Permanently Booked (18 page)

Chapter Twenty

After Dorothy left for church, Summer helped herself to some cereal and hung around the condo for a while, psyched that her friend had finally agreed to the fake-date sting tonight. Then she headed to Jennifer’s office in the main building and let herself in.

Resident Services was closed on Sundays, except for emergencies, so Jennifer had the day off. Summer knew she’d be okay with her taking a peek at those confidential resident notebooks—as long as she didn’t have to officially give her permission.

Summer went straight to the large binders lined up behind Jennifer’s desk, selected C for Caldwell, and took it straight to the photocopy machine outside Roger’s office. No way was he going to show up on a weekend, so she was free and clear.

She could give the copy to Dorothy to read after she was done reading it. At the pool.

As she’d expected, someone had posted the copier’s security code on the wall just above it. Good for her, bad for Hibiscus Pointe. Jeez. If they were that dumb, it served them right.

While she was at it, she took a peek at the
S
folders—there were three of them—and her own file.

Yikes. The word SUBLET was stamped across the top in red ink. And right under it was a long list of notes and complaints from the Residents Board. Illegal camping. Excessive noise. Community age requirement violations. Late payments.

Well, nothing new there. But there were some good things, too. Like her volunteer work as aquatics director—so far it hadn’t been much actual work, since she just had a beginner class of two students and a couple of aqua aerobics classes per week.

She’d better get that water ballet team officially going. Helen Martin was very eager to compete in community intramurals. Probably because she wanted to parade around in a bathing suit in front of all the guy residents. The older and richer, the better.

Someone had to foot the bill for all that plastic surgery.

Summer’s cell rang, and she answered it without looking, still reading her file.

“Hi, Summer, Carrie here. Just checking in on the plan for my spa appointments.”

Oops. She’d totally forgotten about the makeover deal. “Oh, hey, Carrie. I’m still working things out—waiting for a few places to get back to me. I’ll call you back, okay, as soon as everything’s confirmed.”

“Thanks soooo much,” Carrie said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. I really want to look my best on TV. Appearance counts a lot for authors. Do you think I have the right image? I want to look cool and smart, but approachable. Should I pick up some fake glasses? And a new outfit, too, maybe?”

Like that would make a difference. This girl was sadly deluded. “Sure, go for it,” Summer said. “Never hurts to change things up sometimes, right?”

She hung up as fast as she could and racked her brain for a decent place that was open on Sundays. She’d have to pray someone would have a cancellation. Every spa and salon in town was closed on Mondays.

Summer was not looking forward to spending a long afternoon with Carrie Dunbar. But bucks were bucks. Maybe she’d see if Jennifer wanted to go with them, Carrie’s treat. Jennifer would have fun, and maybe she could find out how things went with Detective Donovan last night.

There was also another big plus to that plan: She wouldn’t be stuck alone with Carrie.

* * *

There was only one place Summer could get Carrie, Jennifer, and herself into on such short notice. Sunday afternoons were especially slow at the All About You Spa located inside the dated Hotel Milano.

It wasn’t that great, and way overpriced, but hopefully, Carrie wouldn’t realize that. Didn’t seem as if she was much of a spa regular. And, with luck, no one was likely to see them there.

“Oh, wow, this place is amaaaaazing,” Carrie said as they walked into the All About You reception area. “Gosh, it sure is dark in here, but that’s really cool. Very peaceful.”

The whole place was done in tones of gray. Probably hid all the dirt and mold, Summer thought.

“Thanks so much for including me, guys.” Jennifer seemed equally thrilled. “We should put a spa in at Hibiscus Pointe. I bet the residents would love it.”

“I would,” Summer said. “Maybe you should bring the idea up to Roger.”

Jennifer sighed. “Don’t think so.”

The receptionist looked up from the movie she was watching on her phone. “Hi,” she said. “You must be that last-minute booking. Sloan, right?”

“That’s me,” Summer said quickly. Using her dad’s name to book things was probably a waste here at All About Gray. “Jennifer and I are having the massages and seaweed scrubs and Carrie is getting the Milano Makeover package.”

It was the best combo she could get for three hours. New hairstyle and highlights, restorative manicure for those badly bitten nails, and makeup application instruction. Summer figured Carrie could really use a little stress relief, but there wasn’t time for the works.

As the three of them came out of the locker room in their gray robes and slippers, Carrie slipped her cell phone from her pocket.

“You’re not supposed to have a phone in here,” Jennifer whispered, looking around nervously as if the place was bugged or something.

“I have to text Parker,” Carrie said. “I need her to get me booked to have my author photo retaken tomorrow morning, while my hair’s all perfect.”

As Summer waited for her massage, sipping warmish lemon water, she read Lorella’s file behind a magazine. Jennifer had cucumbers over her eyes, but it never hurt to be extra careful.

The information was snooze city, nothing really new. Lorella was from Massachusetts, no kids, never married. Moved to Hibiscus Pointe a little over a month ago. Condo 1-B, Hibiscus Gardens. Milano resident, ten years. Recently retired as English Department secretary at Santa Teresa. Previously professor and also alumna at Wellsmount College. Hobbies: reading, poetry, and classic films.

Blah, blah, blah. “Tell me something I don’t know,” Summer muttered, under her breath.

Excellent health. Occasional arthritis. Personal physician: Dr. Lydia Bundtzen. Vehicle: 1999 Mazda Protégé, white. Possible volunteer interests: Newsletter, library, reading to the blind.

Lorella Caldwell might have been a famous author, but she sure was boring.

Jennifer peeled the cucumber slices from her eyes and Summer quickly stashed the residents form away under her gray spa towel. Carrie was still absorbed in her phone.

“Hey, Summer, can you recommend a nice, quiet place for dinner tonight?” Jennifer asked. “I actually have a date with a new guy tonight and he asked me to choose. I don’t go out much, so...”

“Hey, that’s great.” Summer’s stomach gave a tiny twist. “Who is it?”

So Jennifer and Detective Donovan were dating now. Well, Summer had expected that, right? And it was perfectly fine, she reminded herself.

Jennifer blushed and swiped at the stray cucumber seeds left on her face. “I’d sort of rather not say yet, if you don’t mind. I’m afraid I might jinx things, you know? But I want us to go somewhere that isn’t too crowded so we can at least talk.”

“Well, it might be hard to get last-minute reservations at most of those kinds of places,” Summer said. “But Dorothy and I are going to La Volpe around seven. It’s totally quiet, trust me.”

Oh
no.
Had she actually just said that? What was the matter with her? She’d blown her cover for tonight, and her partner’s. The last thing they needed was Detective Donovan and Jennifer showing up there on a romantic date.

Jennifer brightened in the creepy, grayish light. “That’s a great suggestion! I went to La Volpe once, ages ago, and I’d forgotten all about it. Perfect.”

Yep. Unbelievably fabulous. Summer mentally kicked herself. At least there was one good thing about Detective Donovan and Jennifer joining the party on their superromantic date. Dorothy could feel even safer during her dinner with a possible murderer.

Chapter Twenty-One

Dorothy couldn’t help feeling a twinge of regret after she finally brought herself to leave that message on Gladys’s cell about Guinevere.

Lorella’s kitty desperately needed a new home and Dorothy knew it would be the best way to get the word out community-wide. And no doubt beyond. But still...Dorothy wished she could keep her.

While Mr. Bitey took a nap in a sun patch on the bedroom carpet, she took the little gray cat on her lap and began to flip through the Moleskine notebook she’d taken from Lorella’s condo on her and Summer’s first trip.

Why hadn’t she done this earlier? They’d been so busy...and now that those folders were missing from Lorella’s file cabinets, it was the only thing they had to go on.

It wasn’t a personal journal, as Dorothy had hoped. Just snippets and a few longer passages of lovely writing—probably for Lorella’s next book. There were character sketches, too, and notes for clothes and setting.

Finally, there it was: a calendar at the back. With renewed hope, Dorothy perused the monthly pages, in which Lorella had made sporadic entries. Book deadlines, occasional reminders to order various items for the Hibiscus Pointe Library—and a few fairly recent references to “C.” Underlined.

Were those the assignations Lorella had had with Charles Bell? The very man Dorothy was committed to meet, in just a few short hours?

She shivered, remembering the bloody bookend that had killed the earnest librarian and author. Maybe Summer should tuck the professor’s matching piece back into her bag tonight, just in case they needed it to defend themselves.

No, that was absurd. The two of them—plus Ernie and Esmé, of course—would be perfectly safe in a public place like La Volpe.

A heavy, furious shape launched itself at Dorothy, startling her from her thoughts. Mr. Bitey had woken from his nap and detected that his unsuspecting rival was curled, peacefully purring, in his owner’s lap.

As Guinevere beat a hasty retreat to the drapes again, clawing them half-threadless with flailing paws as she tried to ascend them in a panic, Dorothy grabbed the hissing tomcat firmly by the collar and deposited him in his new powder room jail.

Perhaps she should tuck her attack cat into
her
purse tonight, for extra protection.

* * *

“So you’re all set?” Summer asked as Dorothy settled herself at the small, marble-topped bistro table. “Are you sure you don’t want me to run over to Fleurs de Paris and get you a red rose?”

“No, thank you,” Dorothy said. It was almost mortifying, to be in this position, even if it was for a case.

“I put in your reply to Professor Bell that you’d have one sticking out of a book, so he’d know it was you. It’s a Silver Sweethearts thing. I saw it in a movie once, too. And Esmé said...”

“He knows who I am,” Dorothy broke in. “And there’s a rose right here on the table, see?”

“But it’s white,” Summer pointed out.

“White rose, red rose, who cares?” Ernie was looking stormy again. “This jerk won’t even notice the difference. All he wants to do is try and seduce Dorothy.”

Dorothy closed her eyes. “No one is going to do anything of the sort. Really, Ernie. I believe I can handle things. Now both of you go sit down and order your dinners. I will be just fine.”

“Well, okay, if you’re sure.” Ernie still sounded reluctant. He and Summer chose a table a ways back against the brick wall, but it still seemed oddly close in the nearly empty restaurant.

Summer’s choice of outfit was somewhat inappropriate as well, Dorothy noted. For one thing, her friend was wearing a big, floppy hat and tinted sunglasses—indoors
and
during the evening. She’d also draped herself in an unusually baggy dress that failed to flatter her trim, toned figure.

Surely the girl didn’t think such extremes were necessary to disguise herself from Charles Bell. He might remember her from their chance meeting in his office or the book club events, of course, but that look was definitely overkill.

It was so obvious it might even scare their suspect off.

“Hey, Dorothy, what can I get for you?” Esmé materialized at the table in wide-leg black pants and a wrap-style white leotard. “A glass of wine, maybe? Summer says she’s buying, but it’s on the house.”

“No, thank you,” Dorothy said, smoothing her plain navy dress. She’d worn as dull an outfit as possible. “I’ll wait. How about some nice peppermint tea?”

“Coming up,” Esmé said. “By the way, good luck with that creep tonight.”

Lovely, Dorothy told herself, trying not to cringe with humiliation. There was probably a reason the man chose a restaurant named after a wolf to meet his dates.

She opened the book she’d brought with her—she was rereading
Mansfield Park
—and tried not to notice that Professor Bell was late. A gentleman should never keep a lady waiting. No wonder his dates didn’t go well.

The minutes ticked slowly by, and melted into half an hour. Then forty minutes. This was ridiculous. Dorothy put her book aside and took out her little pen and pad set from her pocketbook. Maybe she’d make a few notes for the next book club meeting, since she had so much time to kill.

At eight o’clock sharp, Dorothy clicked off her pen. Obviously, her “date” was not going to show up, the cad.

Had he spotted Summer through the window? She’d been craning her neck and looking around every two minutes. Perhaps her sleuthing partner had scared him off.

Dorothy felt a sharp stab of annoyance, and not just because she wouldn’t have the chance to prod Charles into spilling information about him and Lorella.

She’d been stood up, for the first time in her life. How embarrassing, as well as infuriating. What would Ernie think?

“Hey, Dot,” he said, looking considerably more cheerful as he put his napkin down and came over to Dorothy’s table. “Looks like you haven’t had much to eat yet.”

She glanced down at the telltale crumbs of the bread sticks she’d nibbled with her tea. Maybe she shouldn’t have waited to order dinner. “No, I guess not.”

“Well, come on over and join us,” Ernie said. “We’ll order another plate of clams marinara and Summer and I will save you some cannoli. The chef has nothing to do back there, so it’ll make him real happy.”

Dorothy grabbed her pocketbook. “Thank you. I believe I will.”

“Oh well, we tried,” Summer said, removing her sunglasses as Dorothy sat down. She looked as dejected as Ernie was full of new energy. “I knew Professor Bell was a loser. Let’s get some spumoni, too, okay, Ernie?”

Esmé brought a decanter of red wine and two more glasses, and pulled up another uncomfortable bistro chair. “Mind if I join you?” she said. “And if your date shows up, Dorothy, you can use some of this to throw at him.”

“Thank you,” Dorothy said. “I just might.”

* * *

Summer was still feeling out of sorts the next morning, even after a quick mile or so of laps in the pool. Now she was reading Georgiana’s book, which was actually pretty good—better than
Citizen’s Arrest
—in an attempt to distract herself.

Charles Bell hadn’t shown last night, and neither had Jennifer and her “date,” aka Detective Donovan. Where had the two of them gone? Plus, her sister Joy in New Jersey woke her up at 8:00 a.m. to rant about having to kick in their joint rent payment to Syd again this month—even after Summer had sworn she’d take care of the next two in a row for sure.

Also, the home theater guys had come yesterday afternoon, while she was out at the spa with Carrie and Jennifer, so they hadn’t installed anything. Again. And to top things off, she had a freaking killer headache from all that cheap wine last night.

Her cell rang, and Summer answered it without rolling over in the pool lounge chair. If it was Carrie, she would tell her her phone was running out of juice and hang up.

“Hey, it’s Dash.” He sounded totally panicked, and he hadn’t even called her Cali Girl the way he usually did when he called.

“What’s the matter?” Summer quickly sat up.

“It’s that blasted turtle you got Juliette-Margot. Skipperdunk, or whatever she calls him.”

“Skipperdee,” Summer corrected.

“Right. He’s not doing so well. The thing looks kind of floppy, he’s not eating, his shell is all mushy, and he’s moping around the soap dish with these little bubbles coming out of his nose.”

“Uh-oh,” Summer said. That did not sound good.

“Juliette-Margot won’t eat, either. Not even the pancakes à l’orange I made her this morning. She’s posted watch beside the tub—and I really think this turtle will need Last Rites soon.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Summer’s head started to pound again. “Maybe he’s just getting used to living at your house.”

“Don’t think so,” Dash said. “And the vet at Purr-fect Angels Pet Hospital and Resort refuses to call me back. I’ve left a thousand and one voice mails. Anyway, can you run over to wherever in Hades you got this bloody reptile and pick up another one, just in case?”

“In case what?” When Dash didn’t answer, Summer finally swam out of her hangover fog and filled in the blanks. “Oh, right. Got it. Sorry.”

“I’d go myself, but to add to the high-drama chez Hamel-LeBlanc, Mother has misplaced her precious writing notebook and she’s beyond hysterical.”

“I’m on my way to the pet store,” Summer said, sliding into her flip-flops. “I’ll be at your place as soon as I can.”

The trip to Camo’s Exotic Pets was a good thing, she told herself as she pulled into the empty parking lot. Hopefully, she’d run into Ray, or at least get some intel on his whereabouts, while she was doing a good deed for Juliette-Margot and Dash.

With everything else that had been going on, she and Dorothy hadn’t been focused enough on cornering Ray and Trixie and their vanishing RV. So many suspects, so little time.

The same teenage kid with the ball cap was manning Ray’s store. This time Summer headed straight to the counter, without looking at any of the cages and glowing tanks or snakes and lizards and furry spiders.

“Is Ray here?” she asked the kid.

“Nah, he ain’t been around much, but that’s the way he is. If he don’t give me a paycheck soon, though, he’ll be here a lot, because I’m quitting.”

“I know what that’s like,” Summer said. “I’ve had some pretty bad bosses myself. By the way,” she added, glancing nervously around at the filthy floor, “did Ray ever find Camo the snake?”

“Nah,” the kid said. “But that cop came in here again yesterday and asked more questions about Ray. He didn’t seem that interested in Camo.”

Detective Donovan, Summer thought. No wonder he’d been over at the golf course. But ugh. She’d better wrap this turtle mission up quick, in case that slimy giant python showed its ugly snake face around here again.

“Hey, where are all the little green turtles?” she asked, peering at the empty tank near the counter. It was completely dark today and the bubbles were gone.

“Uh, we had a filtering malfunction.” The kid shrugged. “Happens a lot.”

“That’s terrible,” Summer said, horrified. “So...you don’t have any more turtles? Not even one?”

“Nope. Don’t know when we’ll get a new delivery, either. Our suppliers ain’t real reliable.”

Well, that wasn’t good. Summer explained the mopey turtle problem to the kid. “What can I do?” she asked. “Can I get another one somewhere?”

“Dunno,” the kid said. “But if the turtle ain’t dead already, you can take it to Safari Sue’s Wildlife Park and Zoo over on the Trail. Maybe they can help you out.”

Fabulous. Summer wasted no time in beating it out of the creepy-crawly pet store.