Permanently Booked
By Lisa Q. Mathews
The first rule of the Hibiscus Pointe book club is don’t talk about the murder
Semi-reformed party girl Summer Smythe is finally feeling at home at the Hibiscus Pointe Retirement Community. All that’s left to do is replace her late grandma’s massive book collection with a TV. Donating them to the community library is the perfect solution—until she finds the librarian buried in books. Literally.
Summer and her sleuthing partner, longtime resident Dorothy Westin, can’t imagine who would want to kill poor, dedicated Lorella. Soon, they’re on case…and the Hibiscus Pointe book club is the perfect cover for their investigation.
A murdered librarian is headline news in south Florida, and even outsiders, including an oddball professor and a pair of dueling authors, are eager to join the once-dull group. But one menacing member has Dorothy and Summer bookmarked for the morgue. If the Ladies Smythe and Westin don’t nab the killer fast, the Hibiscus Pointe book club may be reading their obituaries next.
See how Summer and Dorothy first teamed up in Cardiac Arrest, available now!
Dear Reader,
Maybe the term antihero isn’t a new one, but it does seem to be something that’s been getting a lot of buzz in the past year or so in the romance world. But what is an antihero? In my mind, the antihero is one who has to be redeemed, providing a delicious platform for character growth and emotional conflict. But even though he’s an antihero, perhaps doing morally questionable things we can’t always approve of, he still proves his love and devotion to the heroine, providing us as readers with the opportunity to enjoy seeing a real bad boy get his happy ending.
I love a great antihero, and this April I’m pleased to introduce you to Haithem, from Didn’t I Warn You by Amber Bardan. Mysterious, foreign, gorgeous, Haithem has a secret, and it’s one he’ll kill to protect until he accomplishes the goal he’s set out to achieve. Lucky for Angelina, he chooses not to kill her…but he does kidnap her, holding her against her will, using her body against her. And when he ultimately becomes incredibly possessive of her… Haithem offers Angelina a chance to feel again. But can she love the devil who’s destroying her, even as he keeps her prisoner?
Mr. Sexy Bazillionaire CEO Gregory Ryans might not be an antihero, but that doesn’t make him any less compelling. The second installment of Laura Carter’s darkly sexy Vengeful Love trilogy, Vengeful Love: Deception, is packed with tension. Adrift in the aftermath of a murder, each desperate to protect the other, Scarlett and Gregory are faced with a harsh truth: there are some things money can’t buy.
Jen Doyle debuts with her contemporary romance, Calling It. After a car accident nearly ends his career and with paparazzi surrounding his Chicago penthouse, professional baseball player Nate Hawkins can only think of one place to go: home. But when he finds his old apartment occupied by a half-naked woman wielding a baseball bat, he’s not sure what to think…except that maybe his luck has finally changed for the better.
Also with a contemporary sports romance release this month is Elizabeth Harmon and Getting It Back. If you’re a sucker for a second-chance romance, this one will be right up your alley with a former top men’s figure-skating champion who’s willing to risk everything for a comeback—except a new start with the only woman he’s ever loved.
Mia Kay keeps things suspenseful. In her romantic suspense Hard Silence, an FBI profiler chasing an interstate serial killer never expects his love life and his professional life to collide. But he gets more than he bargained for when he falls for the lovely, secretive ranch owner—who just might hold the key to his investigation.
Move a little mystery into your life! In Permanently Booked by Lisa Q. Mathews, May-December sleuthing duo Summer Smythe and Dorothy Westin are back on the case after the murder of a dedicated librarian. To lure the killer out of hiding, they revamp the once-dull Hibiscus Pointe Book Club—and discover someone’s added more than wine, cheese and book talk to the agenda.
If antiheroes are something you’re looking for more of, we hope you’ll check out Didn’t I Warn You. And maybe take a peek back at Joely Sue Burkhart’s One Cut Deeper and Two Cuts Darker. Coming in July, don’t miss badass biker Dare as he takes on his feisty heroine in Jade Chandler’s new erotic motorcycle club series, The Jericho Brotherhood.
Coming next month: The fantastic conclusion to the Vengeful Love trilogy, male/male new-adult fare to make you happy, make you sigh and make you wish the authors would write faster, and an erotic new series from Anna del Mar.
As always, until next month here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.
Happy reading!
Angela James
Editorial Director, Carina Press
Dedication
To my mom, Jeanne—aka The Mighty Quinn—librarian extraordinaire!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Excerpt from Fashionably Late by Lisa Q. Mathews
Acknowledgments
Also by Lisa Q. Mathews
About the Author
Chapter One
“Whoa, look out!”
Dorothy Westin jumped to avoid a cascade of hardcover books and colorful paperbacks a split second before they hit the carpet next to her Aerolite shoes. “Goodness, Summer. What are you up to now?”
“Oh, hey, I’m really sorry, Dorothy. Are you okay?” Summer Smythe, her twenty-something neighbor and sleuthing partner, hopped lightly down from the plastic-covered ottoman she’d been using to reach the top shelf of an enormous built-in bookcase. It was surprising the girl needed any extra height for the job, really. She was unusually tall, with a model’s build—or, more accurately, a lifeguard’s.
“I’m fine, dear.” Dorothy brushed the dust and the remnants of a particularly stubborn cobweb from her powder-pink cardigan. At her age, she was fortunate to have decent reflexes, or she might have been—literally—buried in books. And well before her time, she might add.
“I need to clear these shelves off quick, so I can knock them out,” Summer explained. “I’m getting an awesome home theater system installed.”
“I see,” Dorothy said. For this morning’s project, Summer was dressed entirely in white: tiny tank top, equally miniscule shorts, and sporty tennis shoes. Not a speck of dirt anywhere—unless one counted the carpet and Dorothy’s sweater. “Do you think that’s such a good idea right now? Without a steady paycheck, I mean?” So far, Summer’s aquatics director job at the Hibiscus Pointe Senior Living Community was strictly volunteer.
“Oh, I’m working for my dad part-time now,” Summer explained. “As a film reviewer, sort of. His assistant is going to send me clips, and all I have to do is watch them. I’m thei
r target demo, they said. Plus, Daddy will get a tax write-off on this place. It’s going to be one of his satellite offices.”
“Ah,” Dorothy murmured. She doubted Hollywood producer Syd Sloan was in dire need of additional tax breaks, but who knew? At least Summer got to live here in the lovely condo he’d recently inherited from his mother. Not exactly rent free, but still… “What are you planning to do with all these lovely books?” she asked.
Summer swept her sunny-blond side bangs from her face. “Oh, I dunno. I’ll probably just toss them in the Dumpsters behind the parking lot.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Dorothy said, horrified. “Books are precious. Why don’t you donate them to the Hibiscus Pointe Library?” In the short time since she had volunteered her services at the small residents’ library in the main building, she’d never known Lorella Caldwell, the earnest new librarian who had moved into the Hibiscus Gardens section last month, to turn down fresh reading materials.
“Okay.” Summer shrugged. “I didn’t think they could fit any more books, that’s all. There were whole boxes of them piled up outside the door last night.”
“Mmm.” Dorothy was already perusing the piles of discarded titles. “Some lovely art and travel books here,” she said. “And your grandma was a mystery fan, I see. Maybe that’s where you got that detective gene.”
“I guess. Don’t know if I have the reading gene, though.” Summer peered over Dorothy’s shoulder. “Hey, there’s a whole series of Citizen’s Arrest novels. I thought it was just a TV show.”
Dorothy smiled and handed her a few of the paperbacks. “Why don’t you try them?”“Sure, maybe later.” Summer tossed the books onto the floral couch. It, too, was covered in plastic to guard the fabric against the fierce Florida sunshine streaming through the sliding glass doors.
Sadly, the sparkling Gulf of Mexico view was wasted on Dorothy’s young friend, who was deathly afraid of heights. Summer avoided her balcony more diligently than she did the Residents Board, which was forever eager to enforce Hibiscus Pointe’s fifty-five-and-over minimum age requirement.
“My, look at these.” Dorothy reached for another group of books that had landed upside down and carefully smoothed the pages. “Your grandma must have had every one of GH Hamel’s mysteries in hardcover. She’s my very favorite author.”
“Wait, did you say Hamel?” Summer flipped over one of the volumes to check the author photo, which showed a dramatic-looking woman in a colorful head scarf. “I think that’s Dash’s mom.”
“Isn’t that something?” Dorothy said. “I didn’t make the connection.” Summer’s handsome designer friend Dash lived in the Hibiscus Villas section of single-family homes with his partner Julian and their little girl, Juliette-Margot. He’d mentioned more than once that his mother wrote mysteries.
“You should keep those for yourself, Dorothy,” Summer said. “Dash said his mom is visiting from New York this week, I think. I’m sure he could ask her to sign them for you.”
“That would be lovely,” Dorothy said. “Who knows, they might even be collector’s items someday.”
“Oh.” Summer seemed dismayed as she surveyed the collateral damage on the floor. “You think any of these others are worth some bucks? I should have been more careful.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, dear.” Dorothy glanced over at the digital clock on the coffeemaker near the breakfast bar. “It’s almost noon. Why don’t we pack all these books up and drop them by the library on our way to lunch?”
“Okay.” Summer bounded toward the door. “There’s a free buffet over at the tennis courts today. I’ll go grab one of those hotel carts downstairs.”
In less than five minutes, she was back. “Sorry, couldn’t find any. People must be moving in or something.”
Dorothy looked down at the trash bags she’d already half filled with books. Perhaps she could drag one at a time. “We’ll have to make a few trips.”
“I can manage everything at once.” Summer scooped up two bags in each hand. “Oops,” she said as the largest of them ripped, spilling books back onto the carpet. “Guess we’ll just take a couple for now.”
The wait for the elevator was interminable, as usual. Hibiscus Tower A, where Summer lived, boasted thirty-three floors. Dorothy’s condo complex, Hibiscus Gardens, had only two, but the elevator there was equally slow.
When the door finally opened, they squeezed in beside one of the missing carts, loaded sky-high with bags, boxes, and luggage. Against it leaned a sixtyish woman with a curvy, country music-star figure and white-blond hair piled heavily on top of her head.
Trixie Quattrochi.
Dorothy didn’t know her very well, as their hours hadn’t overlapped so far at the library, but her style was quite distinctive around the tropically themed Hibiscus Pointe.
“Howdy, gals.” Trixie fanned herself with a bright orange envelope. “Gotta warn you, it’s hotter than a honeymoon hotel in here.”
Dorothy nodded politely. The woman did look flushed, perhaps because she was overdressed for the heat. Today Trixie wore red cowboy boots, a Ski Montana T-shirt, and half a dozen heavy-looking turquoise and silver necklaces. A beaded leather belt adorned with a flashy, oversize silver buckle cinched her tight jeans.
“Nice boots.” Summer was trying to peel the clingy plastic trash bags from her legs.
“Why, thank you, darlin’,” Trixie said. “Gen-yoo-ine snakeskin. And this baby right here”—she tapped the enormous buckle with a long red fingernail—”is authentic, too. My sister was a rodeo queen.”
Dorothy tried hard not to stare at the woman’s Texas-shaped—and sized—diamond earrings. Cubic zirconia, more likely. “You’re not leaving Hibiscus Pointe, are you, Trixie?”
“Heck no.” Trixie patted the groaning cart. “Just goin’ on a little campin’ trip.”
“Sounds fun.” Summer’s nose twitched slightly. “So where are you headed?”
Trixie pointed to her ample chest. “Montana,” she said. “Best huntin’ and fishin’ there is. Just decided this morning to go. I’m a real spontaneous person.”
“My, and you’re taking all this with you?” Dorothy said. She’d never really been camping herself, unless one counted the little cabin in Maine where she and her late husband, Harlan, had spent a few lovely summers, long ago.
“Yep,” Trixie said. “Almost got the ol’ RV packed up.”
Dorothy doubted any motor home could hold all of Trixie’s bare necessities. But recreational vehicles were quite deluxe these days, offering all the amenities of home—or so the glossy ads in the back of Now You’re Golden magazine claimed.
“Yessiree, I’ve got everything I need.” Trixie nudged a small duffel bag with the toe of her boot. “Right here’s my granddaddy’s 30 Luger pistol. Never go anywhere without it.”
Dorothy hastily shrank against the elevator wall. She hadn’t needed to hear that.
“So, what are you gals haulin’?”
“Just bringing some books down to Lorella at the library,” Dorothy said, relieved at the change in subject.
“Uh-huh.” Trixie tapped her rodeo buckle again as she kept her eyes on the red numbers counting down the floors. “This thing is slower than a gator crossing the road in July.”
“Ground floor,” Summer announced. “Let’s go, partner.” She tossed the trash bags out ahead of her onto the faux-Oriental lobby carpet to help Dorothy off the elevator.
“Pardner? You must be a country gal.” Trixie’s bright orange lips turned up in delight as she pulled her duffel from the cart. “Where’ya from, hon?”
Summer held the elevator door open so the woman could get herself and her belongings safely out. “California.”
“Oh.” This time, it was Trixie’s nose that twitched.
“Would you like us to help you to your RV?” Dorothy asked.
“Nah.” Trixie waved them off. “But thanks anyway. My pal Ray’s gonna give me a hand.”
“Have a nice t
rip,” Summer called, over her shoulder. “Don’t run into any bears.”
Trixie waved her canvas bag. “No critter will stand a chance against me and General Luger.”
Dorothy couldn’t get to the side door of Hibiscus Towers fast enough. “I’ve never cared for guns,” she told Summer when she’d caught her breath.
“I’m a pretty good shot,” her friend said. “I won the Annie Oakley Award at this fancy summer camp my sister Joy and I went to in Jackson Hole. Our dad ditched us there while he was on one of his honeymoons. Oh, hey, look, there’s Trixie’s RV. And that must be Ray.”
Dorothy followed Summer’s gaze to the far end of the parking lot, where a reedy, greasy-haired man wearing a sleeveless olive T-shirt and a pair of battered cargo shorts smoked a cigarette outside a slightly battered motor home. The faded, swirly gold letters on the side read Happy Trailways.
“I wonder how he managed to get that through the front gate,” Dorothy said.
Ray took a last drag on his cigarette and threw it to the asphalt, halfheartedly kicking at the butt with his dirty sneaker. At least he hadn’t tossed it into the brown-tinged hedge behind him. Florida had been extremely dry lately.
“Caught ya!”
Trixie materialized again behind them, breathing heavily as she leaned on the cart. Her face was half-obscured by huge, buglike sunglasses bedazzled with rhinestones. “Hold on just a minute, gals.
“Yoohoo! I’m ready!” the woman called across the lot to Ray, nearly blasting Dorothy’s eardrum. He returned her enthusiastic wave with a slight sneer.
Permanently Booked Page 1
