Permanently Booked (17 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Georgiana had been unusually quiet in the car on the way home from the Algonquin Club, Dorothy noticed. Since their conversation earlier in the ladies’ lounge, in fact, she hadn’t said a single word.

No one had said much on the drive, come to think of it. Dash seemed to be eager to make it back to Hibiscus Pointe as quickly as possible, and even Summer had seemed preoccupied.

She hadn’t had a chance to tell her sleuthing partner yet what had transpired with Georgiana—and what she’d found out about Lorella.

“What would you think about spending the night at my place, dear?” Dorothy asked her, as soon as Dash had dropped them both off in front of Hibiscus Gardens. Georgiana hadn’t even said goodbye. “We need to discuss a few things for the case. I had a very interesting conversation with Georgiana this evening.”

“Sure,” Summer said. “I’m feeling pretty beat. I think Carrie wore me out. I wouldn’t mind having a glass of wine, though. So, what did you find out?”

“Something quite intriguing about Lorella,” Dorothy said. “Let’s get to the condo first so we can be more comfortable.”

But as soon as Dorothy unlocked the door, she knew that would be impossible. Mr. Bitey had torn half the living room to shreds, in some sort of jealous rage.

“Whoa,” Summer said as she stepped over a trail of torn Kleenex, “he really did a job on the place this time. Maybe you need to call those cat rescue people and have them come get Guinevere.”

“No,” Dorothy said as she spotted Lorella’s small gray cat hanging on for dear life to a curtain valance. “I believe I’ll have them cart Mr. Bitey away.”

After a quick hunt, she located her skulking pet pawing at the throw cushions of the armchair in her bedroom. “Bad kitty,” she said to him, and deposited the protesting tomcat in her own bathroom after tying back the shower curtain. “You’re in time-out. Again.”

Summer, bless her heart, was sweeping up dirt on the carpet from some overturned flowerpots that Dorothy usually kept on her balcony. If only she hadn’t decided to bring them in out of the hot sun earlier that day.

“Thank you, Summer, but don’t worry about cleaning up,” she said. “I’m going to leave everything until tomorrow morning. We have something much more important to do.”

“Like what?” her friend asked, leaning back on her heels in her good pink dress and brushing a smudge of dirt from her face.

Dorothy told Summer about her conversation with Georgiana in the Algonquin Club powder room, and Lorella’s secret life as the famous romantic suspense author Angelina St. Rose.

“Ohh...” Summer stared down at the Maxwell & Perkins ring on her finger. The potting soil had made it a lot darker. “I guess Carrie was right, then. It all makes sense.” She relayed to her friend what the young author had told her about the signature bloodstone.

“So it’s not just that Georgiana and Lorella knew each other,” Dorothy said. “They actually had a good deal in common.”

“But I still don’t see why Georgiana was trying to keep Lorella’s secret after she was gone.” Summer frowned. “Unless...”

“Unless she had something to do with her death, perhaps,” Dorothy finished.

Summer got to her feet, with a vain attempt at smoothing her dress, and shook her head. “There’s no way Dash’s mom would be involved in something like murder. I mean, okay, she writes about it, but that’s a whole different thing.”

“True, but I can’t think of any other explanation,” Dorothy said. “Can you?”

Summer sighed. “Not really, I guess.”

“Lorella’s secret identity must have had something to do with her untimely death,” Dorothy said. “That’s why we should go back over to her condo right now and take another look around. Maybe there’s something both we and the cops missed earlier—and we certainly need to take a closer look at those files.”

“Um, right now?” Summer eyed the mini wine rack on the breakfast bar. “Can’t we just wait until morning? We can get up really early.”

“No,” Dorothy said. “We don’t know when they’ll start clearing Lorella’s apartment, but it’s sure to be soon. And if we need to bring any of those files back with us, it’s better to go in the dark. I believe you left a pair of flip-flops here the other day. They’re in the guest room.”

A few minutes later, armed with the sturdy flashlights Dorothy kept for storm emergencies, she and Summer let themselves in through the sliding glass doors from Lorella’s ground floor concrete porch.

“Still open,” Summer said cheerfully.

“Let’s check those file cabinets first,” Dorothy suggested. “I’m sure they’ll be able to tell us something, now that we have a better idea of what to look for. Notes, royalty statements, correspondence...”

They headed through Lorella’s dark condo, their flashlight beams occasionally crossing as they played into corners and over the walls. “Over there,” Dorothy directed. “There’s a cabinet in the alcove behind the desk, remember?”

“I feel like Nancy Drew.” Summer switched her flashlight to her left hand and pulled on the top file drawer.

It was empty.

* * *

“Totally gone,” Summer announced in frustration, after she’d yanked open the drawers of every last file cabinet in Lorella Caldwell’s—aka Angelina St. Rose’s—condo. “Every single folder.”

“I was afraid of that.” Dorothy sighed. “We should have taken them earlier. Or at least given them a closer look while we were here.”

“The cops must have come back for them, I guess,” Summer said.

“We can’t be sure of that,” Dorothy said. “I suppose, once we talk to Detective Donovan...”

“And let him know we were sneaking around in here before?” Summer said. “No way. That’ll just make him really mad.”

“Well, that’s possible, but we do have to let him know about those files. Especially if Georgiana doesn’t tell him about Lorella’s—and her own—connection to Angelina St. Rose.”

“He’s probably figured all that out already anyway if he has the files,” Summer said. “He’s a very nosy person.”

“That’s his job, dear. I think you’re missing the big picture here.”

Summer frowned. Was that a clunking noise she’d heard out in the living room? Or...more of a sliding noise, from the porch? “Shh,” she said. “Turn your flashlight off, quick.”

“Maybe someone else left that door unlocked, too,” Dorothy whispered. “So they could come back and forth, just like us.”

Summer nodded in the darkness and moved toward the doorway, crouching as she tried to see around the door. There was definitely another flashlight out there in the living room, but she couldn’t see the person behind it. Just a shape. Moving straight toward them.

She turned to warn Dorothy but knocked into something—a little table?—as she whirled around. There was a huge crash, and then the sound of shattering glass.

Uh-oh. They were nailed.

Summer jumped up and turned on her flashlight, aiming it into the living room. “Police!” she shouted. “Hold it right there.”

Behind her, Dorothy gasped. But it was their only chance, Summer told herself. There was no other way out of the condo from the bedroom, except through the living room.

She flashed the light around the otherwise dark condo, but there was no sign of the other intruder. He or she had to be hiding somewhere now. But if she hit the overhead lights, the person would see her and Dorothy, too, and know they weren’t the cops.

There was a rustling from the drapes and a sudden breeze as he or she threw open the sliding glass doors and ran out into the night.

Summer switched on her flashlight again and ran from the bedroom. She’d take her chances now that she wasn’t trapped like that, and the person wouldn’t know about Dorothy. “Freeze!” she called as she reached the porch.

She was about to take off after the perp, like she’d seen on
Citizen’s Arrest
, when a firm hand fell on her arm.

“No, dear,” Dorothy said. “Let them go.”

“But he’s getting away,” Summer protested. “Or she.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Dorothy said. “That person might be armed. And it’s likely they’ve already killed once. We can make an anonymous tip from one of those blue-light security stations. There’s one just across the way.”

Summer sighed. She was positive she could have caught up with the perp. If he’d run, he was scared, so he probably didn’t have a gun.

On the other hand, he or she had thought Summer was a cop.

There was another thing, too, she realized, as Dorothy gave her a little push through Lorella’s sliding doors. It would be a bad idea to return that bloodstone ring to Lorella’s jewelry box, now that it definitely seemed important to the case.

Dorothy was already making that anonymous call to Hibiscus Pointe Security. Time to go.

Chapter Nineteen

Dorothy bit into the scrumptious, pink-frosted donut Summer had brought up from the early bird Sunday morning continental buffet downstairs. Strawberry or raspberry? Or possibly rhubarb.

Hard to tell, but deliciously sweet, at least.

After the long night they’d had, between the author parties and the frightening ordeal in Lorella’s condo, she could definitely use the extra sugar boost. Ernie would be here in less than half an hour to take her to church.

“So here’s the big surprise I promised to tell you about as soon as you had your donut,” Summer said, settling herself at the breakfast bar with her coffee.

Dorothy looked up from the table. “Oh, right, dear. How nice. What is it?”

Summer smiled broadly. “You’ll love it. I just found out when I looked at my phone this morning. You have a date tonight, at La Volpe!”

“What?” Dorothy fumbled her donut, which landed frosting side down on the tablecloth.

“Remember when I took that cute picture of you at the bistro with Esmé the other night? You know, with the rose on the table?”

“No,” Dorothy said. “I don’t think I noticed.”

“Well, I did, and I used it when I signed you up for that Silver Sweetheart online dating site.”

“Summer Smythe-Sloan! You did not.” Dorothy was so flabbergasted she was almost speechless. “I am not in the market for a romantic partner.”

“I know,” Summer said. “You have Ernie, sort of.”

“That’s outrageous, young lady.” Dorothy rarely became annoyed with her friend, but this was too much. Ernie was very much married. And even though Grace was sadly afflicted by Alzheimer’s, he remained entirely loyal and faithful to her, as he should. “Ernie and I are just good friends and you know it.”

Summer looked sheepish. “Sorry, Dorothy. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant you both really like spending time together, that’s all.”

Dorothy sighed. “So who is this date, and how can I get out of it? Immediately.”

“Okay, I was kind of joking about the date thing,” Summer said. “It’s Charles Bell, and the setup is just for the case, I thought, since he goes on so many dates and all, that this would be a perfect way for you to find out more about him. And maybe whatever was going on between him and Lorella.”

Dorothy rubbed her temples. This was no way to start a Sunday morning. Or any morning.

“I filled out the questions, you know, like do you enjoy books and reading, and a few other things,” Summer rushed on. “He likes mature women, and I knew you two would be a match, but I was afraid you’d say no if I told you first. You matched up with some other guys, too, by the way.”

“It’s a terrible idea,” Dorothy said. “The most ridiculous one I’ve ever heard, in fact.”

“Don’t worry,” Summer assured her. “I didn’t use your real name. I mean, Professor Bell knows who you are, but everyone else thinks you’re Foxy Dot.”

“Foxy Dot?
That’s
what you came up with?” Dorothy was appalled. “Couldn’t you think of anything better than that?”

Summer grinned. “Well, you
are
foxy. And hey, that’s the kind of name that gets you lots of hits.”

“I’m sure,” Dorothy murmured. No wonder Charles had winked at her last night.

“But anyway, all you have to do is show up at the restaurant and get him to trust you. Then maybe you can ask him some questions for the case. And don’t worry, I’ll be right there at La Volpe, too, in disguise or something. And Esmé will call the cops if anything starts getting weird.”

“It’s already weird,” Dorothy said. “We really don’t know anything about this man.”

“I did do a little more research on my phone this morning,” Summer said. “I looked ol’ Chuck up on ProfessorRater. He’s not superpopular with his students. Really boring and a tough grader. But I also found out a few other things. He went to a fancy prep school outside Boston and stayed in the area for college and grad school. Oh, and his dad was a professor, too—at Wellsmount.”

Dorothy sighed. “Of course. What on earth was going on behind those ivy walls? I’m sure the professor and I will have a scintillating conversation.” She stood up from the table. “I’d better get dressed. Ernie will be here to get me any minute.”

“Just another thing or two,” Summer said, following her partway to the bedroom. “He does a little stand-up comedy on the side. Pretty funny, huh? For a murder suspect, anyway.”

“I would never have guessed,” Dorothy said, through the door. On the other hand, she would never have believed Lorella Caldwell was Angelina St. Rose, either.

“And no criminal record,” Summer called. “Not that I could find, anyway. See, everything will be fine.”

* * *

As Dorothy had expected, Ernie was less than pleased to hear about her “date” on the way to church. In fact, he was quite possibly even more upset than she had been.

But she had to tell him. What if he found out somehow she’d joined an online dating service, and hadn’t been the one to tell him? Friends were supposed to share things like that.

“And with a name like Foxy Dot, no less.” He was really fuming now, over the steering wheel. “Who knows what kind of scoundrels and screwballs will try to contact you? It’s not safe, I tell you.”

“I appreciate your concern, Ernie, but there’s no need to worry. It’s for the case, so it isn’t a real date. And I’ll be very careful. Summer will be there.”

“Summer?” Ernie almost went through a red light. “That’s it. I’m going with you. I’ll be sitting at the next table.”

Dorothy had a difficult time concentrating on the sermon. The upcoming evening with Professor Bell weighed on her mind, but she also couldn’t stop thinking about Georgiana. She and Lorella had known each other at college. Later, they’d shared correspondence and the same publisher.

But here was the million-dollar question: Why would Georgiana want to eliminate Lorella? Had they been rivals or enemies in some way? So far, that didn’t appear to be the case.

It was possible, though, she told herself. Look how competitive—even threatened—Georgiana seemed by a new, ambitious young author like Carrie, who had a promising future. Or would, if she didn’t manage to drive her own readers away.

Georgiana could have arrived from New York earlier—hadn’t she caught Dash by surprise?—and disposed of Lorella with the bookend. Then she could have simply pretended she’d just come from the airport and an impromptu appearance at Murder by the Sea.

Of course, Georgiana’s true itinerary would be easy enough for the police to check. But Dorothy knew she still needed some kind of hard evidence before she even breathed a word of anything like that to Detective Donovan. Dash was a good friend, and somehow it just seemed too unlikely that his mother was a murderer.

After the service, Dorothy took Ernie’s arm and stepped out into the bright sunshine, feeling guilty for not having paid a whit of attention to prayerful reflection. She was about to suggest a nice, relaxing brunch when a silk-muumuued Gladys Rumway met her and Ernie at the bottom of the church steps.

“Morning, Dorothy! And Ernest.” Gladys’s enormous hat blocked the sun. “The girls are saving me a place in line for the Hibiscus Pointe shuttle, but I just had to share a quick something about Lorella with you.”

Dorothy composed a smile. “What is it, Gladys?”

“Merle shared some info with me about Lorella’s will.” Gladys leaned in, fanning herself with a badly wrinkled church program. “She left practically everything to charity. No surprise there, who else would she give it to? But here’s the kicker.”

Gladys paused dramatically, and Dorothy braced herself.

“Word is, it’s a whopping fortune! Who woulda thought?”

Well, that made sense. Lorella—aka Angelina St. Rose—had to have been financially blessed. “My,” Dorothy said vaguely. There was no sense in encouraging Gladys.

“I also happened to hear some of that dough is earmarked for the Hibiscus Pointe Library. So there should be plenty left over to fund more of these big, fancy book club events, don’t you think?”

No
, Dorothy answered silently. That was the last thing they needed, in her view. She stepped aside to let a flood of churchgoers pass, but Gladys didn’t budge.

“By the way, Dorothy, you know that odd-duck professor who’s been showing up? Just so you know, he’s my top suspect in Lorella’s murder—and the Milano PD’s, too. We’ll need to keep a sharp eye on him.”

Beside her, Dorothy could feel Ernie’s glare. But Gladys wasn’t finished. “Oh, and one more thing,” the big woman went on. “I find this really hard to believe, Dorothy, but did you join Silver Sweethearts? There’s a woman named Foxy Dot who just popped up, and she looks just like—”

“Whoa there, you’re missing your bus, Gladys,” Ernie broke in. “Look, away it goes. If you run, maybe you can catch it.”

Gladys whirled to check the shuttle stop, and Dorothy found herself being hustled away in the opposite direction by a furious Ernie.

He looked like a thundercloud. But thank goodness she didn’t have to endure any more gossip from Gladys Rumway.