Fashionably Late (The Ladies Smythe & Westin)

by Lisa Q. Mathews

  Summer let out her breath in relief and met his bright blue eyes with her own. “Deal.”

  As if on cue, the waiter reappeared to check the champagne bottle in the bucket of what was now completely melted ice. “Coffee, or digestifs?” he asked.

  “We could do a nightcap at my place,” Summer said to Shane. “I mean, if you want to.”

  He smiled, showing his dimple again, and turned to the waiter. “Just the check, please.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Well, it’s hard to believe, but here we are.” Detective Donovan reached over and tucked a stray strand of Summer’s hair behind her ear.

  “I know,” Summer said. “Finally.” This was turning out to be one of the best nights ever. Just her and Shane, together on the couch in her condo. They’d both left their phones on the counter, so there would be—hopefully—no texts from the Milano PD, no demanding calls from Nana, no Zoe emergency alerts from Esmé.

  And she’d thought this date couldn’t get any better, she told herself, as he poured her another glass of Pinot Grigio. It was a good thing she’d found that dusty, open bottle of bourbon for him in the back of Grandma Sloan’s kitchen cupboard. So far he’d only had a sip or two, but apparently the stuff never went bad.

  The only thing that wasn’t perfect right now was the extreme tightness of her dress. Maybe she’d overdone it with that dessert. “I’ll be right back, I promise,” Summer said, getting up. “I’m just going to slip into something a little more comfortable, okay?”

  Oh, wow. Had she really said that? It was the lamest movie seduction line ever, and it wasn’t even what she’d meant. Or maybe it was, actually, but still. She didn’t need to be super obvious or anything.

  “Sure,” he said, with a grin. “I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned back against the cushions and loosened his tie. “Play Bolero,” he instructed Summer’s virtual assistant.

  “Good luck with that,” she called over her shoulder, as she headed into her bedroom and closed the door.

  What to wear? she wondered, flipping on the light. She didn’t own any cute nighties—or any nighties at all, actually. Just a few oversized tees she wouldn’t even use as pool cover ups and a bunch of camisoles with boxer briefs. Oh, and a few pairs of cut off sweats and yoga pants. None of them were right for a late-night date. She should have just stuck it out in the dress.

  She did have a cool, silky kimono, though. That’ll work, she thought, heading toward her closet. It only took her a second to find, since it was almost always on the floor. The material was so slippery it never stayed on the hanger.

  Oh, wait. Should she make the bed? It was still piled sky-high with all the clothes she’d tossed on it when she was trying on outfits for tonight’s date. Well, that was embarrassing. She’d just hide those under the bed for now. The closet already looked super messy, and the doors didn’t close.

  She threw the whole jumble of dresses and skirts and blouses and bags and belts and shoes on the floor, and started kicking them under the box spring as fast as she could. Shane was going to wonder what was taking so long.

  “Ow!” a raspy voice said. “Quit it.”

  Summer gave a muffled half-scream. Someone was hiding in her bedroom. She grabbed the nearest weapon she could find—a wire brush—from the carpet and peered under the bed.

  Two pink, watery eyes stared back at her, under a messy mop of bright blue hair.

  “Frankie!” she said, in a sharp whisper. “What the freaking freak are you doing here?”

  “What do you think?” Frankie hissed. “Now shut up, or that detective guy will be in here asking a lotta questions.”

  “I have questions,” Summer said. “And you are going to answer them. But not right this second.”

  “Hey, is everything okay?” Detective Donovan called from outside the door.

  “Just fine,” Summer called back. “I’ll be right out.” She leaned closer to Frankie’s face, but immediately drew back in disgust. Her breath smelled suspiciously like Grandma Sloan’s bourbon. “You stay right here,” she said. “Don’t you dare move, or we’re both cooked. And don’t even think of making another break for it, because he’s got a gun.”

  She didn’t know that, for sure, since he was off-duty, but it sounded good.

  “I came here to talk to you,” Frankie said. “I need your help, Goddaughter.”

  “Are you in any kind of danger? Is someone after you?” Summer asked.

  “No,” Frankie said. “Well, maybe.”

  Summer threw up her hands in frustration. “You’re unbelievable.” No wonder Angelica had stuck her in Hibiscus Glen. And why would Violet want to take her home to Vero Beach? “Remember, one peep and it’s straight back to you-know-where.”

  No answer. She’d take that as a yes.

  Sitting up, she crossed her arms and leaned against the mattress, fuming. Now what? She’d promised Shane she’d tell him the minute there were any developments in the case. And Angelica Downs’s formerly-jailbird, currently-AWOL mother hiding under her bed probably fit the bill.

  But she and Dorothy needed to grill Frankie before they handed her over to anyone. It wasn’t like she was wanted for a crime or anything. It was only Hibiscus Glen that wanted her back, for legal reasons. And she might be the only person who could help them crack her daughter’s murder. Unless she was somehow the murderer.

  A long shot, but then they would really be in trouble.

  Well, she couldn’t stay in here forever. Might as well get this over with. Frankie Downs had ruined her life.

  She tightened the belt of her kimono, did a quick check of her reflection in the mirror over the dresser, and flipped off the light on her way out.

  Detective Donovan was waiting for her not far from the door. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” he said, with a frown. “For a second I thought I heard something going on in there.”

  “Oh, I left my grandma’s little TV on when I went out tonight,” Summer said. “I do that a lot. To, uh, scare off burglars.”

  Well, that sounded totally paranoid. But he seemed to buy it. In fact, it looked as if he might even be impressed with her preventative crime skills. “Well, nothing to worry about tonight,” he said, gathering her into his arms.

  He felt so good. And smelled so good. Maybe just a few minutes…

  No, Summer told herself firmly. Frankie was back there in her bedroom, listening. Ugh. And she doubted the blue-haired romance wrecker would stay put for long, anyway.

  “I am so sorry,” she said, pulling away. “But I can’t do this right now. I feel super sick.”

  “What?” He looked concerned. “Hey, it’s okay. I understand if you think we’re moving too fast here. We haven’t seen much of each other lately and…”

  “It’s not that at all,” Summer broke in. “I swear. I think I have food poisoning or something.” She clutched her stomach. “Or maybe I ate too much. But anyway, you should go. Really soon.”

  “Well, okay, sure.” Shane headed over to pick up his blazer from the couch. Now she couldn’t tell whether he was mad or hurt or didn’t care at all. “I can stay here on the couch, if you want, in case you need me to drive you to Urgent Care or something later.”

  Summer felt a real pang in her gut now. That was so sweet of him. And she was such a jerk for lying to the poor guy. “No, no,” she said. “I’ll be fine. I just need a little quality time with the porcelain goddess, I think.”

  Oh, no. Why had she said that? She was sending him off with the worst image ever.

  “We’ll do this again sometime,” he said as he left, giving her a tiny kiss on the top of her head.

  “Definitely,” Summer said, swallowing hard. She knew the drill, because she’d used that line herself in plenty of awkward situations.

  She’d never hear from Detective Donovan again.

  *

  “Summer. And… Frankie. Well, this is a surprise.” Dorothy stepped aside to let them into her condo, feeling suddenly wide a
wake at eleven PM.

  “Sorry if we woke you up,” Summer said, heading straight to the breakfast bar with a bulging plastic bag from the twenty-four-hour SuperMart.

  “I was just reading,” Dorothy fibbed. She’d tried, but mostly she’d been turning today’s incident with Violet over and over in her mind. Had she overreacted or had she actually been in danger? She still couldn’t decide.

  “Nice to see you, Dorothy,” Frankie said. “Thanks for putting me up.”

  Dorothy raised an eyebrow at Summer. “I’m staying, too,” Summer said. “It’ll be a real fun sleepover party. Since I missed mine and all, thanks to our buddy here.”

  “I see,” Dorothy said, raising an eyebrow before she could stop herself. “I’m sorry to hear that. Frankie, where on earth have you been?”

  “Nowhere,” Frankie said. “I’ve been lying low over at my daughter’s place at Flamingo Pass. Or I was, anyway, ’til a cleaning crew came in and cleared out every last crumb and caboodle. I found an empty condo in another building, but now new people are moving in there, blast them. I saw you checking out Angelica’s place with Violet. Is she trying to sell it to you?”

  “I’m not interested,” Dorothy said, trying to hide her annoyance. Good heavens, had Frankie been lurking somewhere in that condo, as well? “Would you two like something to eat?” she added, to change the subject. “Ernie and I stopped off at the Brooklyn Deli tonight and I have all kinds of leftovers. Everything’s in the fridge.”

  Frankie zoomed straight over and threw open the door.

  “So Ernie stopped by Flamingo Pass, huh?” Summer asked. “I thought he might, after I gave him a little hint.”

  “Mmm,” Dorothy said. “I figured as much.”

  “Well, how did things go with you-know-who?”

  “Let’s discuss that later,” Dorothy said. “Right now…” She nodded toward Frankie, who was busy opening and sniffing containers.

  “Okay,” Summer said. “We brought some snacks in the bag, just in case. And a nice box of hair dye.”

  “Hair dye?” Dorothy said, taken back. “For whom?”

  Summer plopped down on a bar stool and reached into the bag. “Ta-da! You like red, don’t you?” she called to Frankie, who was still investigating the food opportunities. “You’ll look just like Peggy Donovan.”

  There was a muffled curse from the fridge, and Summer shrugged. “We picked all the stuff up on the way over here,” she said. “I figured red would cover the blue better. And I got some hair-cutting scissors, too. Frankie here’s going to have a whole new style.”

  “I don’t want a new style,” Frankie said, slapping a carton marked “Fried Clams” on the counter beside Summer and hoisting herself up onto a stool.

  “Well, you have no choice,” Summer said. “Because we’re going to have to hide you in plain sight.” She reached into the bag again. “And here’s the perfect thing. A pair of those huge, dark glasses you wear after eye surgery. They’ll cover most of your face and no one will question you wearing them in the daytime.”

  “I am not wearing those,” Frankie said, popping open a container of tartar sauce.

  “Yep, you are.” Summer turned to Dorothy. “Maybe we should get her a wheelchair from the activities room, too. Then she won’t look so tiny. And it’ll be easier for us to keep track of her if we tie her in.”

  “Is anyone listening to me here?” Frankie said. “No. No. No.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a bad idea, actually,” Dorothy said. Summer had clearly thought all of this out. She seemed completely re-energized for the investigation, at this late hour. Hopefully her date hadn’t been entirely cut short by Frankie’s unexpected appearance, but by the way her friend was violently tearing open the contents of the hair-coloring box, she suspected that was the case.

  “I’ll make some tea, and why don’t we all move to the dining room table?” Dorothy said. “That way we can really talk. Frankie, we have some questions for you. We need your help,” she corrected quickly, as Angelica’s mother scowled. “And why is it, exactly, that you suddenly showed up at Summer’s condo? Everyone has been searching for you, I’m sure you know.”

  “You’re the most wanted woman in Hibiscus Pointe,” Summer said, pulling back the lid on a plastic tube of chips. “Maybe even all of Milano.”

  Frankie looked pleased. “Not the first time I’ve had people looking for me. Been a while, though.”

  Was she proud of being caught heisting jewelry and put in jail? Dorothy wondered. Well, that was certainly a misguided point of view.

  Once they were all settled at the table, she wasn’t sure where to begin. “Okay, Frankie, so why did you run off like that at the Majesty fashion show? We’re on the same team.” She hoped so, anyway.

  “You ditched me, too,” Summer added. “I thought the three of us had a circle of trust thing going.”

  “I don’t trust anyone,” Frankie said, wiping her hands on the bottom edge of Dorothy’s good tablecloth. “And you shouldn’t either, Goddaughter. Look, here’s the deal. You two are nice ladies and all, and I’m sure you’re real good detectives, but I’m running out of time here. I know who killed my angel.”

  “Who?” Dorothy and Summer both said at once.

  “A rotten piece of dung who screwed me over once. I’m not gonna tell you who or you might scare the person off.”

  “Frankie, Summer and I are very discreet. Aren’t we, dear?” Dorothy turned to her friend, but she was already headed toward the bedroom, reading something on her phone.

  “Sorry, I’ll be right back,” Summer called. “This is important,” she added, before she closed the door.

  Well. That was surprising, even if she had a good reason to excuse herself. How unlike her, Dorothy thought. Things must have gone very badly indeed with Detective Donovan.

  Maybe she should try another tack with their guest. “Frankie,” she said, clearing her throat. “Why did Angelica check you in to Hibiscus Glen? It seems to me that your memory is perfectly clear.”

  “Oh, it is,” Frankie said. “Trust me on that.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Angelica stuck me in that heck hole because she was afraid I might do something she’d regret. She told me it was for my own safety and that I wouldn’t have to stay long. Just until the danger—well, that’s what she called it, anyway—was past.” She stopped, and looked expectantly at Dorothy.

  What was Frankie talking about? “Go on,” she said, encouragingly.

  Frankie shrugged. “That’s all there was to it, really. I may have played up the crazy a little for the staff, just for fun. I mean, that place was even more boring than the pen.”

  Dorothy found that hard to believe. “So this danger, then,” she said slowly, “was about something Angelica thought you might do? Not something she was worried might be done to you by someone else?”

  Frankie gave a dismissive wave. “Don’t kid yourself. If the person found out I was after them, they’d try to get to me first.”

  “But the person had no idea you were interested in some kind of revenge?” Dorothy asked. What on earth had Frankie been planning? No wonder Angelica had been so worried about her.

  “They should have,” Frankie said. “They knew they had it coming. Do you have anything for dessert?”

  Dorothy rose from the table to retrieve whatever was left of the marshmallow cookies. What were they going to do with this woman? Perhaps she should have Summer call Hibiscus Glen from the bedroom right now.

  Where was she, anyway? Her conversation with the detective was lasting quite some time.

  She placed a flowered plate with four cookies in front of Frankie and took one for herself. “These have coconut,” Frankie said, wrinkling her nose. “I hate that stringy stuff.”

  Thankfully, Summer emerged from the bedroom and rejoined them at the table. “Sorry about that, guys,” she said, reaching for a cookie. “So, Frankie, you said you needed help and you wouldn’t tell me why on the way o
ver here. What exactly do you want from us? Maybe we can make a deal.”

  “I heard you’re having a fashion show here at Hibiscus Pointe,” she said. “A big one. And I want in.”

  “Do you mean, a ticket?” Dorothy asked. “All residents—and you’re technically living at the Glen, or should be, anyway—can participate or attend free of charge.”

  “I was thinking of being a model, see,” Frankie said. “You know, to honor my late angel in the mother-daughter fashion show. She’ll be there with me in spirit.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Summer said. “Modeling isn’t fun, you know. It’s harder than it looks.”

  Frankie shrugged. “Hey, if Peggy and that Gladys Rumway broad can twirl around out there, I can, too. I want the whole experience. The works. And don’t worry, I’ll do a great job.”

  My, Dorothy thought. This wasn’t exactly the request she’d expected. Beside her, Summer seemed skeptical, gazing at Frankie with narrowed eyes. “Well, I’m sure that could be arranged, Frankie, but the show is on Tuesday,” Dorothy said. “We’d need to get you back to the Glen right away…”

  “No,” Frankie said. “I’m going to get this new hairstyle and fancy glasses, right? No one will recognize me. I can be your visiting cousin from Reno or something.”

  “The Reno thing would be a dead giveaway,” Summer said. “But it’s a crazy plan, anyway. Forget it.”

  Frankie’s lip suddenly trembled. “I miss my Angelica,” she said, her eyes filling with fat tears.

  Dorothy stood up again, and glanced at Summer. “All right, Frankie, we’ll see what we can do. But in return, you must promise not to disappear again for the next seventy-two hours. It’s for your own safety.”

  “Okay, okay,” Frankie said.

  “We’ll be watching you every minute,” Dorothy went on, feeling as if she were addressing a child. “Much more closely than before. You’ll need to be on your very best behavior, too. No wisecracks, no pick-up poker games.”

  “Better yet, just keep your mouth shut the whole time,” Summer added. “The minute you open it, people will know it’s you.”