Permanently Booked (23 page)

Chapter Thirty

Summer finally felt like herself again, after a good twelve hours or so of sleep and a trip to the Horizon wireless store.

She had just finished setting up her brand-new, even better phone over at Dorothy’s condo when it rang.

Dash. Again. What was it with that guy lately? Having his mom visiting sure stressed him out. On the other hand, if Harmony or Joy dropped into Milano, she’d probably be freaking, too.

“Hey,” she answered. “What’s up?”

“Major problem.” His voice sounded different this time. Like, superworried and upset, not your regular panic. “Mother left in the Mercedes after the maid brought in the mail from our box this morning. There was an envelope with just her name printed on it that someone must have left there last night, because it was wet from all that rain we had.”

“Was the envelope orange?” Summer asked, thinking of Trixie. Maybe she had mailed it earlier.

“No,” Dash said. “White. No return address. No postage. It didn’t go through the mail. Anyway, I didn’t think much of it when Viola told me after I got home from a client meeting later this morning. Mother always gets fan mail here. She gave people our address.”

“That’s kind of funny,” Summer said.

“No. It is not. Julian and I always return them straight to sender. But anyway, Viola heard Mother mumbling something about going to get her notebook when she left. The first one, the one that got stolen.”

Uh-oh. Summer put the call on speaker and hugged her knees. That wasn’t good.

“When I heard that, my first thought was she remembered where she’d misplaced it,” Dash went on. “But she hasn’t returned home, and tonight is that big Maxwell & Perkins shindig down at Tangerine du Sol. She had a manicure and hair appointment scheduled at the house this afternoon, and she’d never miss them. Have you or Dorothy heard from her?”

Dorothy shook her head from the couch, where Mr. Bitey’s giant orange head peeked out from between the cushions.

“Sorry,” Summer said.

“Okay, thanks, I’d better go,” Dash said. “I already tried to file a missing person’s report, but they said it’s too soon.”

“Keep us posted,” Summer said. “Dorothy and I will be on the lookout.”

“Oh dear,” Dorothy said, after she hung up. “I do hope nothing has happened to Georgiana. Maybe we should check with Carrie and Parker, over at the Verandas.”

“But they’re suspects,” Summer pointed out. “That might be a bad idea.”

“Try them anyway,” Dorothy suggested. “Carrie gave me her card. It’s there on the counter.”

“Her number’s in my cell already, trust me.” Summer sighed as she hit Call Back. “No answer from either of them. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Parker always checks her phone. Should we go over to their rental place?”

“Now that I remember, Parker mentioned something on the boat yesterday about a brunch she’d booked for Carrie with some influential bloggers,” Dorothy said. “That could be where they are.”

“Maybe,” Summer said. “If Georgiana doesn’t show up by tonight, should we still go to the party? We might need to help Dash look for her.”

“No,” Dorothy said. “If Georgiana doesn’t make it there, we’ll know for sure something’s wrong. And if she’s actually been kidnapped, which may be rather alarmist to consider just yet, our suspects will all be at Tangerine du Sol.”

“Okay,” Summer said. Time to plan something fabulous to wear. She might even wear Lorella’s bloodstone ring.

* * *

The promo party at Tangerine du Sol seemed like an author’s dream, Dorothy told herself—or it would be, if both guests of honor could attend. There was still no sign of GH Hamel.

Tastefully trendy and decorated in soothing shades of the ocean, the restaurant boasted a large deck featuring a steel band for those who wished to dance. A long boardwalk, lined by tiki torches, led down to the water and a boathouse draped with blue lanterns.

Parker had everything under control, it seemed, coordinating details with the Tangerine staff and introducing her client through the crowd. Carrie, Dorothy noticed, did not seem her usual, overly perky self.

Neither young woman had seen Georgiana. “I’ve just been telling everyone Georgiana has been detained, but she’ll be here soon,” Parker told Dorothy. “You know how GH Hamel likes to make an entrance. I think her editor is a little miffed, though.” She nodded toward a very tall, elegant woman in pearls who was sipping white wine in the bar area.

As Dorothy watched, Georgiana’s editor was approached by Charles Bell. She fled almost immediately to the ladies’ lounge with her drink.

Dorothy scanned the crowd again. Many of the guests, including Summer, were camped in the bar area, entranced by the multiscreen video display. Currently, every screen displayed the live, dramatic capture of a giant python down at the beach. Camo. Finally.

Carrie wasn’t watching the reptile show. The new author, who still seemed nervous or upset over something, had stepped onto the beach off the deck.

The young woman was alone, looking harmless and almost pitiful in her ill-fitting velvet dress with the little-girl sash. The band was on a break. There was no one else in sight, but this was still a public place. The perfect opportunity to confront Carrie about Lorella.

She might have to fudge a bit, Dorothy told herself, but she’d improvise, if needed.

“Hello, Carrie,” Dorothy said, coming up beside her. “I need to talk to you.”

Carrie knew she was cornered. “Um, sure, Dorothy.”

“I know you stole plot ideas from Angelina St. James,” Dorothy began. “Who was also Lorella Caldwell. And now you’re trying to do the same with GH Hamel.”

Carrie looked uncertain, her eyes darting between the beach and the restaurant. “What do you mean? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I have the evidence to prove it,” Dorothy informed her. “Lorella kept backup files on the computer in the Hibiscus Pointe Business Center.”

“What?” Carrie’s left cheek twitched slightly.

It was a complete lie, of course, as far as Dorothy knew. But the ruse seemed to be working. “You gave the WMLO-TV staff Georgiana’s spoiler copy for the teleprompter, didn’t you? And you stole her notebook.”

Carrie didn’t answer. She looked as if she were about to burst into tears. This was working beautifully.

“But most appallingly of all, you killed Lorella Caldwell when she discovered what you had done. She planned to expose your treachery, even if it meant revealing her secret identity, didn’t she?”

To Dorothy’s surprise, Carrie burst into tears. “I’ve dreamed of being a famous author my whole life,” she sobbed, sniveling into the sleeve of her dress. “Why are you saying this? It’s not true.”

“It certainly is,” Dorothy said firmly. Hopefully, Carrie would write her next book—the story of her own crime—all by herself. From behind bars.

A minute or two of silence passed.

“Okay, maybe I did copy some of Lorella’s work,” Carrie said finally. “I disguised it a little, but not too much, and no one even noticed until you did. Oh, and Lorella.” She hung her head. “The pressure was terrible. I’m just not talented enough, I guess. But I wanted to be famous.”

Dorothy felt like slapping her. How heartless and selfish could one young woman be?

Carrie looked up again, her eyes still shining with tears in the tiki lights. “I stole Georgiana’s notebook at the Algonquin, too. And I was sorry right away. That’s why I didn’t take the second one she left out on the boat.”

Carrie might not be the world’s best writer—who knew if any of her words were her own?—but she was no dumb bunny, Dorothy thought. She knew the second notebook was a trap.

“But I didn’t kill Lorella, I swear,” Carrie rushed on. “I could never hurt anyone like that. I didn’t give those TV guys the teleprompter copy, either. I wanted to use that great scene in my next book.”

Dorothy rubbed her temples. She couldn’t believe she was hearing all this. And she wasn’t about to let Carrie off the hook for Lorella’s murder.

“I wanted to give Georgiana her first notebook back,” Carrie said. “I left a note in her son’s mailbox for her to meet me at a coffee shop so I could return it and apologize in person. You know, writer to writer.”

“And what happened?” Dorothy crossed her arms.

“Georgiana was glad to have her notebook again, but she got superangry,” Carrie said. “She called me some terrible names, but I guess I deserved them.”

“Mmm,” Dorothy said.

“And Georgiana threatened to tell everyone tonight at the party, in front of everyone. Even her senior editor at Maxwell & Perkins. Mine is only an assistant,” Carrie added, with a hurt expression. “Anyway, now Georgiana has disappeared. And I know who’s behind that.”

Dorothy raised her eyebrows. “Really. Who?”

“Parker,” Carrie said immediately. “She seems nice, and she’s a great publicist, but she’s, like, crazy power-hungry. I’d fire her, but I’m scared to death what she’d do to me.”

Dorothy’s mind spun.
Oh my.
Had Summer been right about Parker? Could Carrie possibly be telling the truth?

“It was Parker who encouraged me to steal Lorella’s work,” Carrie said. “And I’m afraid she killed Lorella Caldwell to keep her quiet. I know I should have gone to the police, but I was so scared of Parker—and, well, I guess I was excited my writing career was really taking off.”

This was outrageous, Dorothy told herself. Completely unbelievable...or was it? “Where is Georgiana now?” she asked, keeping her voice calm and steady.

“I don’t know,” Carrie said. “But probably somewhere close by. Parker didn’t actually admit to me that she kidnapped Georgiana, but she told me GH Hamel probably wouldn’t show up at the party until the very end. And I bet, if Parker does let her come here, she’ll probably make her promise first not to say anything, or she’ll kill her.”

Of all the things Carrie had just told her, that made the least sense, Dorothy thought. Then again, she was obviously dealing with two extremely irrational young women.

“In the meantime, though, the spotlight will just be on me,” Carrie said. “Like it should be.”

As the deluded author spoke, a beam from the lighthouse on a nearby jetty flashed. In that moment, Dorothy was sure she knew where Georgiana was being held.

It was straight out of a scene from her favorite GH Hamel book.
Good Night
,
Sweetheart.
And wasn’t Maxwell & Perkins showing that new trailer tonight from the upcoming movie version?

“I’d better get back to the party, Dorothy,” Carrie said. “Parker will notice if I don’t, and then she might get angry and hurt Georgiana. You won’t tell her what I said, will you?”

Dorothy needed to return to the party as well—to get Summer and try to rescue Georgiana, if it wasn’t already too late. They and the Milano PD would deal with Carrie—and possibly Parker—later.

“I won’t breathe a word,” Dorothy said.

Chapter Thirty-One

Summer wasn’t watching Camo the snake being extracted from the mangroves on the larger-than-life video screens. She was keeping her eye glued to the door, in case Georgiana showed up.

Whoa. Jennifer had just walked in with Garrett, the tennis pro from Majesty Golf & Tennis. Oh no. Was her former fake date the guy Jennifer had gone to dinner with, not Detective Donovan?

So her plan to set those two up had worked. That was a good thing. A superamazing thing, actually. She’d sort of blown it with the detective in the Milano PD parking lot, but maybe, if she sort of explained things...No. She couldn’t do that. He’d think she was crazy.

He already thought that. And his grandma did, too. Peggy had been giving her the evil eyeball from her table all night.

“Summer, come with me,” Dorothy said, at her elbow. She dropped her voice. “We need to rescue Georgiana.”

Summer left her untouched apricot martini on the bar. “Where is she?”

“It’s just a hunch,” Dorothy said. “But I’ll tell you on the way. We’re headed to the beach.”

It was raining now. Hard. Summer had grabbed an umbrella from the stand, but the wind kept blowing it inside out. Behind them, the steel band on the deck had packed up and all the guests had fled inside.

“Where did this awful storm come from?” Dorothy said, huddling against Summer under what was left of the umbrella as they hurried down the boardwalk. “It was so nice, just a few minutes ago.” She sighed. “Tropical weather.”

“So, where are we going?” Summer asked. Her dress was totally ruined by now, and it was sticking to her like mousetrap glue.

Dorothy pointed toward the jetty. “The lighthouse. Not the new one that’s flashing. The old one next to it.”

“What?” Summer said. “Didn’t the boat captain tell us it gets covered up when the tide comes in? It’s almost high tide right now.”

“I know,” Dorothy said. “And now it’s stormy to boot. We’ll have to borrow one of those little boats tied up at the dock over there.”

Summer bit her lip. “Well, okay. But I don’t know if those will handle big waves real well.”

“We have to try,” Dorothy said. “Georgiana’s life may depend on it.”

Summer ran over and untied the biggest boat she could find—which wasn’t saying much—by the time Dorothy caught up with her in her Aerolite pumps. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” Dorothy said. “Push us off.”

She wasn’t able to tell Summer much over the noise of the engine. And the thunder. But that was okay, because Summer had to concentrate on navigating the rough waves. Every now and then one would come over the side and drench them.

Hopefully, they wouldn’t sink before they found Georgiana. If she was even there.

When they reached the rocky jetty, Summer helped Dorothy out of the boat. “This is too dangerous for you,” she said. “I can catch you, but watch your step, okay?” The wet slime on the rocks could do them both in.

Dorothy nodded, and the two of them made their way to the metal ruins of the old lighthouse. Every couple of seconds, a flash from the other one lit their way. But the rest of the time, it was totally dark.

Summer’s sleuthing partner was being really brave and strong, but she could really get hurt. “Stay right here, and let me go check,” Summer said.

Before Dorothy could protest or follow, Summer ducked into what was left of the lighthouse. Hopefully, nothing would fall on her and kill her.

Between bouts of driving rain and occasional thunderclaps, she heard muffled noises. They were coming from not far away, in a corner near a big pile of jumbled rocks and metal.

Summer hurried over and found Georgiana propped against a broken steel beam, tied up and blindfolded. “It’s okay, Georgiana,” she said. “It’s Summer and Dorothy. We’re here to rescue you, but we’ve got to move fast. Are you hurt?”

The author shook her head, and Summer quickly untied her and removed the blindfold. “Where am I?” she said. “And who are you?”

That wasn’t good. Dash’s mom must have been hit over the head or something. “I’ll explain later,” Summer said. “But first let’s get you out of here.”

She helped an unsteady Georgiana to her feet and tried to move her as fast as she could out of the old lighthouse. “Watch your head,” she warned. “This place is a mess.”

They reached Dorothy in less time than Summer had expected. Her friend was overjoyed to see Georgiana, and it seemed like the author recognized her. Well, that was a better sign. Maybe Georgiana had just been in shock, or disoriented.

“Oh no,” Dorothy said suddenly. “Our boat is untied.”

“What?” Summer followed her friend’s gaze. Yep, the boat had become untied somehow from that old piling she’d attached it to. She was sure she’d quadruple-knotted it.

“The tide is rising,” Dorothy said. “We have to get that boat.”

“I’m on it.” Summer ran to the highest point of the rapidly disappearing jetty she could find and dove off.

It took longer than she expected, and every last bit of her strength and ocean lifeguarding skills—good thing she’d taken that
Baywatch
training for fun a few years back—but Summer finally managed to get her hands on the half-wrecked boat.

She couldn’t get in it from the water. The waves were too strong. Somehow she’d have to swim the boat back to the jetty, to rescue Dorothy and a very groggy Georgiana.

Her chances of making it weren’t good. But she’d have to try.

* * *

As Summer battled the waves, Dorothy spotted another, larger boat on the other side of the jetty. Behind her, she heard a crunch of gravel, and a small rock rolled toward her feet.

Dorothy whirled around, keeping one hand on a still-disoriented Georgiana.

Carrie. The young woman, wearing a bright orange slicker, was dragging a small but heavy anchor behind her.

“Ahoy there, Dorothy,” Carrie said. “And Georgiana, too. Perfect. Two birds with one anchor. I’ll tie you up here together so you can watch the tide come in. And don’t worry, Summer can join the party, too—as soon as I get that Maxwell & Perkins ring off her finger. If she hasn’t drowned already, I mean. I hope not. I really want that ring, at least until they give me my own.”

Dorothy was fairly sure Carrie couldn’t lift that anchor. At least the girl wouldn’t be able to hit her and Georgiana over the head with it, as she had Lorella Caldwell. She backed down the jetty slightly, bringing a dazed Georgiana along with her. “Where are we going?” the older author said. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“Yes, you do,” Dorothy said grimly. “Trust me on that.”

“There’s no way you’re getting away from me,” Carrie said. “And all I have to do is jump in that nice big boat over there, and you’ll drown. So you might as well let me tie you up. That way the Marine Patrol might find your bodies sooner.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Dorothy said. Where on earth was Summer? She could still save herself. How could Dorothy warn her? Summer would never hear her shouts, over the wind and crashing waves.

“This is going to be so much easier than I expected,” Carrie crowed. “Even easier than getting rid of Lorella. You had it all figured out, Dorothy, but I’m just a lot smarter than you. And that stress queen Parker doesn’t have a clue. It was all me.”

“You’re not as clever as you think, Carrie.” Dorothy tried to stall for time.

“Oh yes, I am,” Carrie said. “This brilliant plan just shows you why I’ll hit the mystery best seller lists in no time. I’ll be sure to mention you and Georgiana in my Edgar Award acceptance speech next year, by the way. There won’t be a dry eye in the house. And believe me...”

The crazed girl was still talking when Summer ran up behind her and threw a filthy, smelly fishing net over Carrie, bringing her straight down to the rocks.

Carrie struggled in vain against the rough-looking, tangled netting, covered in broken shells, seaweed, barnacles, and old fishhooks. “Ow!” she cried.

The water was rapidly rising. “What should we do with her?” Summer said. “Just leave her here?”

“We’ll have to take her with us somehow,” Dorothy said. “We can take her larger boat over there.”

“Oh, I guess.” Summer gave a heavy sigh. “If we have to.”

Dorothy was sure her friend was joking. She hoped so, anyway. “We have to hurry, before the water rises any higher,” she said. “We can’t be sure how much time we have left until the entire jetty floods. Georgiana, can you walk to the boat? We can just drag Carrie, I suppose.” She smiled down at the furious writer. “I’m not entirely serious, of course.”

“Hey, look,” Summer said, waving from the end of the jetty. “We have company. Super timing.”

The Marine Patrol had arrived, with Detective Donovan close behind them in another tiny boat from Tangerine.

The detective pulled up to the jetty a few seconds before the Marine Patrol. “Is everyone okay?” he called. “We have medics.”

A few minutes later, the Marine Patrol took Dorothy and a shivering Georgiana on board their vessel, and Detective Donovan skippered Carrie’s boat with Summer and a hastily cuffed Carrie as passengers.

“How did you know we were here?” Dorothy heard Summer ask.

“Parker,” the detective answered. “She was pretty concerned when she saw Carrie leave the party in a boat. In the middle of a storm, no less. I’d just gotten to Tangerine with my grandma, and I didn’t see you and Dorothy, so...I figured the worst. Do you see now why it’s dangerous for amateurs to get involved in police investigations?”

“Well, everything turned out okay,” Summer said. “We have Lorella Caldwell’s killer right here.”

The captain of Dorothy’s boat started his engine, and Detective Donovan followed suit. But not before Dorothy saw the detective toss Summer a Marine Patrol sweatshirt for the trip back to Tangerine du Sol.