Permanently Booked (24 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Summer breathed a sigh of relief as she looked around at all her friends and neighbors who had shown up to the viewing party at her condo. Everyone seemed to be having a great time.

At first those guys from Top This had refused to install the home theater system, after she’d blown off so many appointments by mistake. But then Detective Donovan had put in a word with his old coworkers, and presto! Tonight she was hosting the premiere of the
Good Night
,
Sweetheart
rough cut, courtesy of her dad.

All she had to do was write a review and get some focus group feedback from her guests. No problemo.

It was too bad Georgiana and Parker couldn’t be here, but the two of them were already back in New York. Parker had a new client now and GH Hamel had a new independent publicist-slash—social media manager. A perfect partnership.

The author couldn’t wait to get started on her new mystery novel, inspired by her recent adventures in Milano. According to Dash, she was still threatening to buy a place down here in town. Or, even better, move in with her son and his family so they could all spend some more quality time together.

Professor Bell was writing a new book, too, based on the notes from Lorella’s files. GH Hamel had advised him to trash the first one. She’d even arranged a special grant for him through Maxwell & Perkins. All he had to do was take indefinite sabbatical to a secluded cabin in central Maine. No phone, internet, or other forms of communication.

Unfortunately, Trixie and Ray had skipped bail—and no one knew where they were right now. Camo the snake was safe at Safari Sue’s, where Dr. Josie said Summer and Juliette-Margot could visit her anytime, along with Skipperdee. No, thanks.

Juliette-Margot was pretty thrilled about her new pet, though. She was now the co-owner of Guinevere—Grace’s new therapy kitty. Ernie told her she could visit whenever she wanted, too.

Jennifer and Garrett were looking cozy over in the corner, sharing a bowl of popcorn as they waited for the movie to start. And Detective Donovan wasn’t here yet, but he and Summer had a real date set up for Saturday night. Not the Tick-Tock Diner, either—a cool Brazilian place where they served all the food you could eat.

“What are you thinking about, dear?” Dorothy asked, coming up with a glass of wine. Summer noticed her sleuthing partner seemed a lot more relaxed lately, now that things had gotten back to normal after they’d solved the Caldwell case and Carrie was awaiting trial.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, with a smile. “I’m just glad everything worked out so well.”

“Have you started your reading for book club yet?” Dorothy said. “The next meeting is Friday, remember.”

“I’m on it,” Summer said. A lot of people had dropped out of the Hibiscus Pointe Book Club after GH Hamel left, but that was okay. Her sleuthing partner was happy that the smaller club meant they could focus more on books. And Summer was happy because there was more free food to go around. Plus, Gladys was thrilled to be the newly appointed events coordinator, which would hopefully distract her from pining over the loss of Professor Boring.

“You know, I couldn’t help noticing your lovely new bookcase,” Dorothy said. “And look at all those titles from the Lorella Caldwell Memorial Library. I guess you’ll be spending a lot more time reading now.”

Summer grinned. “Maybe. But I’d still rather solve a few real-life mysteries. What do you say, partner?”

* * * * *

To purchase and read more books by
Lisa Q. Mathews, please visit Lisa’s website
here
or
at
http://www.lisaqmathews.com/#!books/cfvg

Look for
FASHIONABLY LATE
, the next book in
The Ladies Smythe & Westin series,
coming from Lisa Q. Mathews
and Carina Press in September 2016.

Chapter One

“You are going to
love
this, Dorothy,” Summer Smythe said as she pulled open the heavy glass door of Waterman’s on the Bay. “Much better than that crazy place I took us to last week, I swear.”

“It wasn’t your fault, dear.” Dorothy Westin straightened her sunhat and stepped into the bright, high-ceilinged foyer of Milano’s newest dining establishment. Her young friend and sleuthing partner, a relative newcomer to their Southwest Florida town, hadn’t realized that Dorothy would be the most senior patron at Senoritas.

By, say, half a century.

Dorothy liked to think of herself as young at heart but the pounding music, taco bar, and noontime Margaritas were a bit much. She might have steered them elsewhere, of course, if she paid better attention to the local social scene.

“Are you ladies here for our fashion show?” A deeply tanned woman in a sleeveless black tunic and long black skirt patterned with enormous white flowers looked up from the hostess stand.

“We didn’t know about the fashion show,” Dorothy said. “But we do have a reservation for lunch.”

“It’s under ‘Sloan.’” Summer reappeared from the alcove she’d ducked into to check her lipstick in the gold-trimmed mirror. She always used her film producer father’s name for reservations, Dorothy knew. Apparently that strategy worked as well in Milano as Los Angeles.

A whisper of a wrinkle threatened the hostess’s forehead. “You’re late,” she said.

“The reservation was for noon,” Dorothy said. “It’s only five-past.”

“No,
this
one is late
.
” The woman jerked her highly-coiffed head toward Summer. “All the models were supposed to be here at ten for last-minute fittings, young lady. At least your hair and makeup are done. We’ll have to see if Jeanette can still use you.”

“Oh, I’m not a model. Trust me on that.” Summer flashed her usual sunny grin and tucked a strand of chin-length blond hair behind her ear, revealing a perfect-diamond post. “My friend Esmé is with the show. We’re getting that last table by the window, right?”

The hostess’s lips pursed into a tight, red stop sign. “There’s no one here by that name.”

“I’m afraid you are mistaken.” Dorothy dropped her voice. “She’s headed this way right now.”

Esmé—Dorothy wasn’t sure of her last name, although she’d met her several times—hit the foyer like a wave crashing Benton Beach. The dark-haired girl wore slim black jeans, beaded gold sandals, and a black tee-shirt with GET MIF-D: Milano Institute of Fashion and Design printed across the front in bold white letters. “Am I glad to see you,” she said to Summer, as she smiled and waggled her fingers at Dorothy in greeting. “We just had a major issue backstage and I could really use your help.”

“I was about to seat these ladies in the dining room.” The hostess looked considerably put out now.

“No problem, go ahead,” Esmé said, with a wave. “I’ll follow you guys in. But I can only stay for a minute or two, because I have to get back to work.”

Dorothy made an extra effort to keep up with the hostess, who snapped two leather-bound menus from a linen-lined wicker basket and swished through the arched doorway into the crowded main dining room.

It seemed like a long hike toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, which streamed dazzling sunshine, and offered a gorgeous view of Milano Bay. A flotilla of boats—including several impressively-sized yachts—lazily criss-crossed the waves, and a long promenade crowded with early-afternoon strollers snaked toward a cheerfully-striped pavilion that advertised an art show.

“This is perfect, thank you,” Dorothy said, as the hostess deposited the menus on their table with exaggerated care.

Summer jumped to pull out a blue leather chair for her, as the hostess was oddly hovering.

“I see you’re from Hibiscus Pointe.” The hostess nodded toward the small gold tag with the HP Senior Living Community logo attached to the zipper pull on Dorothy’s handbag. “How lovely. We have quite a contingent from the Pointe today. Are you sure you don’t want a table across the room, closer to those ladies?”

Dear heavens, no, Dorothy thought. The last thing she needed was to be anywhere near that busybody loudmouth Gladys Rumway and her friends. She saw enough of all of them back at the complex, thank you very much.

“No thanks.” Summer dropped into her chair and positioned the strap of her large designer tote firmly over the back. “My friend is a serious birdwatcher. See?” She motioned toward a highly overweight pelican, strutting the boardwalk in search of stray croissant crumbs. “And those crazy gulls dive bombing everyone out there? She just loves them.”

Dorothy raised an eyebrow. She rather preferred the graceful snowy egrets and tiny, chipper sandpipers.

“Jeez, she sure didn’t want us sitting here,” Summer said, when the hostess finally left. “Who else was she going to seat here, the Queen of Milano? There’s another empty table right behind us.”

“I may be able to answer that,” Esmé said. She leaned closer to Dorothy and Summer. “Zoe Z is in the house.”

“You’re kidding.” Summer craned her neck. “Where?”

Esmé ran a hand over her loose French braid, and sighed. “Remember that backstage issue I mentioned? She should be showing up here any second, the brat.”

“Who on earth is Zoe Z?” Dorothy asked.

“A celebrity train wreck,” Summer said. “She was ZeeZee’s daughter on that reality show
Life with ZeeZee
.”

“Never heard of it,” Dorothy murmured. It was hard to believe that a young TV star would be interested in an older ladies’ luncheon and fashion show.

“And after she got out of rehab Zoe Z made the worst pop album ever,” Summer went on. “So when her big music career didn’t work out, she decided she wanted to be a serious actress. She actually bugged my dad to cast her in his next movie, but he said no way. Huge insurance liability.”

“Well, I need you to watch her for me,” Esmé said. “Zoe happens to be my cousin.”

Summer stared at her friend. “Are you serious?”

“Yep. I’ll explain later,” Esmé said. “She has her manager with her, who’s an equal pain and totally useless. But I promised Aunt ZeeZee I’d look out for Zoe while she’s here in Milano. And I think maybe she’s in town to see you.”

“Me?” Summer said. “She’s, like, nineteen. I’m ten years older than her. I mean, seven. And how come you never told me you’re related to ZeeZee?”

Esmé shrugged. “Never came up, girl. And being linked to Zoe in any way isn’t exactly something to be proud of. All I know is, she’s asked me about you a zillion times.”

“Perhaps Zoe is hoping you’ll put in a good word for her with your father.” Dorothy took a sip from the glass of ice water a harried waitress had just placed in front of her.

“Ha,” Summer said. “Like Syd ever listens to me.”

Dorothy was quite sure he did listen—possibly more, it seemed, than he heeded the concerns of Summer’s overly-sensible sister, Joy, or his many former wives. It sounded as if the young women’s adventurous mother, Harmony Moon Smythe-Sloan, was mostly out of the picture—according to Summer, in any case.

“Esmé, what are you doing out here?” A sharp-chinned, red-haired woman in a long, linen wrap skirt came up beside Summer’s friend. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Backstage. Now. The other interns are useless.”

“Sorry,” Esmé said. “There was a mix-up with these guests’ reservations.”

“All under control. Esmé fixed everything.” Summer threw the woman a mega-watt smile. “What exactly is it we need to do, if there are any more, uh, issues?” she asked her friend.

“Just keep an eye out,” Esmé said over her shoulder, as her employer pulled her away. “We’ll talk later.”

“I have a really bad feeling about this,” Summer said to Dorothy, when the two women had disappeared. “I’m a terrible baby-sitter, remember?”

“That’s not true,” Dorothy said. “You do a wonderful job with your friend Dash’s daughter, Juliette-Margot.”

“Yeah, but she’s only six,” Summer said. “And she’s a good kid. If this Zoe Z girl is anything like she was on TV—and what I’ve heard about her—she’s impossible to deal with.”

Dorothy glanced toward the entrance. A slender, raven-haired teen was crossing the dining room in a skintight, daffodil-lace dress, without the slightest wobble of her canary yellow, sky-high heels. “Well, dear, we’re about to find out.”

* * *

Summer was careful not to turn around or even look up from her menu as Zoe Z and her manager—Aleesha Berman, if she remembered right—seated themselves directly behind her and Dorothy. Apparently those two hadn’t wanted the hostess to escort them, and wreck Zoe’s big entrance.

They’d probably stuffed the hostess in that giant vase in the foyer. And no one was paying much attention to Zoe, anyway. Probably not a lot of
Life with ZeeZee
or tabloid fans in here.

There wasn’t any time to eavesdrop on their new neighbors, though, because a silver-haired woman draped head-to-toe in silver lame appeared at the front of the room.

Maybe a slight overkill on the bling, Summer thought. For lunch, anyway. And anyone over thirty-five.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” the woman greeted the crowd through her wireless headset. “I’m Martha Kirk, president of the Milano Women’s League, and I’d like to welcome you all here to Waterman’s on the Bay for our first annual Charisma on the Catwalk Lunch and Fashion Show.”

The attendees all clapped politely.

“And I am thrilled to introduce you to our celebrity designer, Roland Cho, who created the fabulously unique pieces of jewelry our models are wearing this afternoon. Roland, can you step out here, please?”

The crowd burst into even more enthusiastic applause as a very short, spikey-haired man in his early thirties—white jeans, white turtleneck, purple jacket—emerged through the velvet curtain that had been set up to create a backstage area.

Roland smiled and waved, bowing a few times to his fans. Across the room, Gladys Rumway split the air with a screeching wolf whistle. “Really?” Summer whispered to Dorothy. Her friend just shook her head.

Summer was glad she’d worn something fairly conservative. With this crowd, you couldn’t go wrong with a flowered sundress, strappy sandals, and pearls. Dorothy looked great as usual, in a coral-knit twinset and pleated white skirt. Summer had almost suggested that she lose the thick-heeled Aerolite pumps, maybe, but at least her friend was comfortable. Besides, no one wore really sweet shoes when they were seventy-eight.

Martha Kirk droned on, introducing a bunch of local boutique owners. Summer hadn’t heard of any of them. She’d been in Milano three whole months, so she’d figured she knew all the retail options. The decent ones, anyway.

This fashion show would probably be a snooze, but that was okay. She wasn’t here for herself. She’d brought Dorothy here to get them out of Hibiscus Pointe for a fun afternoon.

Things had been a little boring lately. She and her sleuthing partner had been so busy earlier, investigating a couple of murders, that it seemed super quiet now, back at the complex. Not that she wasn’t working hard—well, sort of—at her volunteer job as Hibiscus Pointe Aquatics Director. It kept the Residents Board off her case for living in her late Grandma Sloan’s condo.

Why anyone cared that she was under age fifty-five, she had no clue. What a stupid rule. Her dad owned the place now, and she paid her rent to him on time each month, didn’t she? Well, so far, her sister Joy had. But that was going to change soon, when she got a decent, paying job.

“So let’s give a big round of applause for our hardworking models,” the silver-bullet MC said, as Summer tuned back in. “They’ll be stopping by your tables before the show begins, handing out goodies from our sponsors.”

Goodies? Summer hoped Martha K. meant cookies or something. She hadn’t had breakfast yet since she’d had to get up way earlier than usual, and she was starving.

She was about to ask Dorothy if she wanted her to go get their waitress, when she felt a sharp tap on her shoulder. “Hey, you know me, right?” a nasally voice said behind her.

Summer turned. “No. Sorry.”

“Of course you do,” Zoe Z said, flipping her shiny dark hair. “
Life with ZeeZee?
Hello?”

“Nope,” Summer said. Dorothy raised an eyebrow at her over her menu.

Okay, so maybe she was being a little harsh. The kid was related to Esmé, and she’d promised to keep an eye on her. “Oh, yeah, right,” she said. “Great show.”

“Well, your dad definitely knows me,” Zoe said. “He offered me a major role in
The Girl on the Ledge
. I haven’t decided whether I’ll take it yet.”

Aleesha, Zoe’s manager, gave her client a not-now look. “Congratulations,” Summer said.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” A gorgeous older woman, tall and graceful in a long silk dress that matched the colors of the bay through the window, stopped at their table. She carried a shallow white basket filled with cards, perfume samples, and those little closet sachets. “Won’t you please take a card with these lovely gifts, courtesy of Monique’s Boutique?”

Ugh. Monique could have come up with a better name for her store.

“Why thank you, I believe I will,” Dorothy said, reaching into the basket.

The model glanced over her shoulder. “I see you have a Hibiscus Pointe tag on your purse,” she said. “My name is Angelica Downs, and I just moved my ninety-five-year-old mother into Hibiscus Glen.”

The memory care unit on the other side of the complex from her and Dorothy, Summer remembered. She’d never been over there.

“It’s a very nice facility,” Dorothy said. “I have several friends who...”

“Her name is Madeline, and I’m quite worried about her,” Angelica said. Why was she talking so fast? Summer wondered. She sounded really nervous.

“Angelica, let’s move along, please. The other tables are waiting, and we need to get the show on the road. Literally.”

Ugh. Esmé’s boss again. Didn’t she have anything better to do than chase people back to work? What was her problem?