“Oh yeah?” Gladys pushed her jowly face way too close. “What’s going on?”
Oops. Mistake. The battle-ax had been a ginormous pain on Summer’s and Dorothy’s first case, following them around and getting in the way. “Um, nothing,” Summer tried. “I just need to talk to him, that’s all. No big deal.”
“I’ll handle this.” Gladys lifted her bullhorn. “Attention, all players, spectators, and personnel!” she thundered. “Detective Shane Donovan, please report to the tournament director immediately. Detective Shane Donovan.”
Instantly, all action on the courts came to a halt as players froze in place and tennis balls bounced uselessly in all directions. Summer cringed as she spotted the detective’s grandma on the far doubles court, squealing to a stop in her motorized wheelchair, mid-backhand. Yikes. How could she have missed Peggy Donovan, with that blaring red hair, held back in a bright white headband?
Summer tried to pretend she was invisible. Every single person at the tournament was staring at her and Gladys now, and they all looked mad. Including the tall, broad-shouldered guy in his thirties standing at the edge of the wheelchair doubles court, his arms crossed.
Detective Donovan didn’t even need to remove his Ray-Bans to let her know how ticked off he was at being summoned by a bullhorn. And maybe that his grandma had lost a game point.
Gladys began waving her arms wildly in the detective’s direction, and he strode up the hill toward them. Summer waggled her fingers at him and tried to disappear behind Mrs. Rumway. That was pretty much wasted effort, though. She was still way taller than the battle-ax.
“Is there a problem, Mrs. Rumway?” Summer felt, rather than saw, Detective Donovan glare at both of them, behind his shades. She wasn’t going to look at him. “Miss Smythe-Sloan,” he added.
He still called her by her full last name, just to bug her. If only he weren’t so uptight, she might be totally attracted to him. She’d thought, after she and Dorothy solved his last case for him, that maybe he was going to ask her out. But he hadn’t, weirdly. “Summer,” she muttered, reluctantly glancing his way.
“Right.” A quick smile passed over his tanned face. Wait. Was he just messing with her? So annoying.
“This one has some kind of emergency situation.” Gladys jerked her thumb in Summer’s face. “So what is it, missy?”
None of your business, Summer wanted to say. She couldn’t tell the detective about Mrs. Caldwell in front of Gladys. That would be the kiss of death for keeping things on the down low around Hibiscus Pointe—and all over town.
“I was supposed to get you right away.” Summer resisted the urge to just grab the guy and drag him off with her. “There’s an RV stuck in the parking lot.”
Was that emergency boring enough to ditch Gladys?
Detective Donovan looked confused. “I’m not, uh, sure I’m the best person to—”
“Jennifer sent me,” Summer added.
Well, that sure worked. He immediately turned and practically bolted for the parking lot, as Gladys stared at her in disappointment and disgust. Summer sighed. Obviously, Jennifer had a lot more pull with Detective Donovan than she did.
Quit it, she told herself. That wasn’t important right now. There was a freaking dead person in the library.
“Hey, wait!” Summer scrambled to keep up with Detective Donovan. “It’s a murder, okay?” she said as soon as they were far enough away from the battle-ax. “Dorothy and I think so, anyway. The librarian, Mrs. Caldwell. We already called 911.”
Quickly, she told him about finding Lorella and the bloody bookend in the messed-up library, leaving out the Trixie part for now.
For a second, the guy had zero reaction. Or that was what it seemed like, anyway. Then he took off at a run again toward the main building as a bunch of sirens started up from the main road outside the complex. Summer followed, snagging a couple brownies from the welcome table by the gate on her way.
When they got to the library, Dorothy was standing—well, sitting—guard on a chair next to Lorella. Close by, a still-jittery-looking Jennifer was trying to concentrate on her phone, instead of the body on the floor. Summer noticed that, despite her nervousness, the girl had managed to freshen her makeup and let her hair loose in soft waves around her shoulders.
Huh. Well, that was weird. Unless it had something to do with…
“Detective Donovan, we’re so glad you’re here!” Jennifer reholstered her cell and rushed toward him, her face Desert Rose-pink again.
He didn’t smile, exactly, under the circumstances, but he seemed a little friendlier now than he had at the tennis courts. “Glad to be of help, Jennifer. Hello, Mrs. Westin.” His eyes swept the room, immediately zeroing in on the body. “Can you ladies tell me everything you remember about what happened?” He headed straight for the last book stack.
Summer did her own scan of the library, trying not to focus too much on the slender, tweed-skirted body on the carpet. Her sweater was wool, too, which was pretty weird for Florida. The woman could have been any Northern grandma. Totally harmless. And like Summer had asked Dorothy earlier, who’d want to kill a librarian?
No one messed with librarians, unless they were really stupid. But Trixie Quattrochi had to be pretty dumb, if she was hanging out with that skeezy Ray guy. He looked a zillion percent mean.
Maybe Ray—not Trixie—was the person who’d clobbered poor Mrs. Caldwell. Either way, all Summer and Dorothy had to do was track those two down, and prove it. If Trixie had wanted to get rid of Lorella, though, she could have just shot her with that pistol in her duffel. Unless she was worried about the noise, maybe. Could you use a silencer on that thing?
A guy carrying a resuscitation kit bumped into her, jolting Summer back to attention. All around her, the tiny library was rapidly filling with first responders and crime scene investigators. A police photographer began to snap pictures of the body from all angles, as other forensic technicians took measurements and dusted for prints. Somehow, the crowd had totally cut her off from Detective Donovan. He was taking notes on his phone now as he talked to Dorothy and Jennifer.
Cops were never really off duty, he’d told her once. Maybe that was why he liked to spend so much time on that boat of his. It was hard to reach people on the ocean.
Obviously, he didn’t have any questions for her. She might as well be invisible now, like she’d wanted to be at the tennis courts a few minutes ago. Well, fine. But after she and Dorothy caught Mrs. Caldwell’s killer, Detective Donovan would be sorry he forgot to ask her anything.
Had Dorothy given him Trixie’s note? Yes. He was dropping that crazy orange envelope into one of the technician’s brown paper evidence bags. Too bad her sleuthing partner would never have opened the letter. They really needed to know what it said, because Donovan probably wouldn’t tell them.
Both of their fingerprints were all over that envelope. But at least no one would think she was a suspect this time. Before today, she hadn’t even known Lorella existed—or Trixie, either, for that matter.
Sometimes she didn’t pay a lot of attention to things going on at Hibiscus Pointe. But it wasn’t like she was going to actually hang out with any of the old people. Except Dorothy, of course. And her partner’s good friend, Ernie, and Grace, his wife, who was really sweet, and…
“Excuse me,” a young cop said. She looked fresh out of the academy, with her heavy gun belt practically reaching her knees, but tough. “You’re not supposed to be in here. This is a crime scene. Step outside, please.”
“But I’m with them,” Summer said, pointing. “I’m a witness.”
“Does the detective have your name and contact info?” The cop’s name tag said “Caputo.”
“Well, yeah, he knows who I am,” Summer said, indignant. “I—”
“He’ll be in touch if he needs to talk to you.” Caputo jerked her chin toward the door.
Cold.
Summer waved over the young woman’s head, trying to catch Dorothy’s att
ention. Total fail, before Caputo took a half step toward her. With a sigh, she backed out of the library and plopped herself on the floor beside the door to wait.
The carpet felt slightly damp. Either the cleaning people had just shampooed it, or it was some kind of invisible mold. Eww.
Down the hall, she could see Bill Beusel, Hibiscus Pointe’s silver-haired head of security, trying to shoo a bunch of gawking residents away. He and his equally useless minion had their hands full, as the seniors pressed against the velvet rope that had been set up to block off the area near the library. And now they were all staring at her.
Luckily, Dorothy and Jennifer stepped out just then. Summer scrambled to her feet. “What did I miss?” she asked Dorothy. “Was Detective Donovan happy when you gave him the note? Did he read it in front of you?”
“I’ll fill you in on everything later, dear,” Dorothy said, with a tiny quirk of her eyebrow. Oh. She didn’t want to talk about Trixie in front of Jennifer, probably.
Dorothy turned to the Resident Services director. “Jennifer, I know this is hardly the time, but I’d like to talk to you later about that book club launch Lorella had planned. It meant so much to her, and perhaps we can carry on her wishes. I’d be happy to help.”
Jeez. What did the stupid book club deal have to do with anything? Maybe Summer’s partner was trying to distract Jennifer from the dead body in the library. Or the note.
“Oh, Mrs. Westin, it’s so nice of you to offer, but I couldn’t impose on you to take on such a big project.” Jennifer looked genuinely distressed. “Especially with Mrs. Caldwell…gone…and everything. I mean, it’s true the book club idea was very close to her heart, and Roger was really anxious to build up our resident activities, but under the circumstances…”
“Hey, what did Roger say about Mrs. Caldwell being murdered?” Summer asked.
Jennifer looked at her navy pumps. “He doesn’t know yet. He’s out on the golf course. Um, inspecting the greens,” she added quickly.
The girl sounded like she was starting to panic again. Summer felt sorry for her.
“Ah. Well, do give me a call about the book club when things settle down,” Dorothy said to Jennifer. “And I’m sure Summer will lend a hand, too. Isn’t that right, dear?”
What? Just what she needed. Another volunteer job—and a superboring one, to boot. No thanks. Besides, they had a murder to solve. “Uh, yeah, sure. Dorothy, we’ve got to get going.” Summer pulled on her friend’s pink sweater sleeve. “We have to catch up with Mrs. Luger,” she said, under her breath. Hopefully, Dorothy would take the hint about Trixie. “Like, right away.”
“Please don’t let me keep you, ladies,” Jennifer said. “We’ll talk about the book club later, Mrs. Westin.”
Well, at least someone could take a hint.
“I need to track down Roger.” Jennifer glanced over her shoulder at Bill trying to redirect the growing crowd, and sighed. “Guess it’s too late to keep the news about Lorella quiet. But maybe we could not mention anything to the other residents about the…unusual circumstances? For now, at least.”
Dorothy nodded. “I’m sure Detective Donovan would appreciate that, too. Everyone will find out the sad truth soon enough, I’m afraid.”
“I knew I should have read Trixie’s note,” Summer said, the second she and Dorothy were around the corner. Jennifer had headed in the opposite direction, to try to help Bill get rid of the gaping seniors. “It had to have been a threat.”
“More of a warning, I think.”
“Wait. You mean you actually opened that envelope?” Summer stopped so fast she almost face-planted over the tips of her sneakers.
Dorothy’s face turned the same pink as her sweater. “Well, yes. Under the circumstances, I felt I should.”
“Good job.” Summer threw her partner a grin. “I’m impressed. Hey, is that why you were trying to distract Jennifer with all that book club stuff? So we could get rid of her and you could tell me about the note faster?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘distract,’ exactly.” Dorothy’s face turned a darker pink, more like the fake tropical plant they’d just passed in the hall. “I was quite serious about volunteering.” She filled Summer in on the contents of Trixie’s letter.
“Whoa. There’s a snake?” Summer said when her friend had finished. “Jeez, I really, really hate those things.”
“Not an actual snake, I’m sure,” Dorothy said. “The name was capitalized, so Trixie probably meant a person. Of the sneaky persuasion, perhaps.”
“Or the killing kind,” Summer said. “Trixie’s got to be the murderer, I’m telling you. Or else it’s her buddy Ray. Did Detective Donovan put out on an APB for the RV?”
Well, that was fun to say. She sounded very official.
“I did give him the note,” Dorothy said. “He said they’d be on the lookout for the vehicle.”
“On the lookout?” Summer said. “That’s it?” Sounded as if the detective was in no big hurry to question the obvious prime suspect, either. Well, fine. “We’ll just have to bring her and Ray in on our own, then. Hopefully, they got stuck in lunchtime traffic and haven’t gotten that far yet.”
She started walking again, very fast, toward the lobby, then realized she had gotten way ahead of her partner. “Whoops, sorry, Dorothy. I’ll go get my car from the lot and meet you out front.”
“We can’t approach Trixie and Ray by ourselves,” Dorothy said. “They might be dangerous. Trixie has that awful gun, remember?”
“We’ll be really careful,” Summer promised. “They’ll never even see us. All we have to do is catch up with them, and then we can call the cops. Piece of cake.”
Dorothy hesitated. “I don’t know. That’s not a very—”
“We’ve got to hurry,” Summer broke in. “Ol’ Ray and Trixie are probably almost to Georgia by now. Come on, we can grab a bite from the Frankn’Creams drive-through on the way.”
She knew Dorothy couldn’t resist their tutti-frutti shakes. And the hot dogs were pretty decent, too. “It’s good to eat when you’re stressed,” Summer added. “You know, to keep your strength up.”
In practically no time, she and Dorothy were cruising down Imperial Boulevard toward the highway entrance in her orange MINI Cooper convertible, which hadn’t broken down in weeks. Beside her, Dorothy sipped her pink-yellow-and-orange-swirled shake and held on to her floppy blue sunhat with one hand.
It was terrible about Mrs. Caldwell, of course, but it felt good to be working on a case again. Solving crimes was something Summer was actually good at. And so was Dorothy. They were a great team.
“Look out, dear!” Dorothy cried as a red Fiat drew up beside them, way too close. Two sunburned guys wearing identical red muscle shirts and Oakley sunglasses leered over at them, their teeth extra white against all that red.
“Losers,” Summer muttered. “Just ignore them.”
The driver honked his horn before shouting something she couldn’t believe any guy would say in front of Dorothy. Or any woman, for that matter.
She hit the brakes—luckily, no one was behind them—then tapped the gas again and swerved in behind the Fiat. Yep. Out-of-state plates. Morons on a road trip.
“Pay attention to the road, not the hooligans, dear.” Dorothy dabbed at a spot of tutti-frutti that had spilled on her pink sweater.
“Okay.” Sensing a sudden break in traffic to her left, Summer lurched the MINI into the passing lane and sped around the Fiat, leaving the goon twins in the dust. “See? Much better.”
“Mmm.” Dorothy was twisted in her seat. “I’m not sure, but I think I see Trixie’s RV. A few blocks behind us, turning right on Neptune.”
“Hold on to your hat again,” Summer said. “We’re gonna make a U-ie.”
Lorella Caldwell’s killer was in their sights.
Chapter Three
“I can’t believe this,” Summer said. “Now we’ve lost them.”
Dorothy tried not to wince as her friend braked
at the last possible moment for still another red light on Neptune Avenue. “It does look that way,” she agreed, with a sigh. The Happy Trailways had completely disappeared into the heavy midafternoon Milano traffic. “Well, they couldn’t have gotten far,” she pointed out. “They were headed toward the beach.”
“We’ll catch up with up them, no problem.” Summer gritted her teeth as a trolley painted with colorful fish pulled in front of them. “I have to be a better driver than that dirtbag. And the mini is way easier to maneuver than a freaking RV.”
Dorothy leaned forward over the dashboard. “There they are!” she said. “On the left, about to turn onto Benton Beach Road.”
“Got ‘em,” Summer said. “Good spot, Dorothy.”
“Give me your phone, dear, and I’ll call Detective Donovan.” Although her sleuthing partner had been trying very hard to talk her into buying her own cell phone, Dorothy still hadn’t done so. She wasn’t entirely sure they were necessary, really. Except for emergencies, of course.
There seemed to be a lot of them lately. And this certainly qualified as one.
“Wait, let’s get closer first,” Summer said, weaving the MINI through the other cars crawling toward the beach. “You know, to make sure it’s them.”
Dorothy thought that was a very poor idea. Right now there was nothing separating them from Trixie and Ray but a nasty, choking cloud of diesel. Trixie, they knew, was armed—and both of them could be dangerous.
“Look, they’re pulling into the Benton Beach entrance,” Summer said. “We’ve got ’em now. Do you have any quarters for the parking meter?”
“We don’t need to park, dear,” Dorothy said. “Let’s just drive around the lot a bit, and wait until we see them get out. It’s a lot safer that way.”
“Maybe they’re staying here for the night.” Summer pulled up to the guardhouse, gazing warily at the yellow-and-red gate arm poised just above the MINI.
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