Permanently Booked (14 page)

Summer was halfway down the last side street off Fourth Avenue to her car—oh, rats, had she forgotten to feed the meter again?—when she spotted Trixie Quattrochi. Again.

White-blond hair, pulled into a long ponytail this time, under a large-brimmed black sunhat. Denim leggings, curvy figure, red cowboy boots that came up to the ankle, lots of bracelets.

Her slippery suspect was just passing the Tiny Bubbles Laundromat, lugging a giant bag of clean laundry. Well, that made sense, sort of. If Trixie was hiding out in town, she had to do something about her dirty clothes, right?

Tiny Bubbles was kind of off the beaten track. Plus, they served champagne. The place had a funky little bar at the back, in an attempt to make doing your laundry trendy and fun.

Huh. Trixie seemed like more of a Jack Daniel’s girl than a champagne aficionado. But still.

Summer dumped her bag and her dry cleaning on the sidewalk and snuck up on Trixie like Mr. Bitey stalking Guinevere. And then, before the woman could react, she pounced on her prey and tackled Trixie to the ground.

Chapter Fourteen

Except it wasn’t Trixie.

The middle-aged woman Summer had just pinned down on the sidewalk let out a muffled scream. Her blue eyes looked...beyond terrified.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Summer quickly disentangled herself and leaned back on her heels to assess any possible damage. Luckily, Fake Trixie had fallen on top of her overstuffed laundry bag after she spun them both to the concrete. But still... “I’m so, soooo sorry, I made a really big mistake.”

“You can say that again,” the blond woman said, giving her an angry kick with the toe of her cowboy bootie.

Guess she deserved that.

“Have you been drinking?” the woman demanded. “I knew it was a mistake for that Laundromat to start serving alcohol. It’s ruining the neighborhood.”

Summer helped her mistaken suspect to her feet and retrieved the woman’s sunhat, which had landed near a doggy waste removal station. “Don’t worry, I’m not drunk. I swear.”

“Well, you’re just a crazy person, then,” the woman muttered, rubbing her elbow. “You’re lucky I’m okay and I am also going through an exhausting divorce right now, or I’d sue your tail off for assault.”

“I thought you were someone else,” Summer tried to explain. “I’m, uh, on the neighborhood watch here and the person I was after is a real troublemaker.”

“Wait a minute. I’m one of the heads of our neighborhood watch on this block and I don’t remember you at all.”

“Hey, is there anything I can do for you?” Summer asked quickly. “If you give me your address I’ll send you—”

“I’m not telling you where I live,” the woman said. “And if you don’t mind, I’d rather you just went away.”

Well, that was fine and dandy with her. Summer apologized again and hurried toward her car, after scooping up her shoulder bag and the totally messed up dress. She should have known she wasn’t going to just see Trixie out of the blue again like that. Trixie and Ray had managed to elude both her and Dorothy and the cops so far.

Those two were definitely pros.

She had one more stop to make on the way home: the Majesty Golf & Tennis Club. She needed to see if the cute head tennis pro over there, Garrett something, might take her up on a last-minute date invite for the book party tonight. For Jennifer, not her, of course—but there was no need to spell all that out right away. Just in case Jennifer already had a date—with Detective Donovan.

Jennifer and Garrett would be perfect for each other. From what she’d seen of the guy from a distance at the intercommunity tennis tournaments, he seemed nice and he was pretty clean cut. Not to mention he had very ripped arms.

He and Detective Donovan actually had a lot in common.

Plus, if the tennis pro and her friend hit it off, then she might have a chance to spend a little extra-quality time with the detective. He had to know more than he was letting on, she was sure, no matter what kind of excuses he made up about lab delays or that she and Dorothy weren’t supposed to be working on the case, or whatever.

The tony pro shop at Majesty Golf & Tennis was jammed with members, most of them dressed in tennis clothes with racquet bags over their shoulders. A group of men were talking about some critter or something over at the golf course. Another gator, probably.

Garrett and another guy in a polo shirt with the MGT crown logo were swamped at the members counter, with members demanding a court or doubles partners. Stat.

Jeez. Now even more people had shown up and were getting in line behind her. Apparently, the golf course was temporarily closed, so they were trying to make other plans.

“I’d much rather have a lesson with Garrett,” she heard a woman tell the younger guy with the clipboard. “But if Judy is all you’ve got...”

Aargh. She didn’t have time to come back later. And she needed to get this over with. It had been a while since she asked anyone out—maybe for one of those girls-ask-the-guys dances in junior high—but hopefully, by the time she got to the counter, she’d have a plan.

“Hi there,” she said to Garrett, flashing him a big smile before the kid with the clipboard could intercept her. “I’m Summer Smythe, from over at Hibiscus Pointe. I don’t need to book anything.”

The tennis pro’s melted-Hershey’s eyes, which perfectly matched his smooth, flawless skin tone, were filled with confusion. And maybe a tiny hint of impatience. “All right, then. How can I help you, Summer?”

Whoa. British accent. Very hot. Jennifer was going to love this guy. Plus, he coached wheelchair tennis. He had to be cool.

“Well, uh, I have a really big favor to ask. I’m a friend of one of your wheelchair players—Peggy Donovan?” Summer tried to ignore the annoyed vibes behind her in line. “She and I are attending a sort of charity party”—well, that was stretching things, but book clubs
did
promote literacy, right?—”tonight at Milano Book & Bar. She and another friend of mine were hoping you might stop by to represent Majesty Golf & Tennis and help benefit a reading program for, uh, at-risk seniors.”

Oops, was that even a thing? Maybe she was pushing it. But Garrett had stopped frowning, at least. “And kids,” she added quickly. “They read together.”

“Come on, young lady, wrap it up,” a man behind her called.

Summer ignored the crabby guy and kept her eyes on her mark. “So, what do you think? It would mean so much to Peggy and the kids. You could be my date, if you wanted. Just for the evening, I mean.”

“Okay, sure. If it’s for a worthy cause, I guess,” the tennis pro said.

“Awesome,” Summer said. “So seven o’clock at Milano Book & Bar, okay? I’ll meet you there.”

She handed him her social card—the one with a fake number, because it was all she had on hand at the moment—and beat it out of the pro shop before Garrett could change his mind.

The valet at the bottom of the front steps was superefficient and she handed him her last five bucks when he brought up the MINI. He didn’t seem that impressed with the tip, but Summer couldn’t worry about that now. With luck, she could get in a little pool time before she had to get ready for the author signing—and her fake charity date.

Summer had the Majesty Golf & Tennis guardhouse in sight—why did they have to check people on their way out, anyway?—when a windowless white van pulled out in front of her. She honked and the driver made an obscene gesture in her direction.

It didn’t matter how many fingers he held up, or which one. Because the guy had a long snake tattoo down the side of his left arm.

Ray. The Snake himself. What was he doing at a fancy-schmantzy golf and tennis club?

The van made a sudden left turn onto what looked like a cart path and Summer hit the brakes just as she reached the gatehouse. She tried to back up so she could pull a U-ie, but the security guard came out and blocked her way.

“Hold it, miss,” he said, holding up one hand. “You can’t turn around here.”

“I need to follow that van.” Summer pointed toward the clunky vehicle, which was already speeding away.

“Sorry. You’ll have to go through the gate and come around again.”

Summer tried not to let her irritation show. “Okay,” she said. “Would you mind moving a little so I don’t—”

“You were traveling at an excessive speed, by the way,” the chunky man broke in, adjusting his Majesty Golf & Tennis cap. “We have a fifteen-mile-per-hour limit on our main road here. Ten in the subdivisions.”

“Got it.” Summer sighed. By now Ray was out of sight.

She followed the man’s instructions, but as she went through the gate on the other side and turned right toward the cart path, another security guard came up and cut her off. “No cars on the cart path,” he said.

“But I’m following someone else.” Summer pointed at the lingering MINI storm of sand and dust Ray had left in his wake.

“Sorry. Club rules. If you go out by the gatehouse behind you, you’ll meet up where the path lets out, on Majesty Boulevard.”

Well, that was just perfect. Summer had no choice but to turn around, one more time. The gatehouse guard gave her a jaunty wave on the way out.

Ray was a snake, all right. Just as slippery as his girlfriend. But at least she could report the suspect sighting to Detective Donovan tonight.

* * *

Dorothy had had a lovely afternoon. She’d managed a refreshing nap after her cleanup session in the library, and she’d even had her hair done in the Hibiscus Pointe Salon. Best of all, she’d been lucky enough to just miss Gladys Rumway.

She wasn’t quite as fortunate to avoid Carrie Dunbar. Or at least the eager young author’s voice on her message machine. Carrie had made four calls.

Dorothy skipped through to the most recent one.

“Hi, Dorothy! Would you and Summer like a ride downtown for the signing party? I’ve got this brand-new idea for our next book club event...”

Dorothy shuddered and stabbed at the delete button with her finger. It was easy to see why Parker found her employer so exhausting. Hadn’t one of them mentioned at Dash’s dinner party that Carrie only needed four hours of sleep per night?

She probably spent all that extra time dreaming up new promotional ideas. It was a wonder she found any spare time to actually write.

Dorothy shook her mind free of Carrie and headed to the spare bedroom to free Guinevere. “Here, kitty, kitty,” she called softly, with a quick glance over her shoulder. Where was Mr. Bitey? He hadn’t come bounding out to greet her as usual.

Oh dear. A thin gray tail stuck out from beneath the bed skirt of the far twin bed, twitching slightly. And the bowl of kibble she’d left for the small kitty was overturned on the pale blue carpet—completely empty.

Guinevere was not a messy eater. But someone else was.

After a quick glance around the guest room, Dorothy marched to the closet and pulled open the accordion door. Sure enough, Mr. Bitey sat up tall on top of a houndstooth suitcase, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Shame on you,” Dorothy scolded. “How did you get in here, you greedy rascal?”

In answer, the orange tomcat brushed past her and scurried out toward his scratching post in the living room. Not quite as quickly as usual, because of an overloaded tummy.

“You poor thing,” she said to the small gray cat, who had disentangled herself from the bed skirt and come over to wind around Dorothy’s ankles. “I’ll get you a new dinner right away. And Mr. Bitey is going on a strict diet.”

The sooner she found a proper home for Guinevere, the better. Perhaps she could make some queries this evening at the party. How very sad that Lorella’s beloved pet had been forced into foster care with a jealous bully.

Surely Guinevere was mourning her late owner. Did anyone else miss Lorella? Somehow it didn’t appear that way. She had died alone, no doubt in fear. And that was the saddest thing of all.

The least Dorothy could do for both of them was to find the lightly lamented librarian’s killer.

At six forty-five sharp, Dash pulled the Mercedes up to the side door of Hibiscus Gardens and jumped out to help Dorothy into the backseat. Summer was already there, all dressed up and her hair wet-combed from her post-swim shower.

She was wearing Lorella’s ring, Dorothy noticed. Perhaps her friend planned to give it to Detective Donovan tonight. She hoped so, anyway.

“Hello, Dorothy.” Georgiana twisted around from the front, her face partially hidden by tinted glasses and a red chiffon driving scarf that went over her head and around her neck. “I was just telling Dashiell and Summer that I’m so glad to have company on the way to this shindig. It could be a mob scene.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Dorothy agreed politely. Nothing, she suspected, would please Georgiana more, no matter how much the author denied it.

“I added one more,” Summer said, bringing a compact and lipstick from her bag. “His name is Garrett and he’s the head tennis pro over at Majesty Golf & Tennis. You’ll like him, I think.”

“I haven’t met this guy yet,” Dash said as he navigated the speed bumps out of Hibiscus Pointe. “Don’t I get to approve him first?”

“Oh, it’s not a date, really. Not for me, anyway.”

Dorothy readjusted her new Designer Shoe Hut purse on her knees. Sometimes she didn’t quite understand how young people operated these days on the romance front. But her friend seemed to be happy with whatever path she was following.

It did surprise her, though, that Summer might be interested in someone other than Detective Donovan. She’d been so sure there had been sparks between those two earlier. But really, it wasn’t any of her business.

She’d learned her lesson long ago with Maddie.

“You know, I must tell you all, I am quite enjoying my stay in Milano so far,” Georgiana remarked as they turned onto Majesty Boulevard. “More than I expected, in fact. Not that I don’t always enjoy a visit with my son and his family,” she added quickly. “When I’m invited.”

Dash kept his eyes on the road as he changed lanes to avoid a slow-moving Cadillac. “We all love having you, Mother. And you’re always invited. You know that.”

“Yes, well.” Dorothy could hear Georgiana’s nails tapping the seat divider. “I’m seriously thinking of buying a place down here—or, at the very least, establishing a more frequent presence in the Hamel-LeBlanc household.”

Summer snapped her compact shut, seemingly by accident, and Dorothy saw the side of Dash’s face turn whiter than the exterior of the Mercedes.

This would be an excellent time to change the subject, Dorothy told herself. She needed to ask Georgiana something that had been bothering her, and it might as well be now. A direct approach might be best.

And perhaps, if she asked in a very casual tone, with others in the car, it would seem less important. The silence in the air was already quite awkward.

“Tell me, Georgiana,” Dorothy spoke up, “is it possible that you were ever acquainted with Lorella Caldwell? That old photo of her on the easel at the book club kickoff...did it by any chance look familiar? I know you both attended Wellsmount College around the same time, and I thought, by your reaction yesterday, that maybe you had recognized...” She let her voice trail away delicately.

Oh dear. She’d made a terrible mistake, Dorothy realized. The silence in the car had become even more ominous. But it was too late to withdraw the words now.