Fashionably Late (The Ladies Smythe & Westin)

by Lisa Q. Mathews

  It was also possible she had read too many crime novels of late, but could Angelica have placed Frankie in Hibiscus Glen to keep her safe from her scheming sister? And an infuriated Violet had gunned for Angelica first?

  On the other hand, if getting her hands on family money was Violet’s goal, she would have had to remove Angelica eventually, anyway. Chilling.

  “Dot?”

  Dorothy jumped, dropping the colorful Hibiscus Pointe brochure. Helen Murphy stared up at her accusingly from the floor.

  Ernie reached down to retrieve the pamphlet. “What’s going on?” he asked, rather loudly, as he handed it back to her. “You took off from the dining room like a bat out of Boise, just like you did this afternoon.”

  “Goodness, Ernie, you gave me a fright.” Dorothy cleared her throat, and snuck a peek back into the sitting room. “Don’t worry, everything’s fine,” she whispered, straining to hear Violet now. “Summer and I are working another case. I’d planned to tell you at dinner, but it concerns your friend Frankie’s daughter.”

  “That one?” he asked, jerking his head toward the sitting room. “She was at Hibiscus Glen today, but I don’t think she stuck around too long.”

  “You know, this place is lovely, but you two really should consider another community.”

  Dorothy and Ernie turned at the same time to find Violet standing in the lobby doorway. Oh dear, Dorothy thought. Had she been eavesdropping on them?

  “I see you’re looking into active living communities,” Violet went on, nodding at the Hibiscus Pointe brochure in Dorothy’s hand. “This is a very nice one, like I said, but between us, you get can a lot more bang for your buck across town.”

  Dorothy forced a smile. Should she offer the woman her condolences on the death of her sister? Or play along as an eager retiree in search of a little slice of paradise?

  “Gotta call you back,” Violet said into her phone, disconnecting the call and turning her attention back to them. “I’m Violet Downs, and I happen to be a real estate broker up in Vero Beach. But I have an adorable, easy-maintenance waterfront condo right here in Milano with an extremely motivated seller—death in the family—that you have to see. Just came on the market.”

  “Really?” Dorothy murmured. “Sounds wonderful.”

  Except it wasn’t wonderful at all. Dorothy didn’t know yet where Angelica had been living in town, but was it her condo Violet was already hawking?

  “Your husband looks like a golfer.” Violet smiled at Ernie. “Those are very nice slacks.”

  Dorothy felt dumbfounded. What was worse, the real estate agent mistaking Ernie for her husband, or the fact that she was commenting on his golf pants?

  “I’m Mrs. Westin’s attorney, actually,” Ernie said. “She doesn’t buy anything without my approval.”

  Really. Dorothy frowned at her friend.

  He shrugged. “It’s a risky market out there. You need to be careful.”

  Violet pushed up her sunglasses, and Dorothy noticed that her eyes looked red and puffy. Had she been crying, after all? “It’s not dangerous if you’re working with the right real estate professional,” she said. “So what do you say we take a drive over and see the place right now?”

  The offer to walk through what could very well be Angelica’s home was tempting, but Dorothy was beginning to feel dizzy from lack of food. And it would be dark soon. “How about tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Perfect, Mrs. Westin.” Violet made a rapid note on her phone. “I’ll see you and your…attorney…around nine, then, how’s that? Where are you staying, with friends or at a hotel?”

  “Friends,” Dorothy said.

  “Hotel,” Ernie said, at the same time. Dorothy felt her face grow warm. Violet raised her eyebrows.

  “You can meet us at The Brooklyn Deli on LaVista,” Ernie said. That was one of his favorite places, Dorothy knew, because the bagels reminded him of home. “And make it ten-thirty.”

  “Got it. See you then!” Violet hustled off toward the sliding doors at the end of the lobby, nearly knocking over a worried-looking Jennifer Margolis on her way.

  Jennifer always looked a bit worried, of course. But right now the hardworking Hibiscus Pointe resident services director had even more concern than usual in her pretty brown eyes.

  “Oh, Mrs. Westin, I couldn’t help hearing just the last second or two of your conversation,” she said, glancing after the tiny real estate agent in dismay. “You aren’t planning to leave us, are you?”

  “Absolutely not, dear,” Dorothy assured her.

  Not if she could help it, anyway.

  Chapter Nine

  Summer Ubered back to her condo in Hibiscus Towers later than she’d expected, after she and Esmé had accidentally discovered—and then polished off—the instant margarita mix and tequila in Esmé’s roommate’s half of the cupboards.

  They could replace the stuff before Enrique even realized it was missing. Unless he was having a guest over or a party or something tonight—but hey, what were the chances of that, really?

  Besides, she and Esmé had gotten stuff done for the case, Summer told herself, as she tossed her key card on the counter and dropped onto Grandma Sloan’s flowered couch. They’d made a list of all the downtown clubs Zoe Z was likely to show up at tonight, so they could plan where to go. Basically, the Zoe list was the same as Summer’s regular club circuit, which Esmé pointed out made sense, since neither of them would waste time at any lame places.

  Plus, if Zoe really was stalking her, it made sense she’d pick the clubs where Summer hung out the most.

  It didn’t matter that the kid was underage. The bouncers let in anyone with a fake ID who looked halfway cool. And they’d recognize Zoe, anyway—tabloid publicity was always a plus, especially since no clubs were trendy for long.

  After that, she and Esmé had debated for a while whether Detective Donovan was worth the effort. First Esmé said yes and Summer said no. Then Summer said yes, and Esmé said no. Then her friend had pointed out the fact that since he wasn’t calling her or anything, it didn’t really matter.

  Ouch. Esmé could be brutal like that sometimes. But Summer had to admit, she was right.

  Summer rolled over onto her stomach and voice-activated her screening-room-sized TV. There was nothing on, really. And now the TV was reminding her that Detective Donovan had installed it for her, and…wait, wasn’t she supposed to be somewhere?

  Oh, no. Summer sat straight up again. She’d told Dorothy she’d come over to talk about the case. And there was no way for her to call and tell her friend she’d be late, because she’d gotten rid of Grandma Sloan’s landline ages ago.

  She shouldn’t have had that last margarita. The tequila was definitely fogging her brain. Maybe if she had something to eat, and brushed her teeth really well, Dorothy wouldn’t realize she was a tiny bit tipsy.

  Summer slipped into her flip-flops and stumbled just a little on her way to the fridge. She and Esmé were going to have to Uber it again tonight, for sure.

  Luckily, there were a couple of cartons of Chinese food in the fridge. They couldn’t have been there more than a week. Two weeks, tops. Besides, you couldn’t get food poisoning if the stuff had MSG, right? MSG protected you from everything, except Death Valley thirst and killer headaches.

  Wait. What was that weird rustling noise? It seemed like it was coming from her bedroom.

  Maybe it was just her imagination. Summer stood totally still, listening. It wasn’t even dark outside yet, but the light from the fridge gave the kitchen a weird, creepy glow. It didn’t help that she kept the living room drapes closed in the daytime, so she didn’t have to see the dizzying view from a zillion floors up. She hated heights.

  There was the noise again, louder this time. Summer very quietly removed her flip-flops, and tiptoed across the carpet toward the open bedroom door. Now she really needed her phone, to call the police if it turned out there was some kind of psycho in there.

  She peered through t
he doorway in the dim light, ready to make a break for the front door if she needed to. Cautiously, she took one step forward, raising a flip-flop over her head. Not that it would make much of a weapon, but it made her feel better.

  A small, blue-haired figure was bent over Grandma Sloan’s dresser against the wall, with her back to Summer, peering intently at something in her hands.

  Unbelievable. Frankie Downs had broken into her condo. What was Angelica’s mom doing here? And how had she escaped from Hibiscus Glen?

  On the other hand, maybe she shouldn’t be too surprised about that. “Okay, Frankie,” she said. “Put whatever you’re holding there down.”

  The tiny woman whirled around. “Oh,” she said. “It’s you.”

  “Well, yeah,” Summer said, crossing her arms. “I happen to live here. And you have a ton of explaining to do.”

  “I was just waiting for you to show up, that’s all.” Frankie slowly opened her fist to let the chain of a delicate necklace coil back onto the dresser top.

  Summer frowned. That was the moonstone necklace her mom had given her on her tenth birthday, just before she took off for that hippie farm, or wherever she went that time. Joy had one just like it. “Why are you pawing through my stuff?”

  “There was nothing else to do.” Frankie shrugged. “You have some nice jewelry. Ever think about selling it?”

  “No,” Summer said, as Angelica’s mom brushed past her into the living room. Actually, she had, but that was none of Frankie’s business. She followed after her, flipping on a few overhead lights, and sighed in relief as her surprise guest settled on the couch.

  “You need to change the channel,” Frankie said, nodding toward the upset-stomach commercial on the TV.

  “TV off,” Summer told the black command tower in the corner. What was she going to do now? She still had no idea whether the blue-haired woman had all her marbles or not. And Frankie sure didn’t seem to understand—or believe—that her daughter was really dead. Otherwise, wouldn’t she be too upset to sneak into other people’s condos?

  “Come over here by me, honey.” Frankie patted the couch. “We need to talk.”

  They sure did. But Summer wasn’t sitting down. She didn’t trust that con artist for a second. “How did you get in here?”

  “Easy.” Frankie held up a Hibiscus Pointe pool key card. “Found it on the sidewalk. Works on practically every door in this place.”

  Summer had to hand it to her. She used the same trick herself, more than she’d admit. “We need to get you back to Hibiscus Glen,” she said.

  “Nope.” Frankie shook her blue head emphatically. “I’m staying right here. I’m never setting foot in that place again.”

  Summer sighed. Now what was she supposed to do? She needed to drop by Dorothy’s and then get ready to hit the clubs with Esmé and track down Zoe. Should she rat out Frankie and dump her back at the memory care unit? But then she and Dorothy might never have another great chance like this to question her for the case.

  On the other hand, if anyone at Hibiscus Glen found out she was hiding Frankie in her condo after she’d gone AWOL, she’d be in major trouble. And she was in enough hot water as it was with the Residents Board for the under-fifty-five thing.

  There was only one thing to do. “Okay, Frankie, you win,” Summer said, slipping on her flip-flops again. “You’re coming with me. But not to Hibiscus Glen, I promise.”

  “You know, you and I are a lot alike,” Frankie said, as she stepped through the door in front of Summer. “It’s probably because you’re my goddaughter.”

  “Mmmhmm.” Summer made sure the door was securely locked behind them, not that it did much good. She wasn’t anything like Angelica’s crazy mom.

  *

  Dorothy had expected to find Summer at her door at some point that evening, but certainly not with Frankie Downs in tow.

  “Don’t ask,” Summer said, as she tossed her bag on the breakfast bar and helped herself to a brownish banana.

  Well, that was ridiculous. Of course she had to ask what Angelica’s mother was doing in the company of her detective partner—and not Val and the rest of the staff at the memory care unit.

  It took a few minutes for Dorothy to get the gist of the situation, as Summer and Frankie kept talking over each other. She’d tried to convince Frankie to return to her lovely room at Hibiscus Glen, with her nice new friend Peggy.

  No dice, in Frankie’s words.

  “Can she stay here with you?” Summer asked. “Just for tonight? I really have to find Zoe.”

  “Zoe who?” Frankie’s ears pricked up like Mr. Bitey’s when he heard Dorothy open the cat food bin.

  At the moment, the treacherous orange feline was contentedly curled in Frankie’s tiny lap. He’d never demonstrated any type of affection like that to anyone, including Dorothy, since she’d adopted him from the cat rescue a while back. Mr. Bitey was nearly as large as Frankie, and equally stubborn.

  “Summer, can you help me in the kitchen for a moment, please?” Dorothy said. “I’m sure I have some snacks somewhere.”

  That wasn’t true, and her cramped kitchenette wouldn’t afford them much privacy with its close proximity to the living room, but she and Summer needed to make a plan. They couldn’t risk having Frankie stay with either of them indefinitely. Violet—and the police, no doubt—would be looking for her.

  Not to mention, Frankie might have mental or physical health issues neither she nor Summer were aware of. And Dorothy didn’t care much for the idea of bunking with Angelica’s mother for any length of time. Even one night.

  “What else can we do?” Summer asked, after she and Dorothy had debated the matter for several minutes, in low tones. “We’re stuck with her. For now, anyway.”

  Dorothy sighed. “Frankie can stay tonight, but first thing in the morning, she goes back to Hibiscus Glen. I just hope no one finds out we’re harboring an escaped resident. Surely the memory unit is monitored with some kind of security cameras, don’t you think?”

  “Well, it’s not like the rest of the ones around Hibiscus Pointe ever work.” Summer pulled a stuffed pepper dinner from the freezer and extracted a baking sheet from the jumble of pans and lids and casserole dishes in the drawer under Dorothy’s oven. “Here, you guys can cut up the pepper and make little apps, kind of.”

  “I guess that’ll have to do for refreshments. Frankie probably didn’t have any dinner tonight.” Dorothy shot a glance through the kitchen at the older woman, who petting a happily purring Mr. Bitey with her bare feet up on the coffee table. “It looks as if she’s already making herself right at home. I just don’t understand why she hasn’t even mentioned Angelica yet. Especially under the…circumstances.”

  “I dunno,” Summer said. “Maybe you can work on Frankie tonight while I go after the Zoe angle. We’ve got to get a break here somewhere soon, or we’re cooked. Don’t they say your best chances of catching a killer are in the first forty-eight hours?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that,” Dorothy said, with a sigh. “Why don’t you go get ready to meet Esmé, then, and I’ll see what I can find out on my end.”

  She had a feeling it would be a very long night. For both of them.

  “Okay,” Summer agreed quickly, scooping up her bag from the counter. “See you later, Frankie!” she called into the living room.

  “Don’t forget, Ernie and I are meeting Violet tomorrow morning at ten-thirty,” Dorothy said in a low voice, as Summer bounded past her. “You’ll need to take Frankie back to your condo by ten, at the very latest. Earlier would probably be better, so you won’t run into as many people.”

  “Got it,” Summer said cheerfully, from the door.

  “Oh, and Summer?”

  “Yeah?” Her friend poked her blonde head back inside the condo.

  “Maybe you should take a cab tonight, dear.”

  Chapter Ten

  Summer and Esmé arrived at Inferno, the first club on their hot list, at just the right time. Late
enough to be cool, but early enough to snag a seat at the private VIP bar on the top level. It didn’t hurt, of course, that Summer’s name was on their Regulars list.

  Sort of like being on a TSA pre-check list or something, but way more fun. Now all they had to do was wait.

  It also helped that, unlike Hibiscus Pointe, the security camera monitors at Inferno actually functioned. If she glanced into the little side room behind the slightly open velvet curtain to the left of the main bar area, she could see every single clubgoer who tried to get in—at every door, even the secret ones.

  Zoe’s butt was hers. And if for some reason the brat didn’t show up, she and Esmé would go to the next place. Piece of cake. Not bad as far as stakeouts went, either. At least they could have drinks while they waited.

  The VIP bar was known as Dante’s—sort of like the top level in the place where killers ended up after they were dead. There was another, older club in Milano, a lot like this one, called Burn. But it had been shut down for a while by the health department.

  “Haven’t seen you two in a while. What’ll it be, ladies?” The bartender, amazingly hot and casual in a V-necked black T-shirt and tight black skinny jeans, leaned in super close over the candy-red, sparkly mica counter.

  Summer couldn’t remember the guy’s name. For help, she glanced over at the string of little holiday stockings and stars with employee names hung just beyond the velvet curtain, but they were too fuzzy to read this far away.

  A weird touch for a trendy club. Kind of cute, though. No one except for the staff was supposed to see it, anyway. Hopefully that curtain would stay open for a while longer, so she could keep watching the monitors for Zoe.

  Esmé ordered a Jack and soda, and Summer decided on the lavender martini. She’d been tempted to try one of the flaming drinks, but they were slightly over her budget. She needed to pace herself tonight, anyway. The margaritas she’d knocked back earlier had given her a throbbing headache.