Permanently Booked (16 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Summer had pretty much written off Jennifer and Detective Donovan as no-shows for the book signing party when the two of them finally showed up, along with his grandmother.

She needed to make her move quick. Peggy had just wheeled off toward the signing line, clutching the GH Hamel book she’d brought from home.

“I’ll be right back,” she told Ernie, Dash, and her fake date. “Some friends just came in I want Garrett to meet, so I’ll go get them.”

The guys hardly noticed, which was fine with her. They were talking about Florida State basketball or something, which was even more boring than listening to Georgiana and Carrie go on and on about themselves and their books.

At least it was easier to push through the crowd now that everyone, including Dorothy, had lined up to buy books from the employees at a side register and to get them signed by the authors.

A sudden burst of sharp, high-pitched barks rose above the noise of the crowd, hurting Summer’s eardrums. Was there actually a
dog
in here?

Yep. And it wasn’t a service dog. Her mouth dropped open in disbelief as Carrie reached under the skirted table and brought up a small canvas boat bag custom-printed with the cover of
A
Debut for Death
. Two little brown ears and a pink hair ribbon stuck out of the top as the sides of the bag jiggled and lurched.

People oohed and aahed at the tiny dog and started flooding toward Carrie’s table like rats. She took it out and set it on the table, right next to where she was signing. Georgiana, Summer noticed, was definitely not amused.

“It’s a teacup half Yorkie, half Chihuahua—a Yorkihuahua,” Carrie told everyone as they handed over their quickly purchased books. “Adorable, huh? So who do you want me to make this out to?”

Summer was pretty sure that dog belonged to Helen Murphy. She’d seen and heard it yapping in the Residents Board president’s pool bag a few times. Carrie probably paid her to borrow it. Yep, there was ol’ Helen, standing at one end of the table, giving all the gushing book buyers a plastic dog-pimp smile. Pathetic.

“Hey, sorry we’re late.” Detective Donovan was standing beside her, with Jennifer just behind him. Were they together-together? She couldn’t tell. “Did we miss much?”

“Not really,” Summer said. His sharp blue eyes looked a tiny bit softer tonight. Was he just tired? Or maybe it was the lighting in this place.

“Shane had to work later than he expected,” Jennifer put in. “Peggy and I picked him up at the police department. It’s really close to here.”

“I know,” Summer said. She’d spent some time down there on her and Dorothy’s last case. Mostly as a murder suspect.

So why hadn’t Jennifer just brought Peggy to the book signing first and gotten
Shane
later? Maybe she’d spent the extra time getting ready. She looked really put together in a splashy orange tropical print dress that showed off her glowing tan and dark hair. She was wearing flats again—white ones, and it looked like the Pilgrim buckles were finally gone for good. She’d even added some extra eyeliner, which gave her a cool sixties look.

Obviously, Jennifer had made a special effort tonight.

“So, did something come up on the Caldwell case?” Summer asked Detective Donovan.

“Not really,” he said. “Just paperwork, mostly. I was out at Majesty Golf & Tennis this afternoon, investigating an incident, and—”

“Hey, I was there, too, around three-thirty,” Summer broke in. “And guess what? So was Ray. He was driving that white van and he cut right in front of me. I lost him on a cart path.”

The detective’s eyebrows shot up. Good, he was taking her information seriously for once.

“I don’t think Trixie was with him,” she added. “But it’s possible.”

“You mean Trixie Quattrochi?” Jennifer asked. “I really need to talk to her about some Hibiscus Pointe business.”

Probably all her unpaid rent, Summer told herself. Nothing to do with Lorella’s murder. But it looked as if all three of them wanted to get a hold of the Texas Tornado.

“Hey, Summer, I finally found you.” Garrett came up and handed her another mojito. “Are these the friends you wanted me to meet?”

Trapped. And just when she’d had a chance to chat about the case with Detective Donovan. She forced herself to smile. “Uh, yeah. Jennifer and Detective—I mean, Shane—this is Garrett.”

Was it her imagination, or did the detective look the teensiest bit annoyed? Or even...jealous? For half a second, anyway. “Nice to meet you,” he said to Garrett, shaking hands.

“We’ve met,” Jennifer said. “Hi again, Garrett. Remember me from the Tee for Two tournament at Hibiscus about a month ago?”

“Ah, right. Sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t recognize you at first.” Garrett poured on the cool British accent. “How are things over at Hibiscus?”

“Oh, wonderful as always,” Jennifer said, with a smile.

Was she serious? Or being sarcastic? Summer wasn’t sure.

As Garrett and Jennifer began trading heartwarming club stories, Detective Donovan scanned the room. “Excuse me,” he said, to the three of them, “but I think my grandmother may need some help with all those books she’s snapping up.”

“Talk to you later,” Summer called after him as he walked away, but he didn’t seem to hear her. Oh well. At least Jennifer and Garrett seemed to be hitting things off. They were chatting away as if they’d known each other forever.

Hopefully, that wasn’t what the detective was ticked off about.

As Summer was considering that, Parker passed by with a glass of wine in one hand and an extra-large glass of bourbon in the other. For Georgiana, probably.

“Great ring,” she said to Summer, stopping to nod toward the bloodstone. “I love vintage jewelry. Where did you get such a great piece?”

“Oh, this?” Summer said, with a shrug. “It was left to me. By, uh...a family friend.”

“Lucky you,” Parker said, moving on toward the authors’ area. Georgiana was looking very thirsty. Carrie was busy signing books.

Jeez, what was it with the ring? Summer wondered. It was awesome enough, she supposed, but it was weird it got so much attention. Where would Lorella have worn it, anyway?

Summer and Dorothy had no proof Georgiana had anything to do with the librarian’s murder, so there was no point in giving it to Detective Donovan yet. In fact, she should probably just put it back in the dead woman’s condo, even though it meant the ring would probably get carted off with all her other things. Lorella had no family to give it to, so it might even be thrown away, like Trixie’s junk.

That would be a major waste, Summer told herself. And what if it did turn out to be some kind of evidence? She’d keep the ring for now.

* * *

The New Algonquin Club was impressively decorated, much like Milano Book & Bar, but a bit stuffy, for Dorothy’s taste.

Everyone seemed to be having a fine time at the sit-down dinner, though Summer’s date apparently had to leave early. Her friend looked miserable sitting between Jennifer, who looked very pretty and seemed a tad more relaxed than usual, and an even quieter than usual Detective Donovan.

It was a smaller after-party group from the bookstore—Georgiana and Carrie’s publisher, Maxwell & Perkins, was footing the bill, thanks to Parker’s request—but the core Hibiscus Pointe Book Club members were in attendance.

Fortunately, most of them were seated at another table. Dorothy could hear Gladys and Peggy trying to top each other with police knowledge. Professor Bell was seated with that group as well, thank goodness. He didn’t seem to be saying much, but Dorothy refused to glance his way.

Perhaps that had been a tic, not a wink. She hadn’t noticed earlier that the professor suffered from that affliction, but she certainly wasn’t going to encourage any flirty behavior from that ridiculous man—who might even be a cold-blooded killer.

She and Summer definitely needed to stay on guard around him.

Georgiana had been holding court at their own table, with Carrie breaking in whenever the older author came to a dramatic pause—or took time to sip her drink. That was fine with Dorothy. It rather took the pressure off, really, for polite conversation.

“Excuse me, Ms. Hamel.” A distinguished-looking man in a tuxedo, who had seated them in the dining room, appeared at the author’s left shoulder. “Would you allow a picture to be taken for our Distinguished Authors wall?” He indicated another man behind him, holding a fancy-looking camera.

Dorothy had seen the large collection of framed portraits, autographed photos, and book covers on their way in. Almost all of the literary glitterati who’d dined at the members-only club were male, she’d noted.

“No, photos, thank you,” Georgiana answered, holding up a hand. “However, I might happen to have one or two with me in my bag. Dashiell, darling, would you be a lamb and get that out for me?”

Her son complied, and Dorothy wasn’t terribly surprised to see that the photo was both highly glamorous and considerably dated. “Just put it right at the top of all those boring, old men authors,” Georgiana instructed.

The man in the tuxedo and his photographer companion beat a hasty retreat with the glossy promotional photo, and Georgiana smiled in satisfaction.

Carrie, though, looked glum. “They didn’t want my picture for their wall,” she said, with a slight pout.

“Hey, no big deal,” Summer assured her. “Most of those author guys are dead by now anyway.”

Georgiana sputtered her drink, and Dash quickly patted her on the back.

“Oh, give it a break, Carrie.” Parker looked completely exasperated. “You’ve got all kinds of other promotional stuff to be grateful for. I just booked both you and Georgiana for a live TV interview with Felicia Hernandez at WMLO on Monday, because she felt really bad she had to leave early tonight.”

“Yeah, she was covering something down by the marina,” Ernie said. “I saw a clip on my phone when I was checking the sports headlines about an hour ago. A fire, looked like.”

Parker didn’t seem to hear him, she was so worked up. “And I’m finalizing details for a beachfront reception at Tangerine du Sol, courtesy once again of Maxwell & Perkins,” she went on, throwing her Algonquin Club—monogrammed napkin down on the table cloth. “What more do you want from me, Carrie? Blood?”

Everyone, including Dorothy, looked on in shock as the slender publicist grabbed her bag and flounced off toward the bar, where she would no doubt console herself with her smartphone and another pomegranate cosmo.

“Wow.” Ernie gave a low whistle, and Dorothy shook her head at him, very slightly.

For once, Carrie had nothing to say.

When Georgiana stood up from the table, looking highly amused, and excused herself for the powder room, Dorothy quickly followed. She needed to talk to her, and there was no point in putting things off.

The author was powdering her nose when Dorothy pushed open the heavy oak door of the ornate ladies’ lounge. “Georgiana,” Dorothy said, placing her purse on the marble counter, “I couldn’t help but sense there was something you weren’t telling me earlier. About Lorella Caldwell. You did know her back at Wellsmount, didn’t you?”

Georgiana glanced at her briefly in the mirror. “What makes you think that?”

“Georgiana.” Dorothy crossed her arms. “I took it upon myself to do a bit of yearbook research,” she fibbed. “And I know full well that you’re not younger than Lorella. In fact, you’re nearly four years her senior.”

The author sighed heavily and pointed to a floral satin love seat behind them. “Take a seat,” she said.

Chapter Seventeen

“You’re right, Dorothy,” Georgiana said, taking her e-cigarette holder from her fringed black-and-red clutch. “I don’t know how you managed to get a hold of those yearbooks, but it’s true. I did once know Lorella—at least, as well as anyone could.”

Dorothy nodded from her perch on the edge of the love seat, relieved but not surprised that her suspicions had proved correct. Probably better to say nothing yet, and let the woman talk.

“Lorella was always something of a recluse,” Georgina said, sweeping over to a chair across from Dorothy. “A mousy, tweedy little thing, really. But smart. She might have been the most dedicated young woman at Wellsmount, in fact. Other than me, of course. She spent most of her time in the bowels of the library, and we struck up an acquaintance while I was researching my thesis. Lorella worked night and day as assistant to an older, very well regarded professor.”

“Interesting,” Dorothy murmured. How odd that she had become a professor’s assistant again, later in life.

“At the time,” Georgiana went on, “I even thought the two of them were having an affair, despite the difference in their ages. But the professor was married, with a son. The wife objected to him and Lorella spending so much time together—they had a mutual interest in romantic poets—and that was the end of it. Or so she said.”

“But Lorella taught at Wellsmount later,” Dorothy said. “Did she and her lover—or mentor, should I say—serve on the faculty at the same time?”

“That was much later,” Georgiana said, with a wave. “They kept up a limited friendship and correspondence of sorts while she was in graduate school. Until he died of a heart attack, alone in his office. On New Year’s Eve. Intriguing, wouldn’t you say?”

Was she implying the professor hadn’t been alone after all? Or that Lorella was somehow involved in his death? Dorothy wondered.

“But here’s the kicker.” Georgiana slapped her silk-covered knee. “He left a fair amount of money to his former assistant. His wife was furious.”

This was beginning to sound rather like one of the highly dramatic author’s books, Dorothy told herself, annoyed. And what did this story have to do with Georgiana herself? “So,” she said, treading carefully, “did Lorella confide in you, then, in any way?”

“Not really.” Georgiana shrugged. “I pieced all of this together. More or less. The year I graduated—summa cum laude, naturally—she was a lowly freshman.”

Somehow Dorothy did not feel confident about many of these details. Much of her story sounded like pure speculation. “Georgiana,” she said, with a frown, “why didn’t you mention any of this earlier? And in light of...what happened...you really do need to tell Detective Donovan everything you know about Lorella. Any detail, no matter how small or long ago, might prove helpful for the investigation.”

The author drummed her long red nails on the arms of her chair. “I suppose.”

Georgiana was still hiding something, Dorothy was sure of it. She might even know something about Lorella’s murder. In fact, at this point the famous mystery author herself could very well be the guilty party.

Dorothy eyed the hand-fired, heavy-looking vase on the small coffee table between them—and the distance to the door, just in case. At this point, she wasn’t going to question Georgiana’s change of travel plans to arrive the day of Lorella’s death.

It would be foolish to completely tip her hand regarding her suspicions right now. Not to mention, possibly dangerous. She might be quicker than Georgiana, but the author was probably stronger.

“Whether or not you and Lorella were close, Georgiana, you owe it to her to help find her killer, don’t you think? We all do.”

Georgiana’s eyes blazed. “Of course I want justice for Lorella,” she said. “She was a good woman. And solving murders is what I do, fictionally speaking. But...”

“But what, Georgiana?” Dorothy prodded gently.

The queen of mystery suddenly looked a lot smaller. “I suppose, since Lorella is gone now, it won’t matter so much if I break my vow of secrecy. But I suspect she’d expect me to keep it beyond the grave. She’ll come back and haunt me now, I’m sure.”

“Perhaps if she knew the circumstances,” Dorothy pointed out. Goodness, this was a ridiculous train of reasoning.

Georgiana sighed. “You are a persistent woman, Dorothy Westin. So here it is: Lorella was also an author at Maxwell & Perkins. I’m sure you’ve heard of her. She was the fabulous, somewhat risqué, and famously secretive romance writer—”

“Don’t tell me,” Dorothy said. “Angelina St. Rose.”

* * *

Summer didn’t care that Detective Donovan and Jennifer had said an early good-night to take his slightly tipsy grandma back to Hibiscus Pointe. Not one single bit.

Why did Peggy always wreck things for her? Now here she was, stuck on a Saturday night, sitting by herself at a table in the middle of a bunch of dirty dishes.

Dorothy and Georgiana had gone off to the ladies’ room—they’d been gone forever—Ernie had joined a poker game off the grill room with a bunch of guys, Parker was still at the bar, and Carrie was circulating at the other tables, offering people coupons for her next book.

Professor Bell had disappeared somewhere, too. Probably lurking somewhere outside the ladies’ room, waiting to pounce on Georgiana with his manuscript. Dash’s mom would be lucky if he didn’t try to slip it under the stall door.

She should have kept a better eye on him. Maybe she should go track him down right now, just in case he was up to something. She’d been distracted by the whole Jennifer-Garrett-Donovan thing. That was stupid.

“Oh, Summer, I am soooo exhausted.” Carrie plopped herself down back at the table, right next to her. “Think I need to take off my shoes. But everyone’s been dying to talk to me about
Debut for Death
, so it’s worth it, I guess.”

Summer’s Saturday night had just gotten worse. Much, much worse. She didn’t need company that badly.

“Is there any more water left here? My voice keeps going hoarse.”

“Sure, here you go.” Summer reached for the pitcher of ice water in the middle of the table and placed it in front of Carrie. The girl was like one of those old-school dolls where you pulled the string and they blabbed and blabbed. Chatty Carrie needed to promote herself more online. That way, at least she’d never know when people shut her off.

Hopefully, Dash had gone to get the valet. She didn’t even feel like going out later. She’d spilled tomato sauce on her dress, anyway.

“So, where did you get that amazing ring?” Carrie asked, pointing, as Summer reached for her phone to text him. “Can I try it on?”

What was it about the stupid ring? This was really weirding her out now. Or maybe she was just feeling guilty about borrowing it from Lorella’s condo. She should have put it in her purse when everyone started noticing it.

“Hey, you know what? I forgot, I was supposed to meet Dash in the bar, like, ten minutes ago. I’ll be back, okay?” Summer pushed back her chair and made her escape.

Well, she tried to, anyway. Carrie scooped up her stinky shoes and followed her, hobbling a bit, toward the bar.

“Do you even know what wearing a ring like that means?” Carrie whispered, behind her, as they hit the main hallway.

Summer stopped and glanced down at the enormous bloodstone on her finger. The gold setting glinted off the light from all the chandeliers, and the gem suddenly felt hot and heavy.

She was more annoyed now than creeped out, though. “No,” she answered Carrie. “What?”

Carrie glanced up and down the empty hall. “Those superexpensive rings are given by Maxwell & Perkins to their best authors,” she said. “After they sell their first million books, usually. You can’t just buy one.”

“There are plenty of cool rings like this out there,” Summer informed her. “I know, because my mom happens to own a jewelry store.” Well, Harmony did used to have that crystal place on the Santa Monica Pier. “She had this made, just for me.”

“Oh. It’s just a coincidence, then.” Carrie looked doubtful.

“Yep.” Summer strode into the bar without looking back and slid onto a red leather-backed stool next to Parker, who was well down Cosmo Road by now.

As she’d expected, Carrie joined them, but at least she wasn’t talking about the ring anymore. She and Parker made up after their little spat, and Summer got to order another drink in peace.

Temporarily. “Hey, I was thinking, Summer,” Parker said, slightly slurring her words. “Carrie has that TV interview tomorrow, and she really needs a makeover, if she’s going to appear live next to Georgiana. You know, a little jazzing up. I mean, this is Milano, so she has to look supergreat. And it’ll help build her confidence.”

Summer reluctantly turned toward Carrie. Right now, after hearing her publicist diss her style, the girl seemed completely deflated. Obviously, Parker had hit a nerve.

“You always look awesome,” Parker went on. “You have to know all the best places in town, right? I’m going to be so busy, between the TV prep and the beach party arrangements, so...what if you took on setting up the makeover for us?”

“Sorry, I really can’t,” Summer said. “I’m superbusy right now, with...stuff.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m going to look like a total freak, then, right?” Carrie’s head ping-ponged between Summer and Parker. “Maybe we should cancel the TV thing.”

“You could make some major cashola,” Parker murmured to Summer, half into her drink glass. “Stylist services are pricey in this town.”

Beside her, Carrie sniffled in a disgusting, sniveling way. The girl was desperate. And Summer could use the dough. “Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll look into it, and give Carrie a call tomorrow so we can set things up.”

“Oh, I can’t thank you enough!” Carrie beamed instantly. “You’re saving my life.”

“No problem.” Summer threw down a few bucks for the bartender and hauled it out of the Algonquin Club bar. She couldn’t deal with either of those crazies for another second and it looked as if Professor Bell was nowhere in sight.

Luckily, Dash’s car was parked outside the restaurant entrance, with him behind the wheel—and both his mom and Dorothy in the passenger seats, ready to go.

As she headed toward the Mercedes, Summer twisted Lorella’s ring off her finger and tucked it carefully into the inside pocket of her bag. She was never wearing the stupid thing again.