Permanently Booked (13 page)

“Did you ever catch anything of their conversations?” Dorothy asked.

“Not really,” Esmé said. “They had their heads pretty close together most of the time.”

“So maybe the professor wasn’t really a stalker,” Summer said to Dorothy. “Or he didn’t turn into one until later, at least.”

Dorothy added a few drops of balsamic vinegar to the oil on her plate and swirled it with a bread stick. “It definitely sounds as if they had a romantic relationship, then.”

“Those two didn’t seem that chummy to me, actually,” Esmé said. “Lorella always looked as if she was sort of mad at him, or something. I think they were working on some big project together, because the guy wrote down a lot of stuff in a notebook.”

Summer sighed. “I really, really wish we could get a look at that notebook. He had it at the book club meeting today,” she added to Dorothy.

Esmé refilled her wine. “Wait, you know this guy, too?”

“We’ve met,” Summer said. “Unfortunately. He’s one of the people Dorothy and I think may have murdered Lorella.”

Behind Esmé, Dorothy shook her head, warning her to shut up. Oops. But it was true, right? And maybe her friend could help them.

“Well, that isn’t good,” Esmé said. “I hope he didn’t kill her, because the thing is, he comes in here all the time, with a lot of different women. Not just Lorella. And they’re definitely dates.”

“Wow,” Summer said. “I bet Lorella was ticked off at the professor for cheating on her, then. So maybe she confronted him and boom! He kills her.”

“Oh dear,” Dorothy said. “If that’s true, which I hope it isn’t, other women may be in terrible danger.”

“I don’t know, he seemed like a wimp to me,” Esmé said. She was really warming up now, with all the wine. “But I can tell you one thing. He has all those dates because he strikes out every time. I’ve never seen him with the same woman twice. Except Lorella.”

Well, no shock there, Summer thought. Professor Bell was definitely a loser. “I wonder how he manages to get all those dates,” she said. “Do you think he...um, pays them?” Ick.

“Nope,” Esmé said. “Have you guys ever heard of Silver Sweethearts?”

“I have,” Dorothy said. “It’s an online dating service for seniors. Rather upscale, I believe. Several of the ladies at Hibiscus Pointe have tried it. Not as many of the gentlemen, I’m afraid. Since there are fewer older men than women down here in Florida, they have plenty of opportunities to meet romantic interests in person.”

“You can always tell it’s a blind hookup”—Esmé glanced at Dorothy—”I mean,
date
, because the woman puts a single red rose on the table so the guy will know it’s her. They sell them on the corner, at Fleurs de Paris. That’s where we get ours for the restaurant.”

“Imagine dating someone you had only met online,” Dorothy said. “I don’t approve of that at all. Much too dangerous.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Summer said. “I mean, I’ve never done it or anything. But I know plenty of couples who got together that way.”

Like her sister Joy and that insurance guy Toby. The relationship hadn’t lasted that long, though. Her uptight sister had sent the guy packing even faster than she’d gotten rid of her.

“Well, your professor buddy doesn’t have much luck with the ladies,” Esmé said. “Only one woman, other than Lorella, has ever come back. And that was just to toss a carafe of house merlot at him.”

“Order’s up!” someone yelled from the kitchen, over the opera music.

“I’ll be right back,” Esmé said. “Luigi gets a little impatient if his creations get cold.”

“Summer, I think we should go back to Santa Teresa to question Professor Bell directly,” Dorothy said. “Perhaps this time you could tell him you’d signed up to audit one of his classes.”

Ugh. He probably wouldn’t buy that, and she really, really didn’t want to go back to that campus. “Shouldn’t we talk to him somewhere else?” Summer said. “You know, to throw him out of his comfort zone. He’s coming to Milano Book & Bar tomorrow night for the author signing, remember?”

“Well, that’s true.”

Good. Dorothy seemed fine with that plan. Unless... “You know what?” Summer said. “I may have an even better idea. Just let me work a few things out first, okay?”

“All right, dear.” Dorothy was leaning over to smell the pretty red rose in the little wine bottle vase.

“Hey, say mozzarella cheese!” Summer held up her cell phone. “This’ll make
such
a cute pic.”

She quickly snapped the photo, and Dorothy blinked, startled, as the flash lit up La Volpe. Perfect.

Chapter Thirteen

Early the next morning, after spending a bit of separate-but-equal quality time with the cats, Dorothy pulled on a tailored denim shirt over a pair of dark blue slacks and headed straight to the Hibiscus Pointe Library.

She didn’t relish the idea of returning to the spot where Lorella had lost her life, but it was time to get serious about putting things in order. Lorella would surely be distressed if she knew the place was untidy.

And hopefully, once all the GH Hamel and Carrie hoopla died down, they could hold regular book club meetings there, as Lorella had intended.

The library was eerily quiet, and Dorothy felt a bit unnerved, even with the morning sun streaming under the door from the hallway window beyond it. Perhaps she should have left the door open, but she thought it best that no passersby would be reminded of the sad state of the library until she had remedied the chaos as best she could.

At least the cleaning staff had removed those awful, telltale bloodstains from the carpet and the floor. And someone had replaced Lorella’s broken chair with one of the elegant guest chairs from Jennifer’s office.

She and Harlan had sat in those very chairs on their first visit to Hibiscus Pointe, and signed the papers with their intent to buy a condo. Initially, she’d been hesitant, but Harlan had insisted they move to a senior community. It would be so much easier on her, he’d gently pointed out. Better for her health, with all kinds of amenities.

And fewer memories of Maddie.

Sometimes, when she was alone in quiet places, she felt they both were with her. And this time, she also sensed the presence of someone else. Lorella Caldwell, silently compelling her to make things right—and bring her killer to justice.

The police had already removed the papers and clutter from the librarian’s desk. All that remained was a single, folded piece of paper. How odd. They couldn’t possibly have missed it.

Frowning, Dorothy approached the desk with a soft cloth and a spray cleaner.

It was a note. And it was addressed to Dorothy Westin.

Angels of mercy, as her mother used to say. Had Lorella left her a message, before she died? A task she needed done in the library, perhaps? A clue to her killer? Or...please no...maybe even a note from the murderer him—or herself?

Dorothy tried to ignore the sudden, erratic pulsing in the center of her chest. Carefully, she placed the spray bottle down on the desk and slowly unfolded the page.

The first thing she noticed was the proliferation of exclamation points. So very many of them, embellished with small, fat circles at the base of each. And a heart, and a smiley face.

Neither Lorella nor a coldhearted killer seemed likely to use that type of personal expression.

Hey
,
Dorothy!!

Can’t wait for tonight at Milano Book
&
Bar!!
Guess what?
WMLO is coming back to do a segment for the 11 o’clock news!!!
Amazing press for the book club
,
huh?
(
And me and Georgiana!!
)

See you there!!!!!!!!

Hugs
,
Carrie

Dorothy dropped down into Jennifer’s spare chair. Her heart was still pounding, but this time in anger. How had Carrie gotten into the library? As far as she knew, only she and Jennifer were supposed to have keys—although a locked door never stopped some people. Like Summer, for instance, with her plastic card.

She’d have to talk to Security about changing that lock.

The door opened, startling Dorothy yet again. It was just Parker, which made her feel a little silly. She really was extra jumpy, after finding poor Lorella the other day.

“Oh, hi, Dorothy.” Carrie’s publicist seemed surprised to see her, too. “I didn’t think anyone would be in here so soon. After what happened, I mean. I was just on my way to the pool, and I thought I’d pick up a good beach read.”

“Hello, Parker,” Dorothy said. The svelte young woman indeed seemed ready for a dip, judging from the lacy black pool cover-up she wore over her emerald-blue maillot. “I’m sure we have something that might fit the bill.” She nodded toward an assortment of paperbacks in the large wicker basket near the door. “You might look through that first. There’s women’s fiction, romances, cozy mysteries, and even a Western or two, I believe. Feel free to take a few. No need to check them out.”

“Thanks.” Parker headed toward the basket. “I usually read on my phone, but I left it back at the condo, right on the counter, so Carrie couldn’t reach me. I definitely need something to get rid of stress.”

“Ah,” Dorothy said. “I’ve noticed that you are quite a busy young woman.”

Parker quickly selected a thick paperback of either fantasy or science fiction—
Game of Drones
, Dorothy noted, so it was difficult to tell—and tucked it into her designer tote. “Oh, it’s not the work I mind,” she said. “It’s Carrie. She’s the craziest, most demanding client I’ve ever had, and you know what? Between you and me, I’m not really a big fan. Of her
or
her book.”

Goodness, Dorothy thought. She’d never heard Parker say very much, and she certainly hadn’t expected
that
information. “My, that’s a shame,” she said carefully. “Is Carrie aware of how you feel?”

Parker shrugged. “I doubt it. And I really don’t care, to tell you the truth. I’d quit, but we have a contract, and I don’t have any other jobs lined up yet. Carrie paid me extra to work with her exclusively for three months. But I didn’t mean twenty-four-seven. It’s a nightmare.”

“Perhaps if you spoke to her about a few ways to improve your professional relationship so it works better for you...” Dorothy let her voice trail off delicately.

“Maybe,” Parker said, with a sigh. “I hate to bring up the whole thing and risk setting her off, especially since we’re roomies right now. I just have to deal with it. But I swear, I could just kill that girl.” She headed for the door.

“Have a nice morning at the pool, dear,” Dorothy called after her. Perhaps the publicist was being overly dramatic, but Dorothy understood Parker’s frustration. In all truthfulness, Carrie Dunbar
was
a bit much to take, even in small doses—with Tylenol, every four hours.

Dorothy turned her attention back to tidying the librarian’s desk. With luck, she could get to the pool herself, in an hour or two, and do a few laps. She usually preferred an early-morning swim, but with so much to do over the last few days, she’d sadly neglected her workout routine.

Chair yoga was listed for that afternoon on the daily activities board in the main lobby, but really, she might better spend her time on a cut-and-style in the Hibiscus Pointe Salon. And maybe a nap.

Dorothy had just finished flipping the page to the correct date on Lorella’s quote-a-day desk calendar when she suddenly identified the light, not entirely unpleasant lingering scent beneath the pungent tone of vanilla air freshener.

Pipe tobacco.

Several gentlemen at Hibiscus Pointe smoked pipes, of course. But this particular blend was quite distinctive, with not so subtle tones of pine, leather, and something else. Chocolate, perhaps.

Hadn’t she noticed a touch of that very same scent just yesterday, at the book club reception?

Yes, when she’d been chatting with Georgiana, and Professor Charles Bell had scurried up and tried to give the author a bulky manila package.

How recently had he visited the Hibiscus Pointe Library—and why?

* * *

Summer tried to hold the dry cleaning bag with her fuchsia tube dress inside as far as possible from her body as she hurried along Fourth Avenue downtown. She was already half-drenched from the extra-intense noon heat and she didn’t need her outfit for the book signing party tonight getting all glommed up, too.

Too bad the Fresh in a Flash Dry Cleaners had refused to deliver overnight. Their name was totally false advertising. In LA, round-the-clock service was never a problem. Here in Milano, it seemed like any kind of service was a problem.

Summer stopped short at the Decker & Meyers store. She hardly ever gave the place a second look, since mostly older ladies shopped there. But every once in a while they had something cool. For the visiting granddaughters, maybe.

Plus, she’d applied online for a job two weeks ago. Working retail had its advantages, since it usually involved an employee discount. But she’d never heard back.

Right now, though, the cutest pair of hot-pink retro stilettos—on sale—were calling to her from the window. She had other pink shoes, of course, but it just so happened she’d spilled red wine on the satin pair she’d planned to wear tonight.

She stepped toward the door and a tanned, muscled arm reached in front of her to open it.

“Looks like you have your hands full.”

Detective Donovan, of all people. And right behind him, his sharp-eyed, red-haired grandma in her wheelchair. Fabulous.

“Yeah, lots of errands,” she said. Should she just turn around and leave now? She really didn’t want to shop for pricey-even-with-the-discount shoes in front of him. Or his grandma. “Guess we had the same idea.”

Well, that sounded stupid. Obviously, the guy wasn’t shopping for women’s shoes. But he had to know what she meant.

“You’ll need to check that bag, Ms. Sloan.” Olga, the pointy-nosed guest services coordinator, came up and held out her arms as the three of them entered the store.

So okay, she’d stopped by here once to sign up for the personal shopper service, before she realized this wasn’t a very happening store. She always used her other last name—her dad’s—for stuff like that. It saved a lot of time. And money.

“Guess you’re a regular here.” Detective Donovan grinned at Summer.

For some reason, he seemed to find the shopper service deal amusing. His grandma obviously didn’t. She was scowling in her wheelchair, which had several bags draped over the back.

Summer held her sticky dry cleaning bag to her chest. “Oh, thanks, but I’m not shopping,” she informed Olga, trying not to notice as Detective Donovan raised one eyebrow. “But you can take Mrs. Donovan’s stuff here. Just put it under my name.”

“Maybe you can give my grandma here a few pointers,” the detective said, unhooking the bags for Olga before the concierge took off. “We’ve been to every shoe store in Milano this morning.” He wheeled the chair to the side as a trio of chattering ladies came in behind them.

“I am perfectly capable of doing my own shopping, thank you very much,” Peggy said, throwing both Summer and her grandson a dirty look and wheeling off toward the clearance section.

Jeez. What was her problem? Mrs. Donovan really, really hated her. Maybe she was still mad about her wrecking that tennis game.

Detective Donovan looked superuncomfortable. Summer wasn’t sure if it was because his grandma was so rude or he hated being stuck in a women’s shoe store. Maybe both.

“So, what’s the latest on the Caldwell case?” she asked him, stuffing the dry cleaning bag under her arm more to get it out the way. So much for no wrinkles. Now she’d have to steam it in the shower when she got home. “Anything new?”

“Not much.” He ran a hand through his dark brush cut. “It’ll be a while before we get all the lab results back. This isn’t a high-profile case, I’m afraid.”

Summer frowned. “What do you mean? Are you saying Lorella’s murder isn’t important?”

“No, of course not.” The detective shrugged. “The forensics lab is always backed up. The best we could hope for in rush situations is maybe a week or so. And this particular murder just isn’t a rush. It’s not like the DA or the media is breathing down anyone’s necks.”

“Well, I think that’s pretty sad,” Summer said. Apparently, no one else in Milano besides her and Dorothy—and maybe Jennifer, and all the residents at Hibiscus Pointe who were worried about a killer on the loose—thought a quiet librarian with no family getting murdered was a very big deal.

Even Felicia Hernandez and her WMLO news crew seemed more interested in covering the great GH Hamel’s visit than Lorella’s death.

“I know, it’s really too bad, but unfortunately, I don’t get to call the shots,” Detective Donovan said. “There’s a lot of crime out there, I’m afraid.”

Maybe, Summer thought, shifting her dry cleaning bag. But once again—this time in a good way—Milano wasn’t exactly LA. How many murders did this place have in a week?

“So, are you looking forward to the author party tonight?”

Was he trying to be social? Or just changing the subject?

“Yeah, it should be fun,” Summer said. “Are you going? For the case, I mean.”

He smiled, displaying the cute, tiny dimple that always made him seem a little less like a tough guy. “I thought I might attend in more of a social capacity.”

“Oh.” The way he was looking at her right now—still smiling, but kind of hesitating underneath—was he actually hinting around at asking her out?

Or...was this his way of letting her know he was bringing Jennifer on a date? Yep, that was probably more like it.

“Yeah, it should be a good time,” Summer said carefully. “So, are you planning to—”

“Uh-oh,” Detective Donovan broke in, gazing over her shoulder. “Sorry. Looks as if my grandma has a situation over there.”

Summer turned around. Peggy and another lady were arguing over the last pair of same-sized shoes from the sale rack.

“I’d better go see if I can help work things out,” the detective said. “Otherwise it could get ugly. See you later, okay?”

“Um, sure,” Summer said. No way was she sticking around for whatever happened next. “I’ll look for you at the party, I guess.”

It didn’t seem as if he’d heard her. The detective was already halfway to the clearance section, as other shoppers around Peggy and her shoe nemesis entered the fray.

Well, fine. If he was bringing Jennifer to Milano Book & Bar as his date, she’d find out soon enough. She didn’t care that much anyway. Her main focus had to be on solving Lorella Caldwell’s murder.

Someone had to. And with the lab and the Milano PD taking their sweet time, it might as well be her and Dorothy.