Permanently Booked

by Lisa Q. Mathews

  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 litt
le 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.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “We don’t believe you,” Summer said to Trixie as the fire alarm continued to blare. Dorothy’s partner was still sitting on their slightly deflated suspect.

  “You and Ray bumped off Lorella together, didn’t you?” Summer went on. “Well, just so you know, your skeezy boyfriend is in Milano PD custody right now.”

  Dorothy raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t heard that news yet. But she hadn’t had a chance to tell Summer her new theory about Carrie, either. “Trixie may be right,” she said to her partner.

  “Dang straight I’m right.” Trixie looked furious. “Ray and I were gonna strike it rich in Montana. At a closed up mine that’s chock-full of copper.”

  “Not the Berkley Pit Mine, I hope.” Dorothy shuddered. She’d learned a few things about the current Superfund site when she was mending that book, and they didn’t sound pretty. Quite toxic, in fact.

  “Nope, another one,” Trixie said. “But it’s close by, in a very secret location. That’s why I need that map. Now let me go so I can make me a fortune. I’ll do it for Ray while he’s in the slammer.”

  “I’m sorry, Trixie,” Dorothy said. “That isn’t going to happen.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Detective Donovan, looking a little less crisp than usual, strode into the library.

  My, that was fast. He’d beaten the fire department here.

  Summer almost tumbled off Trixie, she looked so surprised. How had her friend gotten her hands on an extra-large Milano PD sweatshirt? “Where’s the team?” she said. “I can’t believe it’s you again.”

  “Likewise.” The detective’s voice was clipped, but Dorothy was almost sure she’d seen an amused quirk to his lips.

  He turned to Trixie. “Your buddy Ray sang,” he told her as Summer got out of the way so he could place the still-struggling woman in handcuffs. “Guess he wanted to lessen those possible charges of illegal, exotic animal possession and trade, fraud, check bouncing, unarmed robbery, and vehicle theft.” He nodded toward the pistol on the carpet, a few feet away. “You might want to consider the same.”

  “I’m not talkin’,” Trixie said. “And I need me a lawyer.”

  Detective Donovan turned back to Dorothy and Summer. “I’ll speak with you ladies tomorrow. Get some rest.”

  Standing beside her friend as the detective led a babbling Trixie away, Dorothy felt an overwhelming sense of dizziness and fatigue at the mention of rest. “I think I should get home,” she said to her friend. “Quickly.”

  “I’ve got the car right outside,” Summer said. “Do you think you can make it to the lobby with me?”

  “Of course, dear.” Dorothy’s voice sounded faint even to her own ears. “I have a new theory for the case I want to share with you, about our friend Carrie, but…it may have to wait until morning, I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t worry, Dorothy.” Summer took her arm as the two of them slowly left the library together. “I’ve got your back here.”

  “I know,” Dorothy said.

  *

  When Summer woke up in Dorothy’s guest room, sunshine was streaming through the condo. She had no idea what time it was, and she didn’t care.

  The phone was ringing out in the kitchen. Summer was tempted to let it go, but she didn’t want it to wake Dorothy. Her friend needed her sleep more than she did. She stumbled out to the kitchen, but the message machine had already picked up.

  “Hi, Dorothy,” the male voice said. “It’s—”

  “Hey, Dash,” Summer said. “You’re on speaker. What’s up?”

  Dorothy came up behind her, tying her fuzzy robe. “Ask him whether Georgiana’s writing notebook has been found yet,” she whispered.

  Huh? That had to be the least of their problems right now.

  “No.” Dash sighed. “But I have other news. You’re going to love this. Your pal Gladys has taken it upon herself to organize a book club boat trip—for this afternoon.”

  Ugh, Summer thought. She was definitely not up for that today.

  “I’m going to take Mother, in an effort to distract her—she’s still agitated about the notebook, so I can’t be responsible for anything she says—and Juliette-Margot.”

  “Sounds, uh, fun,” Summer said.

  “My beloved has begged off, pleading nausea that sea sickness will apparently not improve,” Dash went on. “But there will be box lunches and champagne. You and Dorothy are going, right?”

  “Yes,” Dorothy said, behind her.

  “Do we have to?” Summer asked after Dash had relayed the details and signed off.

  “I don’t care to go, either.” Dorothy sighed. “And I never budgeted for champagne and a party boat, no matter how much money Lorella left the book club. But we need to be there to watch Georgiana. And Carrie.”

  Summer listened as her friend told her about the Heartflower movie she’d seen last night, and the idea of Carrie possibly plagiarizing Angelina St. James’s work.

  “Lorella must have found out, and threatened to expose her,” Dorothy said. “But if she did so, you see, Lorella’s identity as Angelina would also come out.”

  Summer hopped on a stool at the breakfast counter. “Well, if Angelina’s books are so famous, how come no one’s noticed yet that Carrie is ripping her off?”

  “I’m not sure,” Dorothy said, “but that Heartflower movie was based on one of Angelina’s earliest works, so it’s lesser known. And Carrie writes to a younger generation.”

  “True.” Summer leaned her elbows on the counter. “No one’s really noticed Carrie’s books yet, either. Even after she hired her own publicist.”

  “Exactly.” Dorothy dodged Mr. Bitey as she rummaged through the cupboards for any remnants of instant coffee. “Your breakfast is coming,” she told him. “Be patient like Guinevere.”

  So she and Dorothy definitely had to go on the boat lunch. If it was true Carrie stole Angelina St. Rose’s ideas, then the wannabe probably wouldn’t turn down a chance to pick up any tidbits from other famous authors, now that Lorella was dead.

  Like GH Hamel, for instance.

  “I just don’t get it, though,” Summer said to Dorothy. “Why would Carrie release spoilers from Georgiana’s brand-new, unpublished book on that teleprompter during a live TV interview, then? I mean, it would spoil things for her own book, too, if she stole the story and published it before GH Hamel.”

  “True…” Dorothy tapped her chin.

  “Wait, how about this?” Summer said excitedly. “Parker hates Carrie. What if she knows her client’s been stealing other writers’ stuff, and she’s setting her up to fall?”

  “A bit far-fetched, I think,” Dorothy said. “Don’t worry, I have a plan to help us prove who stole GH Hamel’s notebook. But we’ll need Georgiana’s help.”

  “I thought you were really tired,” Summer said as Dorothy poured them each a glass of expired orange juice.

  Dorothy smiled. “Not anymore, dear.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Summer and Dorothy arrived at the Milano Marina Dock just in time to make it onto the book club party boat.

  “A
m I glad to see you!” Dash greeted Summer. He looked sharp but overly heated in a striped Oxford shirt and red Bermuda shorts. “La Madre is in rare form,” he added, with a nod over his shoulder at Georgiana. She stood at the bow of the boat, with her arms stretched out to the wimpy breeze like Rose in Titanic.

  Professor Bell was right behind her. Summer actually felt sorry for Georgiana right now. No escape.

  Wait. The professor wasn’t going to push her, was he? Nope, worse. He was taking his manila envelopes out of his monogrammed boat bag.

  It was too painful to watch. Summer turned away.

  Beside her father, Juliette-Margot looked as if she’d jumped out of Vogue Kids in an adorable straw hat and sailor dress, with boat-shoe Mary Janes. “Bonjour, Summer, and Madame Dorothy. Have you seen the pretty fish?” She pointed to the glass bottom floor between their feet.

  “My, aren’t they beautiful?” Dorothy said.

  “Papa, can Juliette-Margot have fish? Pretty ones, in beaucoup colors? We still have the aquarium Grandmère ordered for Skipperdee.”

  “Tropical fish are very hard to take care of, honey,” Dash said, looking to Summer for help.

  “You’re on your own now, dude,” she told him, over Juliette-Margot’s head. “I’m done with animals.”

  “Doooorothy!” Gladys, dressed in full nautical gear, flapped over, playing the gracious hostess. If she were Dorothy, Summer thought, she’d be on her last nerve.

  Actually, Dorothy seemed just fine with Gladys taking over on event duties. Her friend seemed a little book-clubbed out lately. Too bad Ernie wasn’t here today for her to hang out with. But she and Dorothy did have to work on the case, Summer reminded herself.

  “Whattaya say you go over with me, Dot, and help convince GH Hamel to read the professor’s manuscript?” Gladys asked. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately,” she added, lowering her voice for once. “You know, for the investigation. He said he really needed reader reviews for test marketing, and he values my opinion very highly, of course. I’ve already read four hundred pages.”