if we talk about it later?”

“Oh, sorry,” Summer said. Her friend did look tired. “Fine with me.”

Esmé brought over a basket of warm Italian bread, rosemary focaccia, and garlic bread sticks, along with small white plates, three glasses of Shiraz, and an extra bottle. “Mind if I join you for a couple of minutes?” she asked. “If I get any customers, it’ll be later, after the Milano Playhouse lets out, and Matteo actually did a good job setting things up.”

“Sure,” Summer said.

“I wanted to talk to you two anyway,” Esmé said, unloading her tray. “It’s about that lady who got murdered over at your complex. You know, the librarian?”

Dorothy’s eyebrows shot up. She looked a lot more alert now. “You and Lorella were acquainted?”

“No,” Esmé said. “Summer and Dash were telling me about her when the three of us were out last night.” She placed the tray on a nearby table and drew up a wrought-iron chair. “But I saw the lady’s pic in the newspaper rack at the Green Caffeine this morning, and I recognized her right away. She and some guy used to come in here all the time.”

“What did he look like?” Summer had a feeling she already knew the answer.

Esmé shrugged. “Well, he was maybe about ten years younger than her. Good hair, not too gray, kind of long. Always wore a navy blue jacket. Lousy tipper. The woman always slipped me a few extra bucks on her way out. And the guy always smelled like...”

“Pipe smoke?” Summer finished.

“Yeah, that was it. I was going to say burned wood. He was a little snotty. And the lady—Lorella never said much to me, either, but she seemed nicer. Just really quiet.”

Summer and Dorothy exchanged glances. Yep, that was a perfect description of Professor Bell. Better than the ones the detectives usually got out of eyewitnesses on
Citizen’s Arrest.