Summer, dressed in a splashy, Hawaiian-themed shift, was popping maraschino cherries into her mouth as she set up blenders for daiquiris and piña coladas—goodness, that would be noisy during the meeting, Dorothy suddenly realized—while Jennifer directed the catering staff in pouring bottles of wine and sparkling water. Faux-silver trays lined with cookies, blondie brownies, cheese, crackers, and grapes lined the serving tables, which were draped with golden tablecloths.
Quite the “do.” Hopefully, the meeting itself would be met with equal enthusiasm.
She should start making her way toward the podium, Dorothy realized, tamping down tiny embers of nervousness. People were beginning to find seats. If only Harlan and Maddie could see her now. She did so hate speaking in public, but this was for a very good cause. And if reestablishing the Hibiscus Pointe Book Club would help solve Lorella’s murder, it would be worth a few moments of personal discomfort.
Was this how the shy former professor and librarian had felt when she was forced to face the public? And if she had stayed buried in her books, as she’d clearly preferred, would Lorella have been running this meeting today?
Dorothy smoothed her suit and made her way toward the central aisle toward the podium, still thinking of her predecessor.
The racy romance novels, the bold Pirate lipstick, the gorgeous bloodstone ring, the secret relationship with a younger man… The dead woman clearly had had her passions. And it was up to her and Summer to uncover whatever lurked behind them.
*
Summer grabbed a red plastic cup from the stack on the table beside her and poured herself a piña colada tester. Not bad. “Want to try one?” she asked, filling a cup for Jennifer.
“No, thanks,” Jennifer said. “I can’t drink when I’m working.”
“Oh, right.” Summer wiped the sticky coconut crème from her fingers with a Hibiscus Pointe paper napkin. “I’ll just leave it here, in case you change your mind later. I need to make sure Dorothy’s okay up there. She looks a little nervous.”
“Well, hurry back.” Jennifer glanced toward the door. “GH Hamel hasn’t arrived yet, and people are getting restless. I think we’re going to have to put out more drinks soon.”
“Guess we could have made some bucks on this,” Summer said. “Too late.”
“Well, that’s a good idea anyway. People could charge alcoholic drinks to their resident accounts, like they do at dinner.” Jennifer uncorked another bottle of Chardonnay. “We’d make a fortune, and it might even help me get Roger off my case. Next time, for sure.”
There wasn’t going to be a next time, Summer told herself. Not if she and Dorothy could solve Lorella’s murder today, anyway. But first they needed their suspects to show up.
She headed toward the podium, where Dorothy was trying to deal with that prune face Helen Martin, but stopped when she heard a commotion near the Events Room entrance.
Summer blinked in the sudden bright light. WMLO reporter Felicia Hernandez and her TV crew had just walked in, cameras already rolling. Who had called the media? Well, that was a no-brainer. Carrie and Parker were right there at the door to greet them.
Someone else was posted near the entrance, too. Yep, Professor Charles Bell had shown up. Was he trying to get on TV?
Summer glanced Dorothy’s way again. Uh-oh. Peggy Donovan had rolled up to the podium now, too, and it looked as if she was taking on Helen about something. Poor Dorothy was trying to intervene.
Jeez. Well, her sleuthing partner would want her to go after their suspect, for sure.
The professor, wearing a different navy blazer and the same pair of jeans, didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the news crew. Instead he kept looking out into the hall, clutching a beat-up-looking leather man bag.
Summer made it over there just as there was another burst of activity and GH Hamel swept into the Magnolia Events Room, followed by Dash and a black-lace-clad Juliette-Margot.
Nice dress, Summer thought. She wouldn’t mind getting one like that for herself. She was pretty sure they made that one in grown-up sizes.
Georgiana wore a red silk tunic over black silk pants, ropes of giant white beads, and a candy-cane-striped head scarf.
Oh, and that bloodstone ring. Summer peered at it more closely. Yep, exactly like Lorella’s.
“Move back, please, everyone!” Parker started shooing people—including her own client Carrie—off to the sides of the room to make way for the famous author.
Georgiana played the part, too, as she nodded and gave the crowd a royal wave or two. Elbow held steady and twist of the wrist, to cut down on arm jiggle.
“Daiquiri, please,” Summer heard Georgiana mutter to Dash, but he was already on it. She quickly grabbed Juliette-Margot’s hand so she wouldn’t get trampled by her grandmother’s fans.
The kid didn’t seem that worried. “Juliette-Margot brought this for the book club meeting,” she said, holding up a picture book with a messy-looking girl about her age on the cover. “See? Eloise. She speaks French, just like me.”
“That’s nice.” Summer kept her eyes on the professor. He was shifting around, looking nervous, as people began to find seats.
“Ms. Hamel?” He suddenly broke toward Georgiana, trying to pull something out of his bag. Looked like some kind of package.
Summer pushed Juliette-Margot behind her. Did the guy have a bomb?
Just as Summer was about to make a move, Parker stepped up and blocked the professor. “No questions now, please, sir. We have time built in for Q&A at the end of the authors’ talks.”
“I have to give GH Hamel something,” he said. “It’s very important.”
Summer was about to warn Parker when she realized the package was just a couple of superthick manila envelopes, held together with a jumbo rubber band. Phew. And Georgiana was so busy acknowledging her other fans that she hadn’t even noticed.
“Sorry,” Parker said to Professor Bell. She brushed him away like an annoying bug and tried to hustle Georgiana down the center aisle toward the front of the room, where Dorothy—and Carrie, who had run up there like a shot—were ready to start the meeting.
But Georgiana didn’t budge. Her attention was glued to the giant photo of Lorella on an easel near the first buffet. It was Dorothy’s idea, and Jennifer had blown up the librarian’s dated, blurry obituary photo.
“That’s her?” Georgiana asked Summer loudly, over her shoulder. She looked confused, and a little shocked, maybe. “The one who got murdered in this place?”
For a second or two, the Events Room went dead quiet—except for the sound of Jennifer popping another cork. Yep, she was probably ready to start drinking on the job now.
And yikes, poor Juliette-Margot, hearing that. Summer tightened her grip on the little girl’s hand, but she wasn’t acting scared. She seemed just as morbidly fascinated as everyone else. Jeez, where was Dash?
She spotted her friend near the drinks table, looking as frozen as the two strawberry daiquiris he’d been transporting. It had to be tough having Georgiana for a mom. GH Hamel might be a famous mystery writer, but she wasn’t exactly the queen of tact.
She might even be more embarrassing than Harmony Smythe-Sloan.
A buzz began to rise from the crowd, as if the Magnolia Events Room had been invaded by a swarm of killer bees. Summer frowned. Everyone at Hibiscus Pointe had to know already that Lorella was murdered. Gladys Rumway had probably made sure of that by now, if the residents hadn’t figured things out themselves, with all the cops and crime tape and extra security.
Not to mention the media. It was Felicia Hernandez’s lucky day—she and her news team would get two stories for the price of one. GH Hamel—no way could they really be here for Carrie—and the murder at fancy Hibiscus Pointe.
The media might not be able to get much out of Jennifer, but someone else would blab. Gladys, for sure, but there were plenty of others who’d want their fifteen seconds of fame, too.
Dorothy tapped on the microphone. �
��We’re going to start, everyone.” Her voice came out a little muffled and wobbly, but she leaned forward and raised her voice. “Quiet, please.”
The buzzing immediately stopped. Wow, Summer thought. Impressive. But then, everyone always listened to Dorothy Westin.
Even her.
“I’d like to welcome you all to the very first meeting of our new Hibiscus Pointe Book Club,” Dorothy said. “It is my honor to dedicate this event—and the club itself—to the memory of its founder, Lorella Rose Caldwell. Let’s take a moment of silence to remember Lorella, and continue to keep her in our thoughts and prayers.”
And solve her murder quick, Summer added to herself, glancing at Professor Bell in the last row of seats. He was staring straight at Georgiana, his man bag on his lap. No way would she let him out of her sight—or near Dash’s mom, even if she was one scary lady. There was something really sneaky and shady about the Professor. Not to mention, he was one of their top suspects. Had he realized the gold bookend in his office—the possible mate to the murder-y one—was missing?
“Thank you, member and guests,” Dorothy said, after what seemed to Summer like an eternity. “To start our meeting off on an extra-special note, I’d like to thank the two wonderful author guests who graciously agreed to join us.” She turned and smiled at Georgiana and Carrie, who sat next to each other in the velvet-cushioned Events Room chairs. “GH Hamel, of course, whose bestselling works of romantic suspense I’m sure many of you have already read. And I’d also like to introduce an up-and-coming young author, Carrie Dunbar.”
“I’m on my second book, actually,” Carrie broke in, with an apologetic little wave to the audience. “But I feel like it’s kind of my debut, since this is my first author tour. I’m so excited to meet you all, and thrilled to be sitting here next to Georgiana. I’ve been reading her books since I was twelve. She’s just one of my biggest idols.”
The idol didn’t appreciate the backhanded compliment, Summer noticed. Georgiana looked ready to laser Carrie through her Lucille Ball fake eyelashes.
“Georgiana, as our guest of honor, would you like to come up now and get us started?” Dorothy said quickly.
Parker went over and said something into her ear. “Oh,” Dorothy said. “It seems our authors would prefer to wait until we finish our book club business, and after they speak the refreshment tables will reopen for the reception.”
“Hear, hear,” Gladys called out. “Let’s open those tables back up now.” A few people applauded.
Dorothy ignored that, and picked up a pile of pages from in front of her on the podium. “I trust you all took the handouts by the door—just some general guidelines and book suggestions—but why don’t we go over a few ground rules before we discuss them?”
Ugh. This was exactly like school.
“Oh, and one more thing.” Parker hurried back over and leaned into the mic. “Carrie and Georgiana have some fantastic author events coming up very soon, since they’re both in town. We’re still working on the details, but tomorrow night we’d love for you to join us at Milano Book & Bar for a cocktail party and author signing. Jennifer, your Resident Services director, is making arrangements for Hibiscus Pointe shuttle transportation. Hope to see you there!”
“We’re meeting at 7:00 p.m. in the main lobby,” Jennifer added, over the enthusiastic chatter.
“Thank you, ladies,” Dorothy said. “That does sound like fun. We’ll all look forward to that. So let’s get back to our discussion, shall we?”
Wow. Dorothy was smooth.
Summer tuned out temporarily to watch Professor Bell as her friend outlined the way the club would work. Two meetings a month. One to discuss a short story and the other a whole book. Rules for how the discussions would work, and being polite. Blah, blah.
The professor wasn’t paying much attention to Dorothy, either, Summer could tell. He frowned in concentration, making a bunch of notes in a little black notebook he’d taken from his man bag. It looked like some kind of journal.
How could she get a look at whatever he was writing? Maybe if she snuck over and distracted him…
Dash and Juliette-Margot, her nose in her Eloise book, were sitting in the same row. The perfect cover. Summer could pretend she was joining them.
“So now that you’ve all had a chance to look over the title suggestions, what do you think?” Dorothy was saying as Summer picked up a pre-poured piña colada from one of the drinks tables and moved as nonchalantly as she could toward the back of the room. “What type of books would you like to read first? I’ve already had some requests for mysteries and thrillers.”
“Police procedural!” Peggy Donovan called.
“Private investigator!” Gladys shouted over her. “The more hard-boiled, the better.”
“I like a good spy thriller myself,” Ernie said. “You know, like Tom Clancy. Or Robert Ludlum. Lots of action.”
Helen Murphy shuddered. “No, thank you. I abhor violence. I’m sure most of the ladies here would prefer to read something a little more romantic.”
Gladys snorted. “You mean, like Angelina St. Rose? Puh-leez.”
Guess there was no point in suggesting any Citizen’s Arrest books, Summer told herself. Too bad. They probably could have done a viewing party instead of a discussion for the next meeting.
Dorothy cleared her throat. “Well, I’d like to make another suggestion, if I may. How about GH Hamel’s latest title, Good Night, Sweetheart? Since so many of us have already read it, and Georgiana is here to give us some insights into the story, it seems like a wonderful choice for our first discussion.”
Everyone seemed okay with that idea. Georgiana actually smiled out at the audience, and Professor Bell glanced up from his notebook, all attention now. Good, Summer told herself. He wasn’t going anywhere before she got over there.
The only person who wasn’t happy about Dorothy’s suggestion was Carrie. She’d bust out bawling any second.
“And, of course, we can read Carrie’s new book for the next meeting.” Dorothy’s voice was soothing but perky at the same time.
The younger author instantly brightened, her face as pink as her way-tight, moth-eaten velvet dress. “A Killing Fog,” she threw out, for anyone who cared. “But don’t forget about Debut for Death, too.” She smiled at Dorothy. “I can come back for the meeting.”
Pathetic. Summer had just made it to the back of the room, and was about to start up the center aisle toward the professor, when she noticed a woman stop by the door in an obvious, Party-Hearty store black wig. And those wraparound glasses people wore after they had eye surgery.
The woman bent down toward the box of beat-up and duplicate library discard books Dorothy was hoping people would take on their way out. There was no disguising the curvy figure under that oversize black sweatshirt and denim leggings.
Summer had to hand it to Trixie Quattrochi. The woman had guts, showing up here. Or else she was just begging to get nabbed.
Trixie had to know by now the police wanted to talk to her. Not to mention Summer and Dorothy. Oh, and Jennifer, about those skipped rent payments. She wasn’t here for the book club launch, or to pay her respects to Lorella, for sure. What did she want so badly that was worth the risk of anyone recognizing her?
This time, Summer decided, she wasn’t going to scare Trixie off by letting her know she’d spotted her. She needed to know what Trixie was up to first. She’d just sit casually down at the end of Dash and Professor Bell’s row, and then turn her head very casually…
Too late.
Trixie had already disappeared from the doorway.
Summer jumped up and tore out of the Events Room, running smack into the WMLO cameraman on her way.
The hall was empty. Summer ran toward the elevators and checked above the doors to see which floor Trixie was on by now. One elevator was heading up, but the other was stopped at 7.
She was way faster than the elevator. If she took the emergency stairs, she could beat Trixie downs
tairs to the lobby of Tower B and intercept her suspect before Dorothy finished the book club meeting. She could drag Trixie back with her until the cops got there and keep an eye on Professor Bell at the same time.
Piece of cake.
Summer pushed through the exit at the end of the hall, hopping a little as she removed her huarache sandals. Trixie would be in for a Texas-sized surprise.
Chapter Twelve
“Summer, please,” Dorothy said as her friend sprawled miserably in Dorothy’s comfy chair. “Stop blaming yourself. It wasn’t your fault. You did the best you could.”
“I should have taken the stupid elevator. Aargh!” Summer hugged a crocheted pillow. “I can’t believe I lost Trixie. Twice. No, three times, if you count the RV.”
“And I can’t believe those emergency doors were blocked at the ground floor,” Dorothy said, frowning. “That is a very serious safety violation. We need to talk to Jennifer about that.”
“Trixie probably did it somehow,” Summer said. “I wouldn’t put it past her. Maybe she saw that the elevator wasn’t leaving the top floor. But I really don’t think she knew I saw her, so she couldn’t have known I was following her.”
“Well, so far Trixie has proved to be very observant,” Dorothy said. “It would be a mistake to underestimate her.”
Summer sighed. “I guess. And Detective Donovan was supposedly ‘out’ again when I called. Yeah, right. And even Merle didn’t believe me when I said I’d seen Trixie at the book club meeting, I could tell.”
The girl pouted just like Maddie had when she was frustrated by something—usually, when she felt she wasn’t being taken seriously. Or her feelings were hurt. Dorothy had seen that expression many times, from both her friend and her daughter. “I’m sure you’re reading a little too much into things, dear,” she said gently.
“No, I’m not.” Summer just sounded stubborn now. “I mean, isn’t Detective Donovan ever at the station anymore? Or maybe he’s just not taking my calls, because he doesn’t want us working on the case. Or it might be because of Jennifer…”
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