Permanently Booked

by Lisa Q. Mathews

  “I’m not worried about who solves the case first.” Dorothy took another sip of ice water. “The important thing is bringing Lorella’s killer to justice, one way or the other.”

  Just after the waitress took her and Summer’s orders, Gladys and her companions began to gather their handbags and sweaters. “You girls go on ahead,” Gladys told the other women. “Jeannie, why don’t you pay my tab, and I’ll pick up yours next time? I just have to talk to Dorothy for a minute.”

  Dorothy braced herself as Gladys leaned casually—and rather heavily—against the post behind her booth, draping Dorothy in excess fabric from the sleeve of her floral blouse. “Didn’t want the girls to hear this, because it’s just between us detectives,” she said. “Keep this confidential, okay?”

  “What is it, Gladys?” Dorothy said wearily.

  The woman triumphantly twirled the plastic wrapping off a toothpick she must have taken from the hostess booth on her way in. “Just got the scoop from my cousin Merle, first thing this morning,” she said. “He volunteers down at the PD, remember?”

  “Yes, I believe I do,” Dorothy said. Gladys always mentioned it at every opportunity. Admittedly, Merle sometimes offered valuable pieces of information—when he didn’t get his facts wrong.

  Gladys paused for dramatic effect. “Spit it out, Mrs. Rumway,” Summer said.

  Dorothy drew back.

  “You know the bookend that the murderer used to clobber Lorella?” Gladys nearly popped an ornamental button as she drew herself up. “There wasn’t a single fingerprint on it.”

  “How interesting,” Dorothy said. “Thank you for sharing that with us, Gladys.”

  “You’re welcome.” Gladys modestly patted her poodle-style hairdo. “Just makes solving this case more of a challenge, but I’m up to it.”

  Their waitress reappeared at the booth, looking slightly out of breath. “I’m really sorry, ladies, but we’re all out of cranberry crepes. The table behind you got the last ones. I’ve brought your menus back, in case you’d like to order something else.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Gladys said. “Ta-ta for now—see you back at the Pointe.” She leaned back in over the booth. “And I have to tell you, those cranberry crepes were beyond fabulous.”

  “She really didn’t have to rub that in,” Summer said, after Gladys and the waitress had left. “Jeez.”

  Dorothy picked up her menu again. “Well, it may not have been Gladys’s intention, but she did give us what might be a very helpful clue.”

  “You mean, about the fingerprints?” Summer still looked glum.

  Dorothy nodded. “Yes. The bookend that killed Lorella had a highly polished surface. None of the bloodstains in the carpet looked smudged and the library didn’t have curtains. With that amount of blood, even if the killer was carrying a handkerchief or something else to clean the murder weapon, there’s a good—”

  “The person wore gloves,” Summer broke in. “So the murderer must have planned to kill Lorella ahead of time. They didn’t have a sudden, big fight or anything.”

  “Exactly.” Dorothy returned her attention to the other breakfast entrées. Radish, sausage and cauliflower omelets? Nauseating.

  Summer tossed her menu aside. “I don’t feel like breakfast anymore. And we really need to find that professor guy. Want to go grab something from Westminster Dog House?”

  “Excellent idea,” Dorothy said. With Lorella’s killer still at large, there was no time to waste—and no way to tell who might be his or her next victim.

  Chapter Seven

  “This place looks really new,” Summer said as she and Dorothy drove through the perfectly landscaped, Mission-style campus of Santa Teresa College. “Like, perfect.”

  “It is,” Dorothy said. “It was just accredited last year.”

  “I took some classes after high school,” Summer said. “My dad wanted me to major in business, but it didn’t work out. There’s the library. Should we park there?”

  “No, try the admissions building, on the other side,” Dorothy said. “It’s spring break, I believe, so there are spots everywhere. But we don’t have a sticker.”

  “Worse than the beach,” Summer muttered. “Do you think Professor Bell is even going to be here, if everyone’s gone?”

  “It’s worth a try,” Dorothy said. “Let’s go in and see whether we can get a campus map. A lot of prospective students and their parents visit campuses this time of year, so the administrative offices will be open, at least.”

  A familiar cloud of dread surrounded Summer as they entered the admissions building. She’d never actually been rejected from any schools, or kicked out—Syd and his money saw to that—but she’d never felt as if she belonged there, either.

  “Hello,” Dorothy said, to the sporty-looking young woman in perfect cornrow braids and a Santa Teresa T-shirt at the reception desk. “We’d like some information about your English literature program.”

  Summer felt her friend’s nudge. “Um, right…”

  The student gave her a big, friendly smile. “Oh, you’re one of our graduate applicants, then?”

  Summer felt her face grow hot. Not only did she feel really stupid right now, but she seemed old to this girl.

  “No,” Dorothy spoke up. “I am.”

  “Fantastic.” The girl reached toward a big stack of folders on her desk and handed one to each of them. “This should give you a start, and of course we have a lot more info online. You’ll find a CD inside, a campus map, and cards for our admissions counselors. I’m Andee, so feel free to ask me any questions during or after your visit, too, okay?”

  Andee’s cheeriness wasn’t the fake kind Summer hated, she could tell. She really needed to improve her attitude. “Thanks,” she said, taking the folder. “This is great. I might apply, too. Maybe not for a few more semesters.”

  “Great.” Andee looked really happy. So did Dorothy, Summer noticed.

  “By the way, do you know whether Professor Charles Bell is in today?” Dorothy asked the student. “I was hoping to ask him some questions in person.”

  “I’m not sure,” Andee said, “but I can check for you. He’s been at the library a lot lately.” She reached for the phone.

  “Oh, no need to call,” Dorothy said. “We’ll just stop by his office, and the library is on our route, I see. Thanks so much for your help.”

  “Bye!” Andee called after them. “Have a wonderful day at Santa Teresa, and see you next fall!”

  In some alternative universe, Summer thought, when she and Dorothy were safely out in the hallway. It was plastered with posters of carefully posed students pursuing every academic, cultural, and sports activity under the Florida sun.

  Whoops. There was that negative thinking again. She’d really have to work on that.

  As they made their way down the orange-tiled front steps of the admissions building, the mission bells rang from the clock tower of the enormous church in the center of campus.

  “One o’clock, and we have so much to do today,” Dorothy said. “Why don’t we split up to save time? I’ll take the library, to find any useful book club materials we might use, and see whether anyone there knew Lorella. You can chat with Professor Bell.”

  Summer sighed. Sometimes detectives just had to suck it up for a case. “Okay.”

  No way was she posing as a student, though. Unless she really had to. Too many professors she’d known had offered her extra tutoring during extra-private office hours. And she already knew this guy was a stalker.

  Rose Hall, located right next door to the modern-style library, seemed way out of place on the supersunny campus. It was one of those dark old buildings with the little pointy roofs, like a bigger version of Lorella’s old place—Tudor-style, Dorothy had said. Maybe it had been her home away from home.

  Summer checked the directory in the lobby and jogged up four winding flights of stairs to the faculty offices. Charles Bell’s office was the first one on the left and the door was open
, so she knocked and walked in.

  She still hadn’t figured out exactly how to play this, but maybe it would be better to just wing it. Most of the time, things never went exactly as she planned anyway.

  There were actually two offices behind the door, one for the administrative assistant and, just past it, a larger one for Charles Bell.

  It looked as if whoever had taken over Lorella’s old job had stepped out, judging by the half-empty tea mug and reusable lunch bag in the middle of the desk in the first office. Hopefully, the assistant—it had to be a she, judging from the unicorn heads on the lunch bag and mug and a bunch of photocopied unicorn prints on the back wall—wouldn’t be back any time soon.

  The professor’s door was open, too. Looked as if Stalker Charlie was absent. Hopefully, Dorothy would find him in the library. But maybe she could snoop around a little, before the Unicorn Lady showed up and kicked her out.

  The whole office smelled like woodsy pipe tobacco. And everything about it was dark, thanks to the one tiny window with those crisscrossed panes. It had a pointy ceiling, though, which was kind of cool, and Professor Bell’s messy desk was tucked in an alcove. Summer headed straight toward it, leaving the lights off so it wouldn’t look like she was snooping.

  The room was jammed with papers, files, and books, especially the desk. Where did he keep his computer?

  She leaned in closer to scan the book titles.

  100 Shades of Passion—Make Your Readers Beg for More!

  How to Write a Bestseller Without Really Trying

  In the Mood: Romance 101 for Writers

  Fishing for Writers: Catch a Publisher and Release Your Book

  You Can Promote Your Novel (Without Killing Yourself)

  Yikes. No one could be that desperate. Was this the sort of stuff Charles Bell taught in his classes?

  Definitely not, she realized, after a glance at the reading lists posted to three crowded bulletin boards above the professor’s desk. English 101: Introduction to the Novel, English 222: Romanticism and the Rise of Industrialism in England, 1800-1850, and English 400: Sturm and Drang: Intuition and Emotion vs. Rationalism.

  What a snooze. As Summer shuddered and turned away, she spotted a battered leather pocket calendar on the corner of the credenza behind the desk. Excellent. Now she could see exactly what the professor had been up to, day to day, for the whole year.

  Which was only three months so far, unfortunately, but still…No, wait, it was an academic year calendar. Excellent.

  As Summer reached to snatch up the little book, her fingers brushed something cold and solid, mostly hidden by a huge pile of paper. It was a fancy, smooth gold bookend, in the shape of a woman holding a book. And it looked exactly like the one she and Dorothy had found near Lorella Caldwell’s body in the Hibiscus Pointe Library.

  Bookends always came in pairs. Was this the mate to the one that had killed Lorella? She didn’t see any other gold lady statues in here. But the office was so jammed with stuff it was impossible to tell for sure. It could be anywhere.

  Summer blinked as the fluorescent overhead lights suddenly came on in the room.”I hope you can explain what you’re doing in here,” a man’s voice said. “But I doubt it.”

  Busted. Summer turned slowly, keeping one hand on the credenza behind her. If he made a move, she’d grab the bookend and bean him the same way he’d clocked Lorella.

  He was taller than she’d expected, somehow. And not even that bad-looking, for his age. Tanned, with a decent head of hair, which was long and flecked with a few distinguished streaks of gray. Not a bad dresser, either, though the navy blazer he wore over his casual, strategically faded jeans wasn’t as pricy as Dash’s.

  She could probably take him mano a mano. For sure with the bookend.

  “Oh, sorry.” Summer threw the professor the careful smile she used to keep old guys at bay. “It’s Professor Bell, right? I just saw this really funky little statue here”—she nodded over her shoulder—”from the doorway and I ran in for a closer look. Is it an award or something?”

  “Hardly.” Now he was staring at her in disgust, kind of the way Captain von Trapp looked at Maria in The Sound of Music when she showed up at his villa in those ugly clothes.

  Not that she could blame him. She had sounded pretty dumb. But it was all she could come up with on the spur of the moment. “Oh, I see now, it’s a bookend,” she said. “Jeez, guess I’d better make that Lasik appointment. Where could I get some like this? I just inherited a whole bunch of books from my grandma, so I could really use them.”

  The professor sighed, just a tiny bit. “They sell them at every J.P. Booker bookstore. And online.”

  At least he wasn’t moving from the doorway. Summer didn’t budge, either. The more distance between them, the better, until she got some answers from this guy—and found the other bookend.

  Or not.

  “You aren’t one of my students, are you?” he said. “I’m sure I would have remembered you.”

  “Oh gosh, no.” Summer waved. “But I love romance books. And I finished school ages ago.” Well, that last one was true. She reached into her bag and held up one of Parker’s colorful flyers. “I just stopped by to invite you to a party.”

  Professor Bell crossed his arms. “Thank you, but I don’t think so.”

  Oops. He’d taken that way wrong. “I’m from Hibiscus Pointe,” Summer said. “Lorella Caldwell, our librarian over there, really wanted us to invite you.”

  Aha! The guy’s eyes were practically bugging out of his head. Lorella’s name had definitely gotten a reaction out of him. “Hibiscus Pointe? Isn’t that a…senior community? What are you—”

  “I work there.” Summer cut him off. Again, totally true. “I’m really sorry about Lorella,” she added. “It must have been a horrible shock.”

  “Yes,” he murmured, glancing back through the doorway at her old desk. “We do miss her around here.”

  “Did you know Lorella well?” Summer asked.

  One side of the professor’s mouth quirked, just a little. “Only professionally,” he said.

  Liar, Summer thought. Why was he sneaking around her old house, then?

  “Professor Bell?”

  A thirtysomething woman with frizzy purple hair and huge, round glasses came up behind him, blinking. Judging from the big-eyed, cutesy unicorn twins on her sweatshirt, she had to be his new assistant.

  He sighed, turning. “Yes, Jocelyn?”

  “I have to leave early today,” she said. “My landlord’s trying to evict me again.”

  For what, Summer could only imagine. Probably fifty thousand unicorns in her apartment. But who cared? This was her chance to make an exit. And maybe snag the bookend, in case it turned out to be evidence. His office was such a mess he’d probably never miss it anyway.

  She plucked the little statue—way heavier than she’d expected—from underneath the papers and tucked it in her bag, just as the professor turned back around.

  Had he noticed? She pushed the bookend farther down, and her fingers touched on Parker’s flyers. Phew.

  Summer strode across the office and stepped past the professor and Jocelyn, who was still whining to him about her housing probs.

  She’d been there, and she felt sorry for the frizzy unicorn freak—sort of—but no way was she hanging around this creepy office any longer than she had to.

  “Here’s the info for that book club event, in case you change your mind. GH Hamel is the guest speaker, by the way.” Summer handed the flyer to Professor Bell and kept on walking.

  “Wait!” he called after her. “GH Hamel is in town? The novelist? She’ll be there?”

  “Yep,” Summer said, without turning around. “See you Friday.”

  She wouldn’t care if she ever saw the pompous professor again, actually, but she and Dorothy needed any possible suspects to show up at the book club deal. And Charles Bell definitely qualified.

  *

  So far, Dorothy hadn’t had much
luck at the bright, modern Santa Teresa library. There was no sign of Professor Bell, and the assistant librarian had his hands full setting up computer stations for a group of visiting seniors.

  “Hello. May I help you?” a woman about Dorothy’s age asked, from a set of nearby carrels. She wore a maroon and gold lanyard with a name badge that said “Volunteer,” with “Millicent” hand-printed beneath in smaller letters.

  “Thank you,” Dorothy said, walking toward her. The carpet was the same dark red Hardware Station pattern as the one in the Hibiscus Pointe library, she realized with a chill. “I’m wondering, do you have a book club here at Santa Teresa?”

  “Sorry, not yet,” Millicent said. “But it’s funny you asked. A former Santa Teresa staff member photocopied quite a stack of materials on that very subject, but she wasn’t able to pick them up.”

  “Oh, could I take a quick look at those?” Dorothy asked. “I might be able to get a few ideas. I’m starting up a book club myself.”

  “Please take everything you can,” Millicent said. “It’s gathering dust on a shelf behind the main desk. I’ll get them for you.”

  The silver-haired woman, limping heavily on her left side, led Dorothy back to the information area. She lifted a section of the counter, ducked beneath it, and disappeared for a moment or two. “Here you go,” she said, dumping an enormous Santa Teresa Bookstore bag in front of Dorothy. “All yours.”

  “Thank you, this will be so helpful.” Dorothy wished she could sort through the materials a bit, rather than lugging the entire bag, but she didn’t want to sound ungrateful. “Tell me, that former staff member—was it Lorella Caldwell, perhaps?”

  Millicent’s eyes watered slightly. “Yes,” she said. “She passed just the other day, I read in the paper. Very sad. Did you know her?”

  “Yes,” Dorothy said. “Lorella was a lovely person.”

  “I only spoke with her a few times, I’m afraid,” Millicent said. “She wasn’t very outgoing. But she often came in with Professor Bell.” A slight shadow of disapproval crossed her face.