Permanently Booked

by Lisa Q. Mathews

So her plan to set those two up had worked. That was a good thing. A superamazing thing, actually. She’d sort of blown it with the detective in the Milano PD parking lot, but maybe, if she sort of explained things…No. She couldn’t do that. He’d think she was crazy.

  He already thought that. And his grandma did, too. Peggy had been giving her the evil eyeball from her table all night.

  “Summer, come with me,” Dorothy said, at her elbow. She dropped her voice. “We need to rescue Georgiana.”

  Summer left her untouched apricot martini on the bar. “Where is she?”

  “It’s just a hunch,” Dorothy said. “But I’ll tell you on the way. We’re headed to the beach.”

  It was raining now. Hard. Summer had grabbed an umbrella from the stand, but the wind kept blowing it inside out. Behind them, the steel band on the deck had packed up and all the guests had fled inside.

  “Where did this awful storm come from?” Dorothy said, huddling against Summer under what was left of the umbrella as they hurried down the boardwalk. “It was so nice, just a few minutes ago.” She sighed. “Tropical weather.”

  “So, where are we going?” Summer asked. Her dress was totally ruined by now, and it was sticking to her like mousetrap glue.

  Dorothy pointed toward the jetty. “The lighthouse. Not the new one that’s flashing. The old one next to it.”

  “What?” Summer said. “Didn’t the boat captain tell us it gets covered up when the tide comes in? It’s almost high tide right now.”

  “I know,” Dorothy said. “And now it’s stormy to boot. We’ll have to borrow one of those little boats tied up at the dock over there.”

  Summer bit her lip. “Well, okay. But I don’t know if those will handle big waves real well.”

  “We have to try,” Dorothy said. “Georgiana’s life may depend on it.”

  Summer ran over and untied the biggest boat she could find—which wasn’t saying much—by the time Dorothy caught up with her in her Aerolite pumps. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes,” Dorothy said. “Push us off.”

  She wasn’t able to tell Summer much over the noise of the engine. And the thunder. But that was okay, because Summer had to concentrate on navigating the rough waves. Every now and then one would come over the side and drench them.

  Hopefully, they wouldn’t sink before they found Georgiana. If she was even there.

  When they reached the rocky jetty, Summer helped Dorothy out of the boat. “This is too dangerous for you,” she said. “I can catch you, but watch your step, okay?” The wet slime on the rocks could do them both in.

  Dorothy nodded, and the two of them made their way to the metal ruins of the old lighthouse. Every couple of seconds, a flash from the other one lit their way. But the rest of the time, it was totally dark.

  Summer’s sleuthing partner was being really brave and strong, but she could really get hurt. “Stay right here, and let me go check,” Summer said.

  Before Dorothy could protest or follow, Summer ducked into what was left of the lighthouse. Hopefully, nothing would fall on her and kill her.

  Between bouts of driving rain and occasional thunderclaps, she heard muffled noises. They were coming from not far away, in a corner near a big pile of jumbled rocks and metal.

  Summer hurried over and found Georgiana propped against a broken steel beam, tied up and blindfolded. “It’s okay, Georgiana,” she said. “It’s Summer and Dorothy. We’re here to rescue you, but we’ve got to move fast. Are you hurt?”

  The author shook her head, and Summer quickly untied her and removed the blindfold. “Where am I?” she said. “And who are you?”

  That wasn’t good. Dash’s mom must have been hit over the head or something. “I’ll explain later,” Summer said. “But first let’s get you out of here.”

  She helped an unsteady Georgiana to her feet and tried to move her as fast as she could out of the old lighthouse. “Watch your head,” she warned. “This place is a mess.”

  They reached Dorothy in less time than Summer had expected. Her friend was overjoyed to see Georgiana, and it seemed like the author recognized her. Well, that was a better sign. Maybe Georgiana had just been in shock, or disoriented.

  “Oh no,” Dorothy said suddenly. “Our boat is untied.”

  “What?” Summer followed her friend’s gaze. Yep, the boat had become untied somehow from that old piling she’d attached it to. She was sure she’d quadruple-knotted it.

  “The tide is rising,” Dorothy said. “We have to get that boat.”

  “I’m on it.” Summer ran to the highest point of the rapidly disappearing jetty she could find and dove off.

  It took longer than she expected, and every last bit of her strength and ocean lifeguarding skills—good thing she’d taken that Baywatch training for fun a few years back—but Summer finally managed to get her hands on the half-wrecked boat.

  She couldn’t get in it from the water. The waves were too strong. Somehow she’d have to swim the boat back to the jetty, to rescue Dorothy and a very groggy Georgiana.

  Her chances of making it weren’t good. But she’d have to try.

  *

  As Summer battled the waves, Dorothy spotted another, larger boat on the other side of the jetty. Behind her, she heard a crunch of gravel, and a small rock rolled toward her feet.

  Dorothy whirled around, keeping one hand on a still-disoriented Georgiana.

  Carrie. The young woman, wearing a bright orange slicker, was dragging a small but heavy anchor behind her.

  “Ahoy there, Dorothy,” Carrie said. “And Georgiana, too. Perfect. Two birds with one anchor. I’ll tie you up here together so you can watch the tide come in. And don’t worry, Summer can join the party, too—as soon as I get that Maxwell & Perkins ring off her finger. If she hasn’t drowned already, I mean. I hope not. I really want that ring, at least until they give me my own.”

  Dorothy was fairly sure Carrie couldn’t lift that anchor. At least the girl wouldn’t be able to hit her and Georgiana over the head with it, as she had Lorella Caldwell. She backed down the jetty slightly, bringing a dazed Georgiana along with her. “Where are we going?” the older author said. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

  “Yes, you do,” Dorothy said grimly. “Trust me on that.”

  “There’s no way you’re getting away from me,” Carrie said. “And all I have to do is jump in that nice big boat over there, and you’ll drown. So you might as well let me tie you up. That way the Marine Patrol might find your bodies sooner.”

  “You won’t get away with this,” Dorothy said. Where on earth was Summer? She could still save herself. How could Dorothy warn her? Summer would never hear her shouts, over the wind and crashing waves.

  “This is going to be so much easier than I expected,” Carrie crowed. “Even easier than getting rid of Lorella. You had it all figured out, Dorothy, but I’m just a lot smarter than you. And that stress queen Parker doesn’t have a clue. It was all me.”

  “You’re not as clever as you think, Carrie.” Dorothy tried to stall for time.

  “Oh yes, I am,” Carrie said. “This brilliant plan just shows you why I’ll hit the mystery best seller lists in no time. I’ll be sure to mention you and Georgiana in my Edgar Award acceptance speech next year, by the way. There won’t be a dry eye in the house. And believe me…”

  The crazed girl was still talking when Summer ran up behind her and threw a filthy, smelly fishing net over Carrie, bringing her straight down to the rocks.

  Carrie struggled in vain against the rough-looking, tangled netting, covered in broken shells, seaweed, barnacles, and old fishhooks. “Ow!” she cried.

  The water was rapidly rising. “What should we do with her?” Summer said. “Just leave her here?”

  “We’ll have to take her with us somehow,” Dorothy said. “We can take her larger boat over there.”

  “Oh, I guess.” Summer gave a heavy sigh. “If we have to.”

  Dorothy w
as sure her friend was joking. She hoped so, anyway. “We have to hurry, before the water rises any higher,” she said. “We can’t be sure how much time we have left until the entire jetty floods. Georgiana, can you walk to the boat? We can just drag Carrie, I suppose.” She smiled down at the furious writer. “I’m not entirely serious, of course.”

  “Hey, look,” Summer said, waving from the end of the jetty. “We have company. Super timing.”

  The Marine Patrol had arrived, with Detective Donovan close behind them in another tiny boat from Tangerine.

  The detective pulled up to the jetty a few seconds before the Marine Patrol. “Is everyone okay?” he called. “We have medics.”

  A few minutes later, the Marine Patrol took Dorothy and a shivering Georgiana on board their vessel, and Detective Donovan skippered Carrie’s boat with Summer and a hastily cuffed Carrie as passengers.

  “How did you know we were here?” Dorothy heard Summer ask.

  “Parker,” the detective answered. “She was pretty concerned when she saw Carrie leave the party in a boat. In the middle of a storm, no less. I’d just gotten to Tangerine with my grandma, and I didn’t see you and Dorothy, so…I figured the worst. Do you see now why it’s dangerous for amateurs to get involved in police investigations?”

  “Well, everything turned out okay,” Summer said. “We have Lorella Caldwell’s killer right here.”

  The captain of Dorothy’s boat started his engine, and Detective Donovan followed suit. But not before Dorothy saw the detective toss Summer a Marine Patrol sweatshirt for the trip back to Tangerine du Sol.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Summer breathed a sigh of relief as she looked around at all her friends and neighbors who had shown up to the viewing party at her condo. Everyone seemed to be having a great time.

  At first those guys from Top This had refused to install the home theater system, after she’d blown off so many appointments by mistake. But then Detective Donovan had put in a word with his old coworkers, and presto! Tonight she was hosting the premiere of the Good Night, Sweetheart rough cut, courtesy of her dad.

  All she had to do was write a review and get some focus group feedback from her guests. No problemo.

  It was too bad Georgiana and Parker couldn’t be here, but the two of them were already back in New York. Parker had a new client now and GH Hamel had a new independent publicist-slash—social media manager. A perfect partnership.

  The author couldn’t wait to get started on her new mystery novel, inspired by her recent adventures in Milano. According to Dash, she was still threatening to buy a place down here in town. Or, even better, move in with her son and his family so they could all spend some more quality time together.

  Professor Bell was writing a new book, too, based on the notes from Lorella’s files. GH Hamel had advised him to trash the first one. She’d even arranged a special grant for him through Maxwell & Perkins. All he had to do was take indefinite sabbatical to a secluded cabin in central Maine. No phone, internet, or other forms of communication.

  Unfortunately, Trixie and Ray had skipped bail—and no one knew where they were right now. Camo the snake was safe at Safari Sue’s, where Dr. Josie said Summer and Juliette-Margot could visit her anytime, along with Skipperdee. No, thanks.

  Juliette-Margot was pretty thrilled about her new pet, though. She was now the co-owner of Guinevere—Grace’s new therapy kitty. Ernie told her she could visit whenever she wanted, too.

  Jennifer and Garrett were looking cozy over in the corner, sharing a bowl of popcorn as they waited for the movie to start. And Detective Donovan wasn’t here yet, but he and Summer had a real date set up for Saturday night. Not the Tick-Tock Diner, either—a cool Brazilian place where they served all the food you could eat.

  “What are you thinking about, dear?” Dorothy asked, coming up with a glass of wine. Summer noticed her sleuthing partner seemed a lot more relaxed lately, now that things had gotten back to normal after they’d solved the Caldwell case and Carrie was awaiting trial.

  “Oh, nothing,” she said, with a smile. “I’m just glad everything worked out so well.”

  “Have you started your reading for book club yet?” Dorothy said. “The next meeting is Friday, remember.”

  “I’m on it,” Summer said. A lot of people had dropped out of the Hibiscus Pointe Book Club after GH Hamel left, but that was okay. Her sleuthing partner was happy that the smaller club meant they could focus more on books. And Summer was happy because there was more free food to go around. Plus, Gladys was thrilled to be the newly appointed events coordinator, which would hopefully distract her from pining over the loss of Professor Boring.

  “You know, I couldn’t help noticing your lovely new bookcase,” Dorothy said. “And look at all those titles from the Lorella Caldwell Memorial Library. I guess you’ll be spending a lot more time reading now.”

  Summer grinned. “Maybe. But I’d still rather solve a few real-life mysteries. What do you say, partner?”

  *

  To purchase and read more books by

  Lisa Q. Mathews, please visit Lisa’s website here or

  at http://www.lisaqmathews.com/#!books/cfvg

  Look for FASHIONABLY LATE, the next book in

  The Ladies Smythe & Westin series,

  coming from Lisa Q. Mathews

  and Carina Press in September 2016.

  Chapter One

  “You are going to love this, Dorothy,” Summer Smythe said as she pulled open the heavy glass door of Waterman’s on the Bay. “Much better than that crazy place I took us to last week, I swear.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, dear.” Dorothy Westin straightened her sunhat and stepped into the bright, high-ceilinged foyer of Milano’s newest dining establishment. Her young friend and sleuthing partner, a relative newcomer to their Southwest Florida town, hadn’t realized that Dorothy would be the most senior patron at Senoritas.

  By, say, half a century.

  Dorothy liked to think of herself as young at heart but the pounding music, taco bar, and noontime Margaritas were a bit much. She might have steered them elsewhere, of course, if she paid better attention to the local social scene.

  “Are you ladies here for our fashion show?” A deeply tanned woman in a sleeveless black tunic and long black skirt patterned with enormous white flowers looked up from the hostess stand.

  “We didn’t know about the fashion show,” Dorothy said. “But we do have a reservation for lunch.”

  “It’s under ‘Sloan.’” Summer reappeared from the alcove she’d ducked into to check her lipstick in the gold-trimmed mirror. She always used her film producer father’s name for reservations, Dorothy knew. Apparently that strategy worked as well in Milano as Los Angeles.

  A whisper of a wrinkle threatened the hostess’s forehead. “You’re late,” she said.

  “The reservation was for noon,” Dorothy said. “It’s only five-past.”

  “No, this one is late.” The woman jerked her highly-coiffed head toward Summer. “All the models were supposed to be here at ten for last-minute fittings, young lady. At least your hair and makeup are done. We’ll have to see if Jeanette can still use you.”

  “Oh, I’m not a model. Trust me on that.” Summer flashed her usual sunny grin and tucked a strand of chin-length blond hair behind her ear, revealing a perfect-diamond post. “My friend Esmé is with the show. We’re getting that last table by the window, right?”

  The hostess’s lips pursed into a tight, red stop sign. “There’s no one here by that name.”

  “I’m afraid you are mistaken.” Dorothy dropped her voice. “She’s headed this way right now.”

  Esmé—Dorothy wasn’t sure of her last name, although she’d met her several times—hit the foyer like a wave crashing Benton Beach. The dark-haired girl wore slim black jeans, beaded gold sandals, and a black tee-shirt with GET MIF-D: Milano Institute of Fashion and Design printed across the front in bold white letters. “Am I glad to see you,�
� she said to Summer, as she smiled and waggled her fingers at Dorothy in greeting. “We just had a major issue backstage and I could really use your help.”

  “I was about to seat these ladies in the dining room.” The hostess looked considerably put out now.

  “No problem, go ahead,” Esmé said, with a wave. “I’ll follow you guys in. But I can only stay for a minute or two, because I have to get back to work.”

  Dorothy made an extra effort to keep up with the hostess, who snapped two leather-bound menus from a linen-lined wicker basket and swished through the arched doorway into the crowded main dining room.

  It seemed like a long hike toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, which streamed dazzling sunshine, and offered a gorgeous view of Milano Bay. A flotilla of boats—including several impressively-sized yachts—lazily crisscrossed the waves, and a long promenade crowded with early-afternoon strollers snaked toward a cheerfully-striped pavilion that advertised an art show.

  “This is perfect, thank you,” Dorothy said, as the hostess deposited the menus on their table with exaggerated care.

  Summer jumped to pull out a blue leather chair for her, as the hostess was oddly hovering.

  “I see you’re from Hibiscus Pointe.” The hostess nodded toward the small gold tag with the HP Senior Living Community logo attached to the zipper pull on Dorothy’s handbag. “How lovely. We have quite a contingent from the Pointe today. Are you sure you don’t want a table across the room, closer to those ladies?”

  Dear heavens, no, Dorothy thought. The last thing she needed was to be anywhere near that busybody loudmouth Gladys Rumway and her friends. She saw enough of all of them back at the complex, thank you very much.

  “No thanks.” Summer dropped into her chair and positioned the strap of her large designer tote firmly over the back. “My friend is a serious birdwatcher. See?” She motioned toward a highly overweight pelican, strutting the boardwalk in search of stray croissant crumbs. “And those crazy gulls dive bombing everyone out there? She just loves them.”

  Dorothy raised an eyebrow. She rather preferred the graceful snowy egrets and tiny, chipper sandpipers.