Permanently Booked

by Lisa Q. Mathews

  “Sorry, Mrs. Rumway,” Summer said, taking her sleuthing partner by the elbow. “Dorothy and I need to talk to Parker over there.”

  As the two of them headed toward the cabin, where Parker was helping one of the boat crew bring out boxes with the food and plastic wineglasses, Summer stopped with her friend to eavesdrop on Georgiana and the professor.

  It wasn’t too difficult.

  “I don’t know how in blazes Lorella put up with you,” Georgiana was saying, loudly as usual. She and Gladys sure had that in common. “But I’m not going to. You and your pathetic, self-described epic romance novel can take a dive into the ocean, for as much as I care. And if you keep trying to ingratiate yourself with me, I’ll throw you overboard myself.”

  “Well,” Dorothy muttered. “I think GH Hamel has made herself quite clear.”

  “Hello, everyone!” Parker called into the crowd. “And welcome to the S.S. Hamel-Dunbar. Before we get this party started, I’d like to make an announcement.”

  “Yes,” Georgiana boomed in. “If anyone here has my writing notebook, I’m serving you notice that you will be dealt with to the fullest extent of the law. And my personal capabilities, which might be a lot worse.”

  Before she could get another word out, Dash ran up to her with a glass and a newly popped bottle of champagne. “Look, just for you, Mother. Someone put your name over the label. Wasn’t that thoughtful?”

  “Okay, so, here’s the other announcement.” Parker shot a nervous, sideways glance at Georgiana. “I have all the details on tomorrow night’s festivities at

  Tangerine du Sol. It will be the last local event for GH Hamel, who will soon depart for New York, but good news: Because of growing enthusiasm for her new book, Carrie has agreed to extend her stay here in Milano for a few more weeks—so you won’t have to say goodbye to her just yet!”

  Summer stifled a groan. Beside her, she was pretty sure Dorothy did, too.

  “Anyway,” Parker went on, still looking urban trendy in her striped V-neck tee and short black skirt, “Maxwell & Perkins has agreed to sponsor tomorrow night’s event, and it’s going to be even bigger than we planned. In fact…” She paused. “GH Hamel’s editor will be flying down from New York for this very exciting evening.”

  Casually, Summer turned, to check on Charles’s reaction. Yep. The professor was practically foaming at the mouth.

  “And if that isn’t all, Maxwell & Perkins has also arranged a special sneak peek at the trailer for the major upcoming movie based on Georgiana’s book Good Night, Sweetheart.”

  Ohhh. Summer suddenly remembered her dad’s assistant had sent that same trailer to her in a box of stuff she hadn’t really gone through yet. She was supposed to have watched it last week. Oops.

  Well, she hadn’t been home long enough to get the home theater installed. Besides, now she didn’t even have a phone for the setup guys from Top This to reach her.

  Dorothy nudged her in the ribs, and Summer snapped back to attention.

  Georgiana was headed toward the tub of champagne bottles that had just been set out at the front of the boat. Now was her and Dorothy’s chance to talk to her about their plan.

  *

  “It’s still possible Georgiana just lost her own notebook, right?” Summer said as she and Dorothy made their way closer to the makeshift champagne bar at the S.S. Dunbar-Hamel’s bow. “I lose stuff all the time.”

  “Well, yes,” Dorothy admitted. They couldn’t rule out the idea that the author had killed Lorella herself, either. Maybe some kind of jealous rage—or some issue between the two of them that no one else knew about.

  But so far, Georgiana didn’t appear to have an obvious motive for disposing of Angelina St. James. One author wrote mystery, the other romance. And Lorella had hardly been a limelight stealer. She’d valued her privacy above all else, it seemed.

  “Let me do the talking, dear,” Dorothy said as they approached Georgiana.

  She was a bit nervous about broaching their sting idea to GH Hamel. But the author heard Dorothy out as she sipped her bubbly.

  “I couldn’t help but notice that you have a new notebook in your tote, Georgiana. What would you think about tearing out any important material and replacing it with a few, nonsensical notes. Then you could let everyone know you’ve been jotting down some fresh, new ideas and set the tote—with the notebook inside—down in some semiobvious place?”

  Georgiana cocked her head. “I see where you’re going with this. It might work.”

  “Of course it will,” Summer said.

  Dorothy placed a light hand on her friend’s arm. “Summer and I will watch the bag very carefully, and hopefully the thief”—perhaps Lorella’s killer, she added silently—”will be revealed.”

  “Let’s do it.” Georgiana gave a sharp nod. “My money is on that insufferable Charles Bell.”

  “You could bring the notebook to the big party tomorrow night,” Dorothy suggested.

  “No,” Georgiana said. “I don’t want to wait. I need those notes. They were brilliant. I had a whole new plot outlined. I’ll just make a few scribbles now as I enjoy this next glass of champagne.”

  At this point, Dorothy was almost ready for one herself. But it was much too early in the day, of course. And she needed to keep her wits about her.

  Dorothy tried to relax a bit as she and Summer joined Dash and Juliette-Margot on the cushioned benches set up near the middle of the boat. Their captain pointed out some lovely ocean landmarks of interest, as well as a charming pod of dolphins, and Georgiana put their plan into operation.

  Everyone aboard seemed intrigued when the author let their fellow passengers know she had some maaahr-velous ideas for her next novel—even better than the ones revealed in that bloody TV interview.

  Then Georgiana left her canvas tote with the propped-up notebook peeking out from under the skirted cooler beneath the drinks tub, as if she’d forgotten it in a champagne haze. She played that part quite convincingly, Dorothy told herself.

  She and Summer eagerly watched and waited as the captain told them about other various points of interest, including the new Milano Point Lighthouse. The updated but still classic-looking structure had replaced the crumbling, decommissioned metal one. The remnants of the former lighthouse became covered by the sea at high tide.

  Fascinating.

  But to Dorothy and Summer’s extreme disappointment as the flaming orange sun began to drop below the horizon, streaking the sky in shades of pink, blue, and lavender, no one took the notebook bait.

  Chapter Thirty

  Summer finally felt like herself again, after a good twelve hours or so of sleep and a trip to the Horizon wireless store.

  She had just finished setting up her brand-new, even better phone over at Dorothy’s condo when it rang.

  Dash. Again. What was it with that guy lately? Having his mom visiting sure stressed him out. On the other hand, if Harmony or Joy dropped into Milano, she’d probably be freaking, too.

  “Hey,” she answered. “What’s up?”

  “Major problem.” His voice sounded different this time. Like, superworried and upset, not your regular panic. “Mother left in the Mercedes after the maid brought in the mail from our box this morning. There was an envelope with just her name printed on it that someone must have left there last night, because it was wet from all that rain we had.”

  “Was the envelope orange?” Summer asked, thinking of Trixie. Maybe she had mailed it earlier.

  “No,” Dash said. “White. No return address. No postage. It didn’t go through the mail. Anyway, I didn’t think much of it when Viola told me after I got home from a client meeting later this morning. Mother always gets fan mail here. She gave people our address.”

  “That’s kind of funny,” Summer said.

  “No. It is not. Julian and I always return them straight to sender. But anyway, Viola heard Mother mumbling something about going to get her notebook when she left. The first one, the one that got st
olen.”

  Uh-oh. Summer put the call on speaker and hugged her knees. That wasn’t good.

  “When I heard that, my first thought was she remembered where she’d misplaced it,” Dash went on. “But she hasn’t returned home, and tonight is that big Maxwell & Perkins shindig down at Tangerine du Sol. She had a manicure and hair appointment scheduled at the house this afternoon, and she’d never miss them. Have you or Dorothy heard from her?”

  Dorothy shook her head from the couch, where Mr. Bitey’s giant orange head peeked out from between the cushions.

  “Sorry,” Summer said.

  “Okay, thanks, I’d better go,” Dash said. “I already tried to file a missing person’s report, but they said it’s too soon.”

  “Keep us posted,” Summer said. “Dorothy and I will be on the lookout.”

  “Oh dear,” Dorothy said, after she hung up. “I do hope nothing has happened to Georgiana. Maybe we should check with Carrie and Parker, over at the Verandas.”

  “But they’re suspects,” Summer pointed out. “That might be a bad idea.”

  “Try them anyway,” Dorothy suggested. “Carrie gave me her card. It’s there on the counter.”

  “Her number’s in my cell already, trust me.” Summer sighed as she hit Call Back. “No answer from either of them. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Parker always checks her phone. Should we go over to their rental place?”

  “Now that I remember, Parker mentioned something on the boat yesterday about a brunch she’d booked for Carrie with some influential bloggers,” Dorothy said. “That could be where they are.”

  “Maybe,” Summer said. “If Georgiana doesn’t show up by tonight, should we still go to the party? We might need to help Dash look for her.”

  “No,” Dorothy said. “If Georgiana doesn’t make it there, we’ll know for sure something’s wrong. And if she’s actually been kidnapped, which may be rather alarmist to consider just yet, our suspects will all be at Tangerine du Sol.”

  “Okay,” Summer said. Time to plan something fabulous to wear. She might even wear Lorella’s bloodstone ring.

  *

  The promo party at Tangerine du Sol seemed like an author’s dream, Dorothy told herself—or it would be, if both guests of honor could attend. There was still no sign of GH Hamel.

  Tastefully trendy and decorated in soothing shades of the ocean, the restaurant boasted a large deck featuring a steel band for those who wished to dance. A long boardwalk, lined by tiki torches, led down to the water and a boathouse draped with blue lanterns.

  Parker had everything under control, it seemed, coordinating details with the Tangerine staff and introducing her client through the crowd. Carrie, Dorothy noticed, did not seem her usual, overly perky self.

  Neither young woman had seen Georgiana. “I’ve just been telling everyone Georgiana has been detained, but she’ll be here soon,” Parker told Dorothy. “You know how GH Hamel likes to make an entrance. I think her editor is a little miffed, though.” She nodded toward a very tall, elegant woman in pearls who was sipping white wine in the bar area.

  As Dorothy watched, Georgiana’s editor was approached by Charles Bell. She fled almost immediately to the ladies’ lounge with her drink.

  Dorothy scanned the crowd again. Many of the guests, including Summer, were camped in the bar area, entranced by the multiscreen video display. Currently, every screen displayed the live, dramatic capture of a giant python down at the beach. Camo. Finally.

  Carrie wasn’t watching the reptile show. The new author, who still seemed nervous or upset over something, had stepped onto the beach off the deck.

  The young woman was alone, looking harmless and almost pitiful in her ill-fitting velvet dress with the little-girl sash. The band was on a break. There was no one else in sight, but this was still a public place. The perfect opportunity to confront Carrie about Lorella.

  She might have to fudge a bit, Dorothy told herself, but she’d improvise, if needed.

  “Hello, Carrie,” Dorothy said, coming up beside her. “I need to talk to you.”

  Carrie knew she was cornered. “Um, sure, Dorothy.”

  “I know you stole plot ideas from Angelina St. James,” Dorothy began. “Who was also Lorella Caldwell. And now you’re trying to do the same with GH Hamel.”

  Carrie looked uncertain, her eyes darting between the beach and the restaurant. “What do you mean? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I have the evidence to prove it,” Dorothy informed her. “Lorella kept backup files on the computer in the Hibiscus Pointe Business Center.”

  “What?” Carrie’s left cheek twitched slightly.

  It was a complete lie, of course, as far as Dorothy knew. But the ruse seemed to be working. “You gave the WMLO-TV staff Georgiana’s spoiler copy for the teleprompter, didn’t you? And you stole her notebook.”

  Carrie didn’t answer. She looked as if she were about to burst into tears. This was working beautifully.

  “But most appallingly of all, you killed Lorella Caldwell when she discovered what you had done. She planned to expose your treachery, even if it meant revealing her secret identity, didn’t she?”

  To Dorothy’s surprise, Carrie burst into tears. “I’ve dreamed of being a famous author my whole life,” she sobbed, sniveling into the sleeve of her dress. “Why are you saying this? It’s not true.”

  “It certainly is,” Dorothy said firmly. Hopefully, Carrie would write her next book—the story of her own crime—all by herself. From behind bars.

  A minute or two of silence passed.

  “Okay, maybe I did copy some of Lorella’s work,” Carrie said finally. “I disguised it a little, but not too much, and no one even noticed until you did. Oh, and Lorella.” She hung her head. “The pressure was terrible. I’m just not talented enough, I guess. But I wanted to be famous.”

  Dorothy felt like slapping her. How heartless and selfish could one young woman be?

  Carrie looked up again, her eyes still shining with tears in the tiki lights. “I stole Georgiana’s notebook at the Algonquin, too. And I was sorry right away. That’s why I didn’t take the second one she left out on the boat.”

  Carrie might not be the world’s best writer—who knew if any of her words were her own?—but she was no dumb bunny, Dorothy thought. She knew the second notebook was a trap.

  “But I didn’t kill Lorella, I swear,” Carrie rushed on. “I could never hurt anyone like that. I didn’t give those TV guys the teleprompter copy, either. I wanted to use that great scene in my next book.”

  Dorothy rubbed her temples. She couldn’t believe she was hearing all this. And she wasn’t about to let Carrie off the hook for Lorella’s murder.

  “I wanted to give Georgiana her first notebook back,” Carrie said. “I left a note in her son’s mailbox for her to meet me at a coffee shop so I could return it and apologize in person. You know, writer to writer.”

  “And what happened?” Dorothy crossed her arms.

  “Georgiana was glad to have her notebook again, but she got superangry,” Carrie said. “She called me some terrible names, but I guess I deserved them.”

  “Mmm,” Dorothy said.

  “And Georgiana threatened to tell everyone tonight at the party, in front of everyone. Even her senior editor at Maxwell & Perkins. Mine is only an assistant,” Carrie added, with a hurt expression. “Anyway, now Georgiana has disappeared. And I know who’s behind that.”

  Dorothy raised her eyebrows. “Really. Who?”

  “Parker,” Carrie said immediately. “She seems nice, and she’s a great publicist, but she’s, like, crazy power-hungry. I’d fire her, but I’m scared to death what she’d do to me.”

  Dorothy’s mind spun. Oh my. Had Summer been right about Parker? Could Carrie possibly be telling the truth?

  “It was Parker who encouraged me to steal Lorella’s work,” Carrie said. “And I’m afraid she killed Lorella Caldwell to keep her quiet. I kn
ow I should have gone to the police, but I was so scared of Parker—and, well, I guess I was excited my writing career was really taking off.”

  This was outrageous, Dorothy told herself. Completely unbelievable…or was it? “Where is Georgiana now?” she asked, keeping her voice calm and steady.

  “I don’t know,” Carrie said. “But probably somewhere close by. Parker didn’t actually admit to me that she kidnapped Georgiana, but she told me GH Hamel probably wouldn’t show up at the party until the very end. And I bet, if Parker does let her come here, she’ll probably make her promise first not to say anything, or she’ll kill her.”

  Of all the things Carrie had just told her, that made the least sense, Dorothy thought. Then again, she was obviously dealing with two extremely irrational young women.

  “In the meantime, though, the spotlight will just be on me,” Carrie said. “Like it should be.”

  As the deluded author spoke, a beam from the lighthouse on a nearby jetty flashed. In that moment, Dorothy was sure she knew where Georgiana was being held.

  It was straight out of a scene from her favorite GH Hamel book. Good Night, Sweetheart. And wasn’t Maxwell & Perkins showing that new trailer tonight from the upcoming movie version?

  “I’d better get back to the party, Dorothy,” Carrie said. “Parker will notice if I don’t, and then she might get angry and hurt Georgiana. You won’t tell her what I said, will you?”

  Dorothy needed to return to the party as well—to get Summer and try to rescue Georgiana, if it wasn’t already too late. They and the Milano PD would deal with Carrie—and possibly Parker—later.

  “I won’t breathe a word,” Dorothy said.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Summer wasn’t watching Camo the snake being extracted from the mangroves on the larger-than-life video screens. She was keeping her eye glued to the door, in case Georgiana showed up.

  Whoa. Jennifer had just walked in with Garrett, the tennis pro from Majesty Golf & Tennis. Oh no. Was her former fake date the guy Jennifer had gone to dinner with, not Detective Donovan?