Permanently Booked (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Dorothy went to bed almost as soon as she’d arrived home from the TV station, but even after reading for hours, she couldn’t sleep.

Now it was just past midnight.

A ball of warm gray fur snuggled up against her, purring loudly. She’d been letting the cats take turns sleeping on the bed. Right now it was Guinevere’s turn, while Mr. Bitey sulked in the kitchen.

“Sweet kitty,” Dorothy said, scratching her under the chin. Still no messages on her machine from any potential adopters. That alone was enough to keep her up at night, but figure in her and Summer’s murder investigation, and the bouts of insomnia had increased threefold.

Perhaps some warm milk would help.

Leaving Guinevere stretched out on her good comforter, Dorothy padded to the kitchen in her chenille slippers and set out a saucepan. Microwaved milk never tasted the same.

“Here you go, Mr. Bitey,” she said to her other cat, placing a small saucer down on the linoleum floor. Maybe that would cheer him up.

Returning to the bedroom with her steaming mug, she flipped on the TV. Nothing was on other than infomercials and a repeat of the news—Georgiana’s reading and her storming out of today’s interview had thankfully been edited out, turning the spotlight on Carrie and her book.

Dorothy also found a Heartflower Channel remake movie based on, of all things, an Angelina St. Rose novel she’d read years ago. During one of the racier parts—now rather boring after being toned down for TV—she flipped through Lorella’s Moleskine notebook again. Maybe she had missed something.

A burst of overly foreboding music sounded from the TV, and Dorothy’s attention returned to the screen. Before she knew it, she became absorbed in the story, unable to stop herself from making comparisons between the original and the remake.

The new actors weren’t quite as good, in her view, but the female lead was appealing enough and the hero indisputably handsome.

Almost before she knew it, the movie ended and the credits began to roll. When the book credit came onto the screen, Dorothy nearly flattened Guinevere as she jackknifed up in bed.

The “based on the novel by” credit didn’t go to Angelina St. Rose. The name listed on the screen was Carrie Dunbar.

How was that possible? It had to be some mistake.

Then Dorothy looked down at the notebook that had fallen from her lap, open to the calendar section.

Were all those references to
C
for Charles? Or...Carrie?

* * *

Freaked-out and phoneless, Summer tried not to panic as she strapped her long board to the top of the MINI in record time. She wasn’t leaving her board here, no matter what. Then she sped to the Milano PD Headquarters downtown.

When she arrived, she pulled on her shorts and a T-shirt from the backseat over her still-wet bathing suit and ran into the station.

“I need to talk to Detective Donovan,” she said breathlessly. “It’s really important. Is he here?”

“He’s done with his shift, but I think so.” The young guy behind the enclosed booth just inside the door looked through the small, round window. “Can I ask what you need to see him for?”

“Information about the Caldwell case. Tell him it’s Summer.”

The guy nodded and made a quick inside call. “Detective Donovan will be out in a minute.”

So he was going to escort her inside. Well, that was nice of him. But the tail of her oversize tee was dripping on the station house floor. Casually, she tried to wring it out behind her back and step away without the reception guy noticing.

That looked even worse.

The detective took longer than a minute. It was more like ten minutes. When he finally came out, he looked beat. And he had his laptop with him.

“Wow, you look tired,” Summer said.

He smiled, sort of. “I am. Rough day. So, what did you want to tell me?”

“Well, guess what? I know where Trixie and Ray and the van are. And that crazy-big snake.” Talking fast, she gave him the location of the van and exactly where she’d had the close encounter with Camo. Then she started to shiver. A lot.

“S-s-sorry,” she said, sounding like a snake herself. But she was freezing, and she couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering.

“Hey, are you okay there? You’re in shock, or you might be having a panic attack. And your foot looks a little bloody. Do you want to go into the squad room and sit down? Here, take this.” He pulled a navy sweatshirt tied to the strap of his laptop bag and held it out.

“Th-th-thanks.” Summer pulled the shirt over her head. Milano PD. Pretty cool. But she still couldn’t stop shaking.

Detective Donovan rapped on the window of the little booth. “Hey, Mike, can you get us some Band-Aids and a cup of hot chocolate?” He looked back at Summer. “Unless you’d rather have tea or coffee? I thought maybe the extra sugar might help.”

“Hot chocolate’s f-fine,” Summer said. She hadn’t had much of it since she moved to Florida, but right now it sounded great.

The detective nodded and gestured toward the chair she’d used while waiting for him to come out. Then he made a couple of quick calls, but he stepped away toward the squad room door and she couldn’t hear what he said.

“So, do you want to go downtown with me?” he asked her after he’d hung up.

“Sure.” Oh, good. She was going to be in on the action when the detective brought in Ray and Trixie. And maybe Camo. Ugh. That wasn’t quite as good. She’d stay in the squad car for that.

To Summer’s surprise, Detective Donovan pulled the unmarked car into the parking lot of the Tick-Tock Diner, not far from the beach. The sign in the window said, “Open Round the Clock.”

“What are we doing here?” Summer asked.

He smiled. “Waiting. I come here a lot.”

“But what about Trixie and Ray and that freaking snake? I don’t know whether they saw me—well, Camo did, I guess. They might get away.”

The detective got of the car and came around to open her door. Wow. The only other guy she knew who did that was Dash. “No, they won’t,” he said. “I made a couple of calls before we left the station. My team and Animal Control can handle things for now—and this way, I can be sure you’re not going to be in any danger.”

Summer frowned. “But I found the RV and your suspects for you. And the stupid snake. Can’t I at least be there when Ray and Trixie get arrested?”

“I can see you’re already feeling much better.” This time Detective Donovan opened the diner door. “But I didn’t have dinner, and maybe something to eat will help calm you down. We’ll be notified as soon as anything happens, okay? And I’m buying.”

The Tick-Tock Diner smelled like bacon. And sausage and eggs and pancakes. “Okay,” she said.

It was hard to decide what to order off the huge, multifold menu. Everything sounded delicious. “I’ll have the Milano Medley,” Summer said. “With extra whipped cream on the waffles. Oh, and a side order of bacon, please. It comes with sausage and biscuits already, right?”

The waitress just nodded and scribbled on her notepad. She looked a little like Carrie, but she definitely wasn’t as talkative.

Detective Donovan ordered two eggs over easy with toast, coffee—black—and a side of fruit. When the silent waitress brought their plates, he seemed amused by her towering breakfast. “Are you sure you can handle all that?” he asked.

“Yep,” Summer said. “Can you pass the syrup, please?”

They didn’t talk much, since they were both busy eating, but it wasn’t one of those awkward silences or anything. Just kind of comfortable. Summer was digging into her home fries when the detective’s cell buzzed on the table.

“Donovan.” She strained to hear the caller on the other end, but the detective turned away from the table slightly, and frowned. Uh-oh. Had Ray and Trixie gotten away?

They could have gotten out of that swamp fast, on the broken, sinking boardwalk.

“So what happened?” Summer asked the second he hung up. “Did they get them?”

“The RV has been located and secured,” the detective said. “And Ray was taken into custody without incident. We can only question him for the Caldwell case, I’m afraid, but we can hold him for a while on possible RV theft. And maybe a few other things.”

Summer’s stomach tightened, and not from the waffles and breakfast meat. “What about Trixie? She’s pretty slippery.”

He sighed, and took another sip of his coffee. “She didn’t seem to be around, and the team is very thorough. They’ve got canines in the area now. Ray isn’t talking. Says he has no idea where Trixie is now.”

“And what about”—Summer shivered again—”my buddy Camo?”

“No sign of the snake, either.”

Summer looked down at her plate. The syrup-logged waffles didn’t look very appetizing anymore. How could Trixie have given everyone the slip?

If she was even down by the beach in the first place. Summer hadn’t actually seen her tonight. That woman could be anywhere.

Plus, no one was going to believe her about Camo. This was the second time she’d seen the python. How could people not find something that big?

Summer and the detective finished eating in silence—not so much the good kind anymore, either. He seemed preoccupied now, and she was bummed about Trixie.

And this diner date didn’t really count as a date. It was more like a work thing. Or worse, maybe he’d just felt sorry for her, because she’d been a hot stuttering mess tonight. His hand had brushed hers when they both reached for the ketchup. That was it.

She hated to admit it, but his grandma was right. He needed a nice, careful, put-together girl like Jennifer.

“I know someone you could call about the snake,” Summer said, suddenly remembering as Detective Donovan signaled for the check. “Dr. Josie over at Safari Sue’s.” She handed him the vet’s crumpled card from her bag.

“Fish and Wildlife is working on it,” he said. “As well as Milano PD. But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to see if she might be willing to consult. Thanks. So far, no one’s managed to bring that reptile in.”

Just like Trixie, Summer thought.

The ride back to the station house was supershort. Detective Donovan drove like a guy in a hurry, which was a good thing. They needed to be there when Ray arrived in handcuffs.

The detective pulled into a space and opened the car door again. “So, will Ray be here soon?” Summer asked him as she got out.

“Should be,” he answered. “But
you
won’t be here then.”

Was he kidding? “Why not?”

“I’m sorry, but this is police business,” the detective said. “Besides, you were one of the people who found Lorella Caldwell’s body. That makes you a witness. So it’s better if you’re not around when Ray is brought in.”

“Why is that a problem?” Summer said. “I can identify Ray in a lineup or something.”

“We really don’t need you to do that,” Detective Donovan said. “You shouldn’t even be here right now, in fact. How would it look in court if a detective was personally involved with a witness?”

Wait. What? They were “personally involved” now? “Okay,” she said reluctantly, leaning back a little against the car. “I get it.”

“But hey, thank you,” he said. “You’ve been a big help in the case. And now it’s time for you to step out, okay? You could have been in real danger tonight.”

She was about to answer when he suddenly leaned in and kissed her, quickly and very gently. Almost without thinking, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him back, longer, feeling his broad, windbreakered chest against her damp sweatshirt.

But oh noooo.
Jennifer.

She still didn’t know for sure what the deal was between them, but this didn’t seem like the right time to ask. And now she was weirdly shaking again.

“I h-have to go,” she said, moving away. “Before, uh, Ray gets here.”

He looked confused, then embarrassed. “Right.” He sounded all business again. “Sorry, I don’t know why I did that. It was a mistake.”

“That’s okay,” Summer said. “Well, bye. Thanks for dinner. I mean, breakfast.” Jeez. This was awkward. And it was killing her. Before he could say anything else, she jumped in her car and pushed the ignition.

He leaned in the open window. “Straight home, right?” he said. “Please?”

She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile in the glow from the round lamps outside the PD. “Right.”

For once, she wasn’t going to argue.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

By now it was nearly 2:00 a.m., but Dorothy was up and dressed. She was determined to find some answers—in the Hibiscus Pointe Library.

She was fairly sure she’d seen a particular title she needed in Summer’s grandma’s estate collection. She’d just shelved it the other day. And she definitely couldn’t sleep now, after seeing Carrie’s name in the book credit for the remake of Lorella’s movie. If she headed over to the library at this hour, no one would see or bother her.

Dorothy felt very alone as she made her way through the Hibiscus Pointe complex to the main building. It was dark and still, although there were a few points of light here and there in the condo windows. Other insomniacs, no doubt.

Maybe she should have called Summer, in case she was still up. But her friend had said she was going down to the beach earlier. Hopefully, she was being careful.

Dorothy slipped past a dozing Bill Beusel and let herself into the library. Maybe she should leave the door ajar, in case anyone was lurking inside.

Ridiculous, she told herself. That movie must have spooked her.

It looked as if someone had undone a bit of the organizational work she’d done the other day. Just a few little things here and there, but still. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to be the work of the library vandal who might have also murdered Lorella.

Probably one of the library patrons who’d been in a hurry. Or confused. But who had been the vandal on the day Lorella died? Was that person also the murderer? And what had they been looking for?

Dorothy went straight to the extensive romance section and discovered that the Angelina St. Rose title she’d wanted, and had just shelved, was no longer there.

Very disappointing. She’d have to try the Milano Library, then. Was it more than a coincidence, though, that the book had disappeared so quickly?

Click.

Oh dear. Was that someone coming into the library? No. She’d left the door open.

Very slowly, Dorothy turned.

“Hold it right there, hon.” Trixie was standing in the middle of the library—with General Luger pointed straight at her.

Dorothy cleared her throat and tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t quite come out. “What are you doing here, Trixie? And what do you want?”

“It’s real simple,” Trixie said. “I’m lookin’ for that book on the Berkeley Pit copper mine. You know, in Montana.”

Dorothy tried not to look at the pistol. What on earth? She’d read an article once on that mine, in fact. It had closed years ago, and now it was a major Superfund cleanup site. “There’s no need for the gun, Trixie,” she said. “For heaven’s sake. I took that title out of circulation to repair it. All it needed was a touch of glue.”

“So where is it?” Trixie was growing impatient.

Dorothy glanced toward Lorella’s desk, where she’d set the book to dry. “Over there.”

“Let’s go find it, then.” The blond woman, her heavy jewelry clanking, marched Dorothy toward the desk. Her eyes lit with glee when she spotted the thick volume, opened out on the ink-stained blotter. “That’s it!”

Eagerly, she began to flip through the pages, still keeping the pistol trained on Dorothy. When she reached the end, she frowned. “There’s supposed to be a map in here. It shows all the places you can find copper.”

And noxious chemicals, no doubt, Dorothy thought. “I’m sorry, Trixie. It looks as if that page may have been torn out. See, the jagged edge there, where it should have been?”

Trixie stamped her black-and-red cowboy boot. “That is not fair! The book is out of print, and I can’t find another copy anywhere. I need it for my trip. Find that page right now, or you’re Texas toast.”

* * *

Summer arrived back at Hibiscus Pointe feeling totally wired. The last few hours had been too crazy for her to deal with. No, the whole day had been a disaster, too.

But she’d found the RV and Ray, she reminded herself. And the snake. And she’d helped keep Georgiana from self-destructing. Oh, and she’d survived a gnarly, hairy tarantula.

Was she forgetting something? Probably. She wasn’t even going to count the whole thing with Detective Donovan. Or think about it. If she went to bed right now, she’d probably have nightmares.

Which reminded her of something else. When she’d dropped Dorothy home earlier, after all the crazy stuff went down with Georgiana, she promised she would help her in the library. First thing in the morning so they could talk about the case.

No way was she going to make it before noon. She’d probably crash when the sun came up. What if she went to the library now and got rid of some book boxes and stuff? She could leave Dorothy a note telling her she didn’t feel so great and knew she’d have to sleep in, so she came in a little early?

That would work. She couldn’t wake up Dorothy now to explain. Besides, it was true, right?

Summer passed Mr. Bill the security guy on her way in to the main lobby. He didn’t even hear her, because he was watching a breaking news report on a tiny TV about the snake hunt down by the beach. She was tempted to stop, but if she did she might never make it to the library.

She didn’t want to see Camo again, anyway. Ever.

When she reached the hallway outside the library, the door was open.
Oh my gosh
, was that Dorothy working at two in the morning? Her friend sure was dedicated.

Oh. No. Trixie was there, too. And she had a gun.

There was no time to think. Her stupid cell was gone. And she wasn’t going back to tell Bill. He was useless. And what if Trixie killed Dorothy while she was gone?

Summer removed her tennis shoes. She knew, from years of sneaking into her dad’s house from the clubs as a kid, that bare feet were always quieter.

Very, very slowly, she moved toward the door. Neither Dorothy nor Trixie had seen her yet. If she could get the gun away from the rodeo queen’s sister, everything might be okay.

The two of them were looking at a book, but they faced the door. If Trixie glanced up, she was dead. Well, hopefully not.

She’d have to go for it. Luckily Hibiscus Pointe’s carpets were pretty thick. It was those wooden floors she had to worry about. Much worse than the marble.

“Trixie, I just don’t think that page with the map is still around here,” Dorothy said. Her friend sounded supercalm, even with a pistol pointed at her. “If it was damaged, I may have discarded it. I’m sorry. Why don’t we—”

“No, we have to find it.” Trixie waved General Luger around over Dorothy’s head. “Keep looking.”

Dorothy glanced toward the door and saw her. Summer put her fingers to her lips, and Dorothy frowned and shook her head very slightly as Trixie grabbed a folder from the desk and started frantically throwing all the papers around.

Summer’s partner didn’t want her to risk her safety.

“Wait, let’s check this page, Trixie.” Dorothy flipped a few pages in the big, open book on the desk. “We missed this one, I think. Is this the map you need?”

Trixie peered down at the book, and Dorothy gave Summer a quick nod toward the lobby. She wanted her to leave.

Sorry, Dorothy. Summer lunged through the library doorway and knocked the pistol from Trixie’s hand before she knew what hit her. Then Summer tackled the blond woman to the floor and sat on her.

“Oof,” Trixie said. She looked a little dazed. Well, that was easy, Summer thought. Maybe she should take up rodeo.

Dorothy kicked the gun away. “Grab it,” Summer said.

“No need,” her friend said. She took the big book from Lorella’s old desk, rushed to the wall, and slammed the book through the glass on the fire alarm.

The alarm actually worked. They’d have the fire department and cops here in no time. And maybe even ol’ Bill.

Too bad it couldn’t have saved Lorella. “You’re going down,” Summer told Trixie, “for the murder of Lorella Caldwell. And the attempted murder of Dorothy Westin.”

“What? That gun isn’t even loaded. Get off me, you understuffed scarecrow.” Trixie tried to give her a push. Pieces of light brown hair were sticking out from her wig now. “And y’all are crazy. I didn’t kill Miss Lorella, no, sirree, Bob. And neither did Ray. She was one nice lady.”