Permanently Booked

by Lisa Q. Mathews

  But at least she and the detective had a few things in common. They both solved murders. Donovan had a sense of humor, at least, underneath that sharp suit he always wore. Along with the ripped bod.

  “Oh, look, Georgiana just walked in,” Dorothy said.

  “Good.” Summer glanced over at the authors’ area. “Looks as if Parker’s got everything set up, so maybe they’ll start soon.”

  “If Georgiana isn’t waylaid,” Dorothy said. “Look who else is here.”

  Summer turned back toward the door. Professor Bell had just stepped out from behind a pillar near the book display at the front. He had his man bag over his shoulder again and it looked as if the buckles were going to burst on that thing. “I think he’s written even more pages of that manuscript he’s dying for Georgiana to read. Should I go over and rescue her?”

  “Oh, I bet Georgiana can handle him on her own,” Dorothy said, just as the famous author stiff-armed the professor and swept past him with a haughty glare.

  Dash and Georgiana didn’t make their way to the authors’ area right away. Instead the two of them headed straight toward the bar. The crowd quickly let them through after the author made it clear with a few head shakes that she wouldn’t sign autographs until later.

  “It’s like they’re royalty or something,” Summer said.

  “Well, Georgiana has often been called the queen of mystery.” Dorothy smiled at Ernie as he handed her a very full glass of white wine with a Book & Bar cocktail napkin.

  Garrett was right behind him, with his water and her mojito. “Thanks,” she said, taking a huge sip. Yum. Nice and sweet. So what would they talk about now?

  Luckily, Ernie started talking about some spy thriller he’d just finished, which Garrett’s dad thought was awesome, too, and Dorothy joined in, so Summer didn’t have to say much.

  As she stirred her drink with the little sugarcane stick, watching Dash try to get an order with the harried bartender, Georgiana came up beside her.

  “Striking ring,” the tall woman said in a low voice as she readjusted her red scarf over her shoulder. “I noticed it in the car.”

  Oh. Summer had almost forgotten she was wearing it. Neither Dorothy nor Georgiana had mentioned it earlier. “Uh, thanks. It was my grandma’s.”

  No way would Grandma Sloan have worn anything that expensive. She’d been pretty cheap, from what Summer could tell. And she’d never even met her other grandma, Harmony’s mom. She’d probably been an unmaterialistic hippie.

  “I’d love to have a closer look at it,” Georgiana said.

  It didn’t sound as if Dash’s mom would take no for an answer. Why had she worn the stupid thing tonight? She’d grabbed it from her drawer as she was getting dressed and it had looked kind of cool. She didn’t think anyone would notice it, really. She only wore big jewelry when she was getting super dressed up.

  Summer switched the mojito to the other hand, twisted the ring off her finger—it was a little tight—and handed it over to Georgiana.

  The author held the bloodstone ring up to the light, compared Lorella’s to her own, then turned it around and peered at the gold band. “Lovely,” she murmured, returning it to Summer with a deep frown.

  Dash returned then with his mom’s drink, and Parker started tapping on Carrie’s microphone. “Georgiana, shall we get started?” she called.

  Georgiana swept toward the authors’ area without another word, drink in hand, and Summer breathed a sigh of relief.

  Obviously, Dash’s mom didn’t like anyone to copy her, she thought. Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t have worn the ring tonight.

  But Georgiana needed to get over herself.

  *

  Dorothy allowed her mind to wander a bit as Parker introduced GH Hamel and Carrie to the crowd. Milano Book & Bar had been the perfect choice of venues for the signing event and, judging by the expressions on their faces, the staff was clearly thrilled by the turnout this evening.

  The bookstore was simply lovely. Why hadn’t she been here more often? Too many trips to the library, she supposed. The rich feel of the mahogany bookshelves, Oriental rugs over shining wooden floors, and just the right amount of lighting gave the place a cozy, highly literary feel.

  Too bad the WMLO news crew Carrie had been so excited about in that note she’d left her in the library hadn’t materialized.

  “So our signings will take place directly following a few short readings by the authors from their latest books,” Parker was saying. “Please hold any comments or questions until afterward, because we’ll be having a brief Q&A session, as well.”

  Dorothy couldn’t help feeling relieved and grateful that Parker was acting as mistress of ceremonies this evening. Hopefully, once the book club activities were scaled down after the guest authors’ departures, she wouldn’t be quite as nervous leading meetings.

  Perhaps the members could even take turns running the show. She doubted that that idea would fly, though—everyone always seemed too busy to fully commit to things, and besides that, the Hibiscus Pointe Book Club seemed to attract the most argumentative individuals.

  Dorothy tried to move, slowly and casually, closer to Professor Bell. He was leaning back against a pillar now, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed against his chest, as Georgiana and Carrie presented their opening remarks.

  She imagined he looked much the way his students did as they listened to his lectures. Half listening, with a hint of bored resignation.

  She hoped she wasn’t giving that impression herself right now. And heavens, had Charles Bell actually noticed the way she was rudely staring at him?

  To her horror, he smiled and actually winked at her. A very quick flutter, but most definitely a wink. Oh dear.

  Dorothy immediately focused her full attention on the authors at the table, who were now taking turns reading from their works. In public, Georgiana was gracious and charming, and Carrie played the starstruck fan and ingénue to the hilt.

  Dorothy was familiar with GH Hamel’s highly polished books, of course, but she had to admit that she was pleasantly surprised by Carrie. It was entirely possible she hadn’t given her enough credit.

  The younger author read steadily and lightly, pausing in all the right places, and the story line of her first book, A Debut for Death, didn’t sound half bad. A beautiful debutante murdered at her own coming-out ball, leaving behind a grieving twin sister and a heartbroken suitor to solve the crime together.

  The crowd loved it. Even Georgiana applauded lightly when Carrie had finished reading. Perhaps she would purchase the book tonight, Dorothy told herself, instead of waiting for it to appear in the library or in paperback.

  Her to-be-read pile on her nightstand was already almost as tall as the lamp, of course. But she should buy Debut for Death anyway, as the new head of the Hibiscus Pointe Book Club—and no doubt it would make Carrie very happy.

  There were plenty of questions for both authors during the Q&A. Dorothy took that opportunity to edge her way back closer to the bar area, where Ernie, Dash, Summer, and her date—what was his name again?—were still gathered. Sadly, but perhaps not unsurprisingly, the three men and her sleuthing partner all looked rather out of their elements.

  Dorothy wasn’t about to risk glancing back over her shoulder at Professor Bell, but she did stop for a moment in the crowd to listen as Georgiana answered a few questions about how she’d gotten her start and where she got her stories.

  Could the reigning queen of mystery have been involved somehow in Lorella Caldwell’s death?

  It was almost ridiculous to even speculate on that, of course. Georgiana was a successful career author who had seemingly nothing in common with shy Lorella other than a possible, long-ago college connection. Besides, she lived nearly fifteen hundred miles away in New York City.

  Surely it had to be just a coincidence that Georgiana had shown up in Milano on the exact day of Lorella’s murder. But still…something wasn’t right.

  Chapter Sixteen
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br />   Summer had pretty much written off Jennifer and Detective Donovan as no-shows for the book signing party when the two of them finally showed up, along with his grandmother.

  She needed to make her move quick. Peggy had just wheeled off toward the signing line, clutching the GH Hamel book she’d brought from home.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told Ernie, Dash, and her fake date. “Some friends just came in I want Garrett to meet, so I’ll go get them.”

  The guys hardly noticed, which was fine with her. They were talking about Florida State basketball or something, which was even more boring than listening to Georgiana and Carrie go on and on about themselves and their books.

  At least it was easier to push through the crowd now that everyone, including Dorothy, had lined up to buy books from the employees at a side register and to get them signed by the authors.

  A sudden burst of sharp, high-pitched barks rose above the noise of the crowd, hurting Summer’s eardrums. Was there actually a dog in here?

  Yep. And it wasn’t a service dog. Her mouth dropped open in disbelief as Carrie reached under the skirted table and brought up a small canvas boat bag custom-printed with the cover of A Debut for Death. Two little brown ears and a pink hair ribbon stuck out of the top as the sides of the bag jiggled and lurched.

  People oohed and aahed at the tiny dog and started flooding toward Carrie’s table like rats. She took it out and set it on the table, right next to where she was signing. Georgiana, Summer noticed, was definitely not amused.

  “It’s a teacup half Yorkie, half Chihuahua—a Yorkihuahua,” Carrie told everyone as they handed over their quickly purchased books. “Adorable, huh? So who do you want me to make this out to?”

  Summer was pretty sure that dog belonged to Helen Murphy. She’d seen and heard it yapping in the Residents Board president’s pool bag a few times. Carrie probably paid her to borrow it. Yep, there was ol’ Helen, standing at one end of the table, giving all the gushing book buyers a plastic dog-pimp smile. Pathetic.

  “Hey, sorry we’re late.” Detective Donovan was standing beside her, with Jennifer just behind him. Were they together-together? She couldn’t tell. “Did we miss much?”

  “Not really,” Summer said. His sharp blue eyes looked a tiny bit softer tonight. Was he just tired? Or maybe it was the lighting in this place.

  “Shane had to work later than he expected,” Jennifer put in. “Peggy and I picked him up at the police department. It’s really close to here.”

  “I know,” Summer said. She’d spent some time down there on her and Dorothy’s last case. Mostly as a murder suspect.

  So why hadn’t Jennifer just brought Peggy to the book signing first and gotten Shane later? Maybe she’d spent the extra time getting ready. She looked really put together in a splashy orange tropical print dress that showed off her glowing tan and dark hair. She was wearing flats again—white ones, and it looked like the Pilgrim buckles were finally gone for good. She’d even added some extra eyeliner, which gave her a cool sixties look.

  Obviously, Jennifer had made a special effort tonight.

  “So, did something come up on the Caldwell case?” Summer asked Detective Donovan.

  “Not really,” he said. “Just paperwork, mostly. I was out at Majesty Golf & Tennis this afternoon, investigating an incident, and—”

  “Hey, I was there, too, around three-thirty,” Summer broke in. “And guess what? So was Ray. He was driving that white van and he cut right in front of me. I lost him on a cart path.”

  The detective’s eyebrows shot up. Good, he was taking her information seriously for once.

  “I don’t think Trixie was with him,” she added. “But it’s possible.”

  “You mean Trixie Quattrochi?” Jennifer asked. “I really need to talk to her about some Hibiscus Pointe business.”

  Probably all her unpaid rent, Summer told herself. Nothing to do with Lorella’s murder. But it looked as if all three of them wanted to get a hold of the Texas Tornado.

  “Hey, Summer, I finally found you.” Garrett came up and handed her another mojito. “Are these the friends you wanted me to meet?”

  Trapped. And just when she’d had a chance to chat about the case with Detective Donovan. She forced herself to smile. “Uh, yeah. Jennifer and Detective—I mean, Shane—this is Garrett.”

  Was it her imagination, or did the detective look the teensiest bit annoyed? Or even…jealous? For half a second, anyway. “Nice to meet you,” he said to Garrett, shaking hands.

  “We’ve met,” Jennifer said. “Hi again, Garrett. Remember me from the Tee for Two tournament at Hibiscus about a month ago?”

  “Ah, right. Sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t recognize you at first.” Garrett poured on the cool British accent. “How are things over at Hibiscus?”

  “Oh, wonderful as always,” Jennifer said, with a smile.

  Was she serious? Or being sarcastic? Summer wasn’t sure.

  As Garrett and Jennifer began trading heartwarming club stories, Detective Donovan scanned the room. “Excuse me,” he said, to the three of them, “but I think my grandmother may need some help with all those books she’s snapping up.”

  “Talk to you later,” Summer called after him as he walked away, but he didn’t seem to hear her. Oh well. At least Jennifer and Garrett seemed to be hitting things off. They were chatting away as if they’d known each other forever.

  Hopefully, that wasn’t what the detective was ticked off about.

  As Summer was considering that, Parker passed by with a glass of wine in one hand and an extra-large glass of bourbon in the other. For Georgiana, probably.

  “Great ring,” she said to Summer, stopping to nod toward the bloodstone. “I love vintage jewelry. Where did you get such a great piece?”

  “Oh, this?” Summer said, with a shrug. “It was left to me. By, uh…a family friend.”

  “Lucky you,” Parker said, moving on toward the authors’ area. Georgiana was looking very thirsty. Carrie was busy signing books.

  Jeez, what was it with the ring? Summer wondered. It was awesome enough, she supposed, but it was weird it got so much attention. Where would Lorella have worn it, anyway?

  Summer and Dorothy had no proof Georgiana had anything to do with the librarian’s murder, so there was no point in giving it to Detective Donovan yet. In fact, she should probably just put it back in the dead woman’s condo, even though it meant the ring would probably get carted off with all her other things. Lorella had no family to give it to, so it might even be thrown away, like Trixie’s junk.

  That would be a major waste, Summer told herself. And what if it did turn out to be some kind of evidence? She’d keep the ring for now.

  *

  The New Algonquin Club was impressively decorated, much like Milano Book & Bar, but a bit stuffy, for Dorothy’s taste.

  Everyone seemed to be having a fine time at the sit-down dinner, though Summer’s date apparently had to leave early. Her friend looked miserable sitting between Jennifer, who looked very pretty and seemed a tad more relaxed than usual, and an even quieter than usual Detective Donovan.

  It was a smaller after-party group from the bookstore—Georgiana and Carrie’s publisher, Maxwell & Perkins, was footing the bill, thanks to Parker’s request—but the core Hibiscus Pointe Book Club members were in attendance.

  Fortunately, most of them were seated at another table. Dorothy could hear Gladys and Peggy trying to top each other with police knowledge. Professor Bell was seated with that group as well, thank goodness. He didn’t seem to be saying much, but Dorothy refused to glance his way.

  Perhaps that had been a tic, not a wink. She hadn’t noticed earlier that the professor suffered from that affliction, but she certainly wasn’t going to encourage any flirty behavior from that ridiculous man—who might even be a cold-blooded killer.

  She and Summer definitely needed to stay on guard around him.

  Georgiana had been holding court at their own table, wit
h Carrie breaking in whenever the older author came to a dramatic pause—or took time to sip her drink. That was fine with Dorothy. It rather took the pressure off, really, for polite conversation.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Hamel.” A distinguished-looking man in a tuxedo, who had seated them in the dining room, appeared at the author’s left shoulder. “Would you allow a picture to be taken for our Distinguished Authors wall?” He indicated another man behind him, holding a fancy-looking camera.

  Dorothy had seen the large collection of framed portraits, autographed photos, and book covers on their way in. Almost all of the literary glitterati who’d dined at the members-only club were male, she’d noted.

  “No, photos, thank you,” Georgiana answered, holding up a hand. “However, I might happen to have one or two with me in my bag. Dashiell, darling, would you be a lamb and get that out for me?”

  Her son complied, and Dorothy wasn’t terribly surprised to see that the photo was both highly glamorous and considerably dated. “Just put it right at the top of all those boring, old men authors,” Georgiana instructed.

  The man in the tuxedo and his photographer companion beat a hasty retreat with the glossy promotional photo, and Georgiana smiled in satisfaction.

  Carrie, though, looked glum. “They didn’t want my picture for their wall,” she said, with a slight pout.

  “Hey, no big deal,” Summer assured her. “Most of those author guys are dead by now anyway.”

  Georgiana sputtered her drink, and Dash quickly patted her on the back.

  “Oh, give it a break, Carrie.” Parker looked completely exasperated. “You’ve got all kinds of other promotional stuff to be grateful for. I just booked both you and Georgiana for a live TV interview with Felicia Hernandez at WMLO on Monday, because she felt really bad she had to leave early tonight.”

  “Yeah, she was covering something down by the marina,” Ernie said. “I saw a clip on my phone when I was checking the sports headlines about an hour ago. A fire, looked like.”