“He’s probably figured all that out already anyway if he has the files,” Summer said. “He’s a very nosy person.”
“That’s his job, dear. I think you’re missing the big picture here.”
Summer frowned. Was that a clunking noise she’d heard out in the living room? Or…more of a sliding noise, from the porch? “Shh,” she said. “Turn your flashlight off, quick.”
“Maybe someone else left that door unlocked, too,” Dorothy whispered. “So they could come back and forth, just like us.”
Summer nodded in the darkness and moved toward the doorway, crouching as she tried to see around the door. There was definitely another flashlight out there in the living room, but she couldn’t see the person behind it. Just a shape. Moving straight toward them.
She turned to warn Dorothy but knocked into something—a little table?—as she whirled around. There was a huge crash, and then the sound of shattering glass.
Uh-oh. They were nailed.
Summer jumped up and turned on her flashlight, aiming it into the living room. “Police!” she shouted. “Hold it right there.”
Behind her, Dorothy gasped. But it was their only chance, Summer told herself. There was no other way out of the condo from the bedroom, except through the living room.
She flashed the light around the otherwise dark condo, but there was no sign of the other intruder. He or she had to be hiding somewhere now. But if she hit the overhead lights, the person would see her and Dorothy, too, and know they weren’t the cops.
There was a rustling from the drapes and a sudden breeze as he or she threw open the sliding glass doors and ran out into the night.
Summer switched on her flashlight again and ran from the bedroom. She’d take her chances now that she wasn’t trapped like that, and the person wouldn’t know about Dorothy. “Freeze!” she called as she reached the porch.
She was about to take off after the perp, like she’d seen on Citizen’s Arrest, when a firm hand fell on her arm.
“No, dear,” Dorothy said. “Let them go.”
“But he’s getting away,” Summer protested. “Or she.”
“Better safe than sorry,” Dorothy said. “That person might be armed. And it’s likely they’ve already killed once. We can make an anonymous tip from one of those blue-light security stations. There’s one just across the way.”
Summer sighed. She was positive she could have caught up with the perp. If he’d run, he was scared, so he probably didn’t have a gun.
On the other hand, he or she had thought Summer was a cop.
There was another thing, too, she realized, as Dorothy gave her a little push through Lorella’s sliding doors. It would be a bad idea to return that bloodstone ring to Lorella’s jewelry box, now that it definitely seemed important to the case.
Dorothy was already making that anonymous call to Hibiscus Pointe Security. Time to go.
Chapter Nineteen
Dorothy bit into the scrumptious, pink-frosted donut Summer had brought up from the early bird Sunday morning continental buffet downstairs. Strawberry or raspberry? Or possibly rhubarb.
Hard to tell, but deliciously sweet, at least.
After the long night they’d had, between the author parties and the frightening ordeal in Lorella’s condo, she could definitely use the extra sugar boost. Ernie would be here in less than half an hour to take her to church.
“So here’s the big surprise I promised to tell you about as soon as you had your donut,” Summer said, settling herself at the breakfast bar with her coffee.
Dorothy looked up from the table. “Oh, right, dear. How nice. What is it?”
Summer smiled broadly. “You’ll love it. I just found out when I looked at my phone this morning. You have a date tonight, at La Volpe!”
“What?” Dorothy fumbled her donut, which landed frosting side down on the tablecloth.
“Remember when I took that cute picture of you at the bistro with Esmé the other night? You know, with the rose on the table?”
“No,” Dorothy said. “I don’t think I noticed.”
“Well, I did, and I used it when I signed you up for that Silver Sweetheart online dating site.”
“Summer Smythe-Sloan! You did not.” Dorothy was so flabbergasted she was almost speechless. “I am not in the market for a romantic partner.”
“I know,” Summer said. “You have Ernie, sort of.”
“That’s outrageous, young lady.” Dorothy rarely became annoyed with her friend, but this was too much. Ernie was very much married. And even though Grace was sadly afflicted by Alzheimer’s, he remained entirely loyal and faithful to her, as he should. “Ernie and I are just good friends and you know it.”
Summer looked sheepish. “Sorry, Dorothy. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant you both really like spending time together, that’s all.”
Dorothy sighed. “So who is this date, and how can I get out of it? Immediately.”
“Okay, I was kind of joking about the date thing,” Summer said. “It’s Charles Bell, and the setup is just for the case, I thought, since he goes on so many dates and all, that this would be a perfect way for you to find out more about him. And maybe whatever was going on between him and Lorella.”
Dorothy rubbed her temples. This was no way to start a Sunday morning. Or any morning.
“I filled out the questions, you know, like do you enjoy books and reading, and a few other things,” Summer rushed on. “He likes mature women, and I knew you two would be a match, but I was afraid you’d say no if I told you first. You matched up with some other guys, too, by the way.”
“It’s a terrible idea,” Dorothy said. “The most ridiculous one I’ve ever heard, in fact.”
“Don’t worry,” Summer assured her. “I didn’t use your real name. I mean, Professor Bell knows who you are, but everyone else thinks you’re Foxy Dot.”
“Foxy Dot? That’s what you came up with?” Dorothy was appalled. “Couldn’t you think of anything better than that?”
Summer grinned. “Well, you are foxy. And hey, that’s the kind of name that gets you lots of hits.”
“I’m sure,” Dorothy murmured. No wonder Charles had winked at her last night.
“But anyway, all you have to do is show up at the restaurant and get him to trust you. Then maybe you can ask him some questions for the case. And don’t worry, I’ll be right there at La Volpe, too, in disguise or something. And Esmé will call the cops if anything starts getting weird.”
“It’s already weird,” Dorothy said. “We really don’t know anything about this man.”
“I did do a little more research on my phone this morning,” Summer said. “I looked ol’ Chuck up on ProfessorRater. He’s not superpopular with his students. Really boring and a tough grader. But I also found out a few other things. He went to a fancy prep school outside Boston and stayed in the area for college and grad school. Oh, and his dad was a professor, too—at Wellsmount.”
Dorothy sighed. “Of course. What on earth was going on behind those ivy walls? I’m sure the professor and I will have a scintillating conversation.” She stood up from the table. “I’d better get dressed. Ernie will be here to get me any minute.”
“Just another thing or two,” Summer said, following her partway to the bedroom. “He does a little stand-up comedy on the side. Pretty funny, huh? For a murder suspect, anyway.”
“I would never have guessed,” Dorothy said, through the door. On the other hand, she would never have believed Lorella Caldwell was Angelina St. Rose, either.
“And no criminal record,” Summer called. “Not that I could find, anyway. See, everything will be fine.”
*
As Dorothy had expected, Ernie was less than pleased to hear about her “date” on the way to church. In fact, he was quite possibly even more upset than she had been.
But she had to tell him. What if he found out somehow she’d joined an online dating service, and hadn’t been the one to tell him? Friend
s were supposed to share things like that.
“And with a name like Foxy Dot, no less.” He was really fuming now, over the steering wheel. “Who knows what kind of scoundrels and screwballs will try to contact you? It’s not safe, I tell you.”
“I appreciate your concern, Ernie, but there’s no need to worry. It’s for the case, so it isn’t a real date. And I’ll be very careful. Summer will be there.”
“Summer?” Ernie almost went through a red light. “That’s it. I’m going with you. I’ll be sitting at the next table.”
Dorothy had a difficult time concentrating on the sermon. The upcoming evening with Professor Bell weighed on her mind, but she also couldn’t stop thinking about Georgiana. She and Lorella had known each other at college. Later, they’d shared correspondence and the same publisher.
But here was the million-dollar question: Why would Georgiana want to eliminate Lorella? Had they been rivals or enemies in some way? So far, that didn’t appear to be the case.
It was possible, though, she told herself. Look how competitive—even threatened—Georgiana seemed by a new, ambitious young author like Carrie, who had a promising future. Or would, if she didn’t manage to drive her own readers away.
Georgiana could have arrived from New York earlier—hadn’t she caught Dash by surprise?—and disposed of Lorella with the bookend. Then she could have simply pretended she’d just come from the airport and an impromptu appearance at Murder by the Sea.
Of course, Georgiana’s true itinerary would be easy enough for the police to check. But Dorothy knew she still needed some kind of hard evidence before she even breathed a word of anything like that to Detective Donovan. Dash was a good friend, and somehow it just seemed too unlikely that his mother was a murderer.
After the service, Dorothy took Ernie’s arm and stepped out into the bright sunshine, feeling guilty for not having paid a whit of attention to prayerful reflection. She was about to suggest a nice, relaxing brunch when a silk-muumuued Gladys Rumway met her and Ernie at the bottom of the church steps.
“Morning, Dorothy! And Ernest.” Gladys’s enormous hat blocked the sun. “The girls are saving me a place in line for the Hibiscus Pointe shuttle, but I just had to share a quick something about Lorella with you.”
Dorothy composed a smile. “What is it, Gladys?”
“Merle shared some info with me about Lorella’s will.” Gladys leaned in, fanning herself with a badly wrinkled church program. “She left practically everything to charity. No surprise there, who else would she give it to? But here’s the kicker.”
Gladys paused dramatically, and Dorothy braced herself.
“Word is, it’s a whopping fortune! Who woulda thought?”
Well, that made sense. Lorella—aka Angelina St. Rose—had to have been financially blessed. “My,” Dorothy said vaguely. There was no sense in encouraging Gladys.
“I also happened to hear some of that dough is earmarked for the Hibiscus Pointe Library. So there should be plenty left over to fund more of these big, fancy book club events, don’t you think?”
No, Dorothy answered silently. That was the last thing they needed, in her view. She stepped aside to let a flood of churchgoers pass, but Gladys didn’t budge.
“By the way, Dorothy, you know that odd-duck professor who’s been showing up? Just so you know, he’s my top suspect in Lorella’s murder—and the Milano PD’s, too. We’ll need to keep a sharp eye on him.”
Beside her, Dorothy could feel Ernie’s glare. But Gladys wasn’t finished. “Oh, and one more thing,” the big woman went on. “I find this really hard to believe, Dorothy, but did you join Silver Sweethearts? There’s a woman named Foxy Dot who just popped up, and she looks just like—”
“Whoa there, you’re missing your bus, Gladys,” Ernie broke in. “Look, away it goes. If you run, maybe you can catch it.”
Gladys whirled to check the shuttle stop, and Dorothy found herself being hustled away in the opposite direction by a furious Ernie.
He looked like a thundercloud. But thank goodness she didn’t have to endure any more gossip from Gladys Rumway.
Chapter Twenty
After Dorothy left for church, Summer helped herself to some cereal and hung around the condo for a while, psyched that her friend had finally agreed to the fake-date sting tonight. Then she headed to Jennifer’s office in the main building and let herself in.
Resident Services was closed on Sundays, except for emergencies, so Jennifer had the day off. Summer knew she’d be okay with her taking a peek at those confidential resident notebooks—as long as she didn’t have to officially give her permission.
Summer went straight to the large binders lined up behind Jennifer’s desk, selected C for Caldwell, and took it straight to the photocopy machine outside Roger’s office. No way was he going to show up on a weekend, so she was free and clear.
She could give the copy to Dorothy to read after she was done reading it. At the pool.
As she’d expected, someone had posted the copier’s security code on the wall just above it. Good for her, bad for Hibiscus Pointe. Jeez. If they were that dumb, it served them right.
While she was at it, she took a peek at the S folders—there were three of them—and her own file.
Yikes. The word SUBLET was stamped across the top in red ink. And right under it was a long list of notes and complaints from the Residents Board. Illegal camping. Excessive noise. Community age requirement violations. Late payments.
Well, nothing new there. But there were some good things, too. Like her volunteer work as aquatics director—so far it hadn’t been much actual work, since she just had a beginner class of two students and a couple of aqua aerobics classes per week.
She’d better get that water ballet team officially going. Helen Martin was very eager to compete in community intramurals. Probably because she wanted to parade around in a bathing suit in front of all the guy residents. The older and richer, the better.
Someone had to foot the bill for all that plastic surgery.
Summer’s cell rang, and she answered it without looking, still reading her file.
“Hi, Summer, Carrie here. Just checking in on the plan for my spa appointments.”
Oops. She’d totally forgotten about the makeover deal. “Oh, hey, Carrie. I’m still working things out—waiting for a few places to get back to me. I’ll call you back, okay, as soon as everything’s confirmed.”
“Thanks soooo much,” Carrie said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. I really want to look my best on TV. Appearance counts a lot for authors. Do you think I have the right image? I want to look cool and smart, but approachable. Should I pick up some fake glasses? And a new outfit, too, maybe?”
Like that would make a difference. This girl was sadly deluded. “Sure, go for it,” Summer said. “Never hurts to change things up sometimes, right?”
She hung up as fast as she could and racked her brain for a decent place that was open on Sundays. She’d have to pray someone would have a cancellation. Every spa and salon in town was closed on Mondays.
Summer was not looking forward to spending a long afternoon with Carrie Dunbar. But bucks were bucks. Maybe she’d see if Jennifer wanted to go with them, Carrie’s treat. Jennifer would have fun, and maybe she could find out how things went with Detective Donovan last night.
There was also another big plus to that plan: She wouldn’t be stuck alone with Carrie.
*
There was only one place Summer could get Carrie, Jennifer, and herself into on such short notice. Sunday afternoons were especially slow at the All About You Spa located inside the dated Hotel Milano.
It wasn’t that great, and way overpriced, but hopefully, Carrie wouldn’t realize that. Didn’t seem as if she was much of a spa regular. And, with luck, no one was likely to see them there.
“Oh, wow, this place is amaaaaazing,” Carrie said as they walked into the All About You reception area. “Gosh, it sure is dark in here, but
that’s really cool. Very peaceful.”
The whole place was done in tones of gray. Probably hid all the dirt and mold, Summer thought.
“Thanks so much for including me, guys.” Jennifer seemed equally thrilled. “We should put a spa in at Hibiscus Pointe. I bet the residents would love it.”
“I would,” Summer said. “Maybe you should bring the idea up to Roger.”
Jennifer sighed. “Don’t think so.”
The receptionist looked up from the movie she was watching on her phone. “Hi,” she said. “You must be that last-minute booking. Sloan, right?”
“That’s me,” Summer said quickly. Using her dad’s name to book things was probably a waste here at All About Gray. “Jennifer and I are having the massages and seaweed scrubs and Carrie is getting the Milano Makeover package.”
It was the best combo she could get for three hours. New hairstyle and highlights, restorative manicure for those badly bitten nails, and makeup application instruction. Summer figured Carrie could really use a little stress relief, but there wasn’t time for the works.
As the three of them came out of the locker room in their gray robes and slippers, Carrie slipped her cell phone from her pocket.
“You’re not supposed to have a phone in here,” Jennifer whispered, looking around nervously as if the place was bugged or something.
“I have to text Parker,” Carrie said. “I need her to get me booked to have my author photo retaken tomorrow morning, while my hair’s all perfect.”
As Summer waited for her massage, sipping warmish lemon water, she read Lorella’s file behind a magazine. Jennifer had cucumbers over her eyes, but it never hurt to be extra careful.
The information was snooze city, nothing really new. Lorella was from Massachusetts, no kids, never married. Moved to Hibiscus Pointe a little over a month ago. Condo 1-B, Hibiscus Gardens. Milano resident, ten years. Recently retired as English Department secretary at Santa Teresa. Previously professor and also alumna at Wellsmount College. Hobbies: reading, poetry, and classic films.
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