Permanently Booked

by Lisa Q. Mathews

  The library was eerily quiet, and Dorothy felt a bit unnerved, even with the morning sun streaming under the door from the hallway window beyond it. Perhaps she should have left the door open, but she thought it best that no passersby would be reminded of the sad state of the library until she had remedied the chaos as best she could.

  At least the cleaning staff had removed those awful, telltale bloodstains from the carpet and the floor. And someone had replaced Lorella’s broken chair with one of the elegant guest chairs from Jennifer’s office.

  She and Harlan had sat in those very chairs on their first visit to Hibiscus Pointe, and signed the papers with their intent to buy a condo. Initially, she’d been hesitant, but Harlan had insisted they move to a senior community. It would be so much easier on her, he’d gently pointed out. Better for her health, with all kinds of amenities.

  And fewer memories of Maddie.

  Sometimes, when she was alone in quiet places, she felt they both were with her. And this time, she also sensed the presence of someone else. Lorella Caldwell, silently compelling her to make things right—and bring her killer to justice.

  The police had already removed the papers and clutter from the librarian’s desk. All that remained was a single, folded piece of paper. How odd. They couldn’t possibly have missed it.

  Frowning, Dorothy approached the desk with a soft cloth and a spray cleaner.

  It was a note. And it was addressed to Dorothy Westin.

  Angels of mercy, as her mother used to say. Had Lorella left her a message, before she died? A task she needed done in the library, perhaps? A clue to her killer? Or…please no…maybe even a note from the murderer him—or herself?

  Dorothy tried to ignore the sudden, erratic pulsing in the center of her chest. Carefully, she placed the spray bottle down on the desk and slowly unfolded the page.

  The first thing she noticed was the proliferation of exclamation points. So very many of them, embellished with small, fat circles at the base of each. And a heart, and a smiley face.

  Neither Lorella nor a coldhearted killer seemed likely to use that type of personal expression.

  Hey, Dorothy!!

  Can’t wait for tonight at Milano Book & Bar!! Guess what? WMLO is coming back to do a segment for the 11 o’clock news!!! Amazing press for the book club, huh? (And me and Georgiana!!)

  See you there!!!!!!!!

  Hugs, Carrie

  Dorothy dropped down into Jennifer’s spare chair. Her heart was still pounding, but this time in anger. How had Carrie gotten into the library? As far as she knew, only she and Jennifer were supposed to have keys—although a locked door never stopped some people. Like Summer, for instance, with her plastic card.

  She’d have to talk to Security about changing that lock.

  The door opened, startling Dorothy yet again. It was just Parker, which made her feel a little silly. She really was extra jumpy, after finding poor Lorella the other day.

  “Oh, hi, Dorothy.” Carrie’s publicist seemed surprised to see her, too. “I didn’t think anyone would be in here so soon. After what happened, I mean. I was just on my way to the pool, and I thought I’d pick up a good beach read.”

  “Hello, Parker,” Dorothy said. The svelte young woman indeed seemed ready for a dip, judging from the lacy black pool cover-up she wore over her emerald-blue maillot. “I’m sure we have something that might fit the bill.” She nodded toward an assortment of paperbacks in the large wicker basket near the door. “You might look through that first. There’s women’s fiction, romances, cozy mysteries, and even a Western or two, I believe. Feel free to take a few. No need to check them out.”

  “Thanks.” Parker headed toward the basket. “I usually read on my phone, but I left it back at the condo, right on the counter, so Carrie couldn’t reach me. I definitely need something to get rid of stress.”

  “Ah,” Dorothy said. “I’ve noticed that you are quite a busy young woman.”

  Parker quickly selected a thick paperback of either fantasy or science fiction—Game of Drones, Dorothy noted, so it was difficult to tell—and tucked it into her designer tote. “Oh, it’s not the work I mind,” she said. “It’s Carrie. She’s the craziest, most demanding client I’ve ever had, and you know what? Between you and me, I’m not really a big fan. Of her or her book.”

  Goodness, Dorothy thought. She’d never heard Parker say very much, and she certainly hadn’t expected that information. “My, that’s a shame,” she said carefully. “Is Carrie aware of how you feel?”

  Parker shrugged. “I doubt it. And I really don’t care, to tell you the truth. I’d quit, but we have a contract, and I don’t have any other jobs lined up yet. Carrie paid me extra to work with her exclusively for three months. But I didn’t mean twenty-four-seven. It’s a nightmare.”

  “Perhaps if you spoke to her about a few ways to improve your professional relationship so it works better for you…” Dorothy let her voice trail off delicately.

  “Maybe,” Parker said, with a sigh. “I hate to bring up the whole thing and risk setting her off, especially since we’re roomies right now. I just have to deal with it. But I swear, I could just kill that girl.” She headed for the door.

  “Have a nice morning at the pool, dear,” Dorothy called after her. Perhaps the publicist was being overly dramatic, but Dorothy understood Parker’s frustration. In all truthfulness, Carrie Dunbar was a bit much to take, even in small doses—with Tylenol, every four hours.

  Dorothy turned her attention back to tidying the librarian’s desk. With luck, she could get to the pool herself, in an hour or two, and do a few laps. She usually preferred an early-morning swim, but with so much to do over the last few days, she’d sadly neglected her workout routine.

  Chair yoga was listed for that afternoon on the daily activities board in the main lobby, but really, she might better spend her time on a cut-and-style in the Hibiscus Pointe Salon. And maybe a nap.

  Dorothy had just finished flipping the page to the correct date on Lorella’s quote-a-day desk calendar when she suddenly identified the light, not entirely unpleasant lingering scent beneath the pungent tone of vanilla air freshener.

  Pipe tobacco.

  Several gentlemen at Hibiscus Pointe smoked pipes, of course. But this particular blend was quite distinctive, with not so subtle tones of pine, leather, and something else. Chocolate, perhaps.

  Hadn’t she noticed a touch of that very same scent just yesterday, at the book club reception?

  Yes, when she’d been chatting with Georgiana, and Professor Charles Bell had scurried up and tried to give the author a bulky manila package.

  How recently had he visited the Hibiscus Pointe Library—and why?

  *

  Summer tried to hold the dry cleaning bag with her fuchsia tube dress inside as far as possible from her body as she hurried along Fourth Avenue downtown. She was already half-drenched from the extra-intense noon heat and she didn’t need her outfit for the book signing party tonight getting all glommed up, too.

  Too bad the Fresh in a Flash Dry Cleaners had refused to deliver overnight. Their name was totally false advertising. In LA, round-the-clock service was never a problem. Here in Milano, it seemed like any kind of service was a problem.

  Summer stopped short at the Decker & Meyers store. She hardly ever gave the place a second look, since mostly older ladies shopped there. But every once in a while they had something cool. For the visiting granddaughters, maybe.

  Plus, she’d applied online for a job two weeks ago. Working retail had its advantages, since it usually involved an employee discount. But she’d never heard back.

  Right now, though, the cutest pair of hot-pink retro stilettos—on sale—were calling to her from the window. She had other pink shoes, of course, but it just so happened she’d spilled red wine on the satin pair she’d planned to wear tonight.

  She stepped toward the door and a tanned, muscled arm reached in front of her to open it.

  “Looks li
ke you have your hands full.”

  Detective Donovan, of all people. And right behind him, his sharp-eyed, red-haired grandma in her wheelchair. Fabulous.

  “Yeah, lots of errands,” she said. Should she just turn around and leave now? She really didn’t want to shop for pricey-even-with-the-discount shoes in front of him. Or his grandma. “Guess we had the same idea.”

  Well, that sounded stupid. Obviously, the guy wasn’t shopping for women’s shoes. But he had to know what she meant.

  “You’ll need to check that bag, Ms. Sloan.” Olga, the pointy-nosed guest services coordinator, came up and held out her arms as the three of them entered the store.

  So okay, she’d stopped by here once to sign up for the personal shopper service, before she realized this wasn’t a very happening store. She always used her other last name—her dad’s—for stuff like that. It saved a lot of time. And money.

  “Guess you’re a regular here.” Detective Donovan grinned at Summer.

  For some reason, he seemed to find the shopper service deal amusing. His grandma obviously didn’t. She was scowling in her wheelchair, which had several bags draped over the back.

  Summer held her sticky dry cleaning bag to her chest. “Oh, thanks, but I’m not shopping,” she informed Olga, trying not to notice as Detective Donovan raised one eyebrow. “But you can take Mrs. Donovan’s stuff here. Just put it under my name.”

  “Maybe you can give my grandma here a few pointers,” the detective said, unhooking the bags for Olga before the concierge took off. “We’ve been to every shoe store in Milano this morning.” He wheeled the chair to the side as a trio of chattering ladies came in behind them.

  “I am perfectly capable of doing my own shopping, thank you very much,” Peggy said, throwing both Summer and her grandson a dirty look and wheeling off toward the clearance section.

  Jeez. What was her problem? Mrs. Donovan really, really hated her. Maybe she was still mad about her wrecking that tennis game.

  Detective Donovan looked superuncomfortable. Summer wasn’t sure if it was because his grandma was so rude or he hated being stuck in a women’s shoe store. Maybe both.

  “So, what’s the latest on the Caldwell case?” she asked him, stuffing the dry cleaning bag under her arm more to get it out the way. So much for no wrinkles. Now she’d have to steam it in the shower when she got home. “Anything new?”

  “Not much.” He ran a hand through his dark brush cut. “It’ll be a while before we get all the lab results back. This isn’t a high-profile case, I’m afraid.”

  Summer frowned. “What do you mean? Are you saying Lorella’s murder isn’t important?”

  “No, of course not.” The detective shrugged. “The forensics lab is always backed up. The best we could hope for in rush situations is maybe a week or so. And this particular murder just isn’t a rush. It’s not like the DA or the media is breathing down anyone’s necks.”

  “Well, I think that’s pretty sad,” Summer said. Apparently, no one else in Milano besides her and Dorothy—and maybe Jennifer, and all the residents at Hibiscus Pointe who were worried about a killer on the loose—thought a quiet librarian with no family getting murdered was a very big deal.

  Even Felicia Hernandez and her WMLO news crew seemed more interested in covering the great GH Hamel’s visit than Lorella’s death.

  “I know, it’s really too bad, but unfortunately, I don’t get to call the shots,” Detective Donovan said. “There’s a lot of crime out there, I’m afraid.”

  Maybe, Summer thought, shifting her dry cleaning bag. But once again—this time in a good way—Milano wasn’t exactly LA. How many murders did this place have in a week?

  “So, are you looking forward to the author party tonight?”

  Was he trying to be social? Or just changing the subject?

  “Yeah, it should be fun,” Summer said. “Are you going? For the case, I mean.”

  He smiled, displaying the cute, tiny dimple that always made him seem a little less like a tough guy. “I thought I might attend in more of a social capacity.”

  “Oh.” The way he was looking at her right now—still smiling, but kind of hesitating underneath—was he actually hinting around at asking her out?

  Or…was this his way of letting her know he was bringing Jennifer on a date? Yep, that was probably more like it.

  “Yeah, it should be a good time,” Summer said carefully. “So, are you planning to—”

  “Uh-oh,” Detective Donovan broke in, gazing over her shoulder. “Sorry. Looks as if my grandma has a situation over there.”

  Summer turned around. Peggy and another lady were arguing over the last pair of same-sized shoes from the sale rack.

  “I’d better go see if I can help work things out,” the detective said. “Otherwise it could get ugly. See you later, okay?”

  “Um, sure,” Summer said. No way was she sticking around for whatever happened next. “I’ll look for you at the party, I guess.”

  It didn’t seem as if he’d heard her. The detective was already halfway to the clearance section, as other shoppers around Peggy and her shoe nemesis entered the fray.

  Well, fine. If he was bringing Jennifer to Milano Book & Bar as his date, she’d find out soon enough. She didn’t care that much anyway. Her main focus had to be on solving Lorella Caldwell’s murder.

  Someone had to. And with the lab and the Milano PD taking their sweet time, it might as well be her and Dorothy.

  Summer was halfway down the last side street off Fourth Avenue to her car—oh, rats, had she forgotten to feed the meter again?—when she spotted Trixie Quattrochi. Again.

  White-blond hair, pulled into a long ponytail this time, under a large-brimmed black sunhat. Denim leggings, curvy figure, red cowboy boots that came up to the ankle, lots of bracelets.

  Her slippery suspect was just passing the Tiny Bubbles Laundromat, lugging a giant bag of clean laundry. Well, that made sense, sort of. If Trixie was hiding out in town, she had to do something about her dirty clothes, right?

  Tiny Bubbles was kind of off the beaten track. Plus, they served champagne. The place had a funky little bar at the back, in an attempt to make doing your laundry trendy and fun.

  Huh. Trixie seemed like more of a Jack Daniel’s girl than a champagne aficionado. But still.

  Summer dumped her bag and her dry cleaning on the sidewalk and snuck up on Trixie like Mr. Bitey stalking Guinevere. And then, before the woman could react, she pounced on her prey and tackled Trixie to the ground.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Except it wasn’t Trixie.

  The middle-aged woman Summer had just pinned down on the sidewalk let out a muffled scream. Her blue eyes looked…beyond terrified.

  “Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Summer quickly disentangled herself and leaned back on her heels to assess any possible damage. Luckily, Fake Trixie had fallen on top of her overstuffed laundry bag after she spun them both to the concrete. But still… “I’m so, soooo sorry, I made a really big mistake.”

  “You can say that again,” the blond woman said, giving her an angry kick with the toe of her cowboy bootie.

  Guess she deserved that.

  “Have you been drinking?” the woman demanded. “I knew it was a mistake for that Laundromat to start serving alcohol. It’s ruining the neighborhood.”

  Summer helped her mistaken suspect to her feet and retrieved the woman’s sunhat, which had landed near a doggy waste removal station. “Don’t worry, I’m not drunk. I swear.”

  “Well, you’re just a crazy person, then,” the woman muttered, rubbing her elbow. “You’re lucky I’m okay and I am also going through an exhausting divorce right now, or I’d sue your tail off for assault.”

  “I thought you were someone else,” Summer tried to explain. “I’m, uh, on the neighborhood watch here and the person I was after is a real troublemaker.”

  “Wait a minute. I’m one of the heads of our neighborhood watch on this block and I don’t rememb
er you at all.”

  “Hey, is there anything I can do for you?” Summer asked quickly. “If you give me your address I’ll send you—”

  “I’m not telling you where I live,” the woman said. “And if you don’t mind, I’d rather you just went away.”

  Well, that was fine and dandy with her. Summer apologized again and hurried toward her car, after scooping up her shoulder bag and the totally messed up dress. She should have known she wasn’t going to just see Trixie out of the blue again like that. Trixie and Ray had managed to elude both her and Dorothy and the cops so far.

  Those two were definitely pros.

  She had one more stop to make on the way home: the Majesty Golf & Tennis Club. She needed to see if the cute head tennis pro over there, Garrett something, might take her up on a last-minute date invite for the book party tonight. For Jennifer, not her, of course—but there was no need to spell all that out right away. Just in case Jennifer already had a date—with Detective Donovan.

  Jennifer and Garrett would be perfect for each other. From what she’d seen of the guy from a distance at the intercommunity tennis tournaments, he seemed nice and he was pretty clean cut. Not to mention he had very ripped arms.

  He and Detective Donovan actually had a lot in common.

  Plus, if the tennis pro and her friend hit it off, then she might have a chance to spend a little extra-quality time with the detective. He had to know more than he was letting on, she was sure, no matter what kind of excuses he made up about lab delays or that she and Dorothy weren’t supposed to be working on the case, or whatever.

  The tony pro shop at Majesty Golf & Tennis was jammed with members, most of them dressed in tennis clothes with racquet bags over their shoulders. A group of men were talking about some critter or something over at the golf course. Another gator, probably.

  Garrett and another guy in a polo shirt with the MGT crown logo were swamped at the members counter, with members demanding a court or doubles partners. Stat.

  Jeez. Now even more people had shown up and were getting in line behind her. Apparently, the golf course was temporarily closed, so they were trying to make other plans.