Permanently Booked

by Lisa Q. Mathews

Blah, blah, blah. “Tell me something I don’t know,” Summer muttered, under her breath.

  Excellent health. Occasional arthritis. Personal physician: Dr. Lydia Bundtzen. Vehicle: 1999 Mazda Protégé, white. Possible volunteer interests: Newsletter, library, reading to the blind.

  Lorella Caldwell might have been a famous author, but she sure was boring.

  Jennifer peeled the cucumber slices from her eyes and Summer quickly stashed the residents form away under her gray spa towel. Carrie was still absorbed in her phone.

  “Hey, Summer, can you recommend a nice, quiet place for dinner tonight?” Jennifer asked. “I actually have a date with a new guy tonight and he asked me to choose. I don’t go out much, so…”

  “Hey, that’s great.” Summer’s stomach gave a tiny twist. “Who is it?”

  So Jennifer and Detective Donovan were dating now. Well, Summer had expected that, right? And it was perfectly fine, she reminded herself.

  Jennifer blushed and swiped at the stray cucumber seeds left on her face. “I’d sort of rather not say yet, if you don’t mind. I’m afraid I might jinx things, you know? But I want us to go somewhere that isn’t too crowded so we can at least talk.”

  “Well, it might be hard to get last-minute reservations at most of those kinds of places,” Summer said. “But Dorothy and I are going to La Volpe around seven. It’s totally quiet, trust me.”

  Oh no. Had she actually just said that? What was the matter with her? She’d blown her cover for tonight, and her partner’s. The last thing they needed was Detective Donovan and Jennifer showing up there on a romantic date.

  Jennifer brightened in the creepy, grayish light. “That’s a great suggestion! I went to La Volpe once, ages ago, and I’d forgotten all about it. Perfect.”

  Yep. Unbelievably fabulous. Summer mentally kicked herself. At least there was one good thing about Detective Donovan and Jennifer joining the party on their superromantic date. Dorothy could feel even safer during her dinner with a possible murderer.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dorothy couldn’t help feeling a twinge of regret after she finally brought herself to leave that message on Gladys’s cell about Guinevere.

  Lorella’s kitty desperately needed a new home and Dorothy knew it would be the best way to get the word out community-wide. And no doubt beyond. But still…Dorothy wished she could keep her.

  While Mr. Bitey took a nap in a sun patch on the bedroom carpet, she took the little gray cat on her lap and began to flip through the Moleskine notebook she’d taken from Lorella’s condo on her and Summer’s first trip.

  Why hadn’t she done this earlier? They’d been so busy…and now that those folders were missing from Lorella’s file cabinets, it was the only thing they had to go on.

  It wasn’t a personal journal, as Dorothy had hoped. Just snippets and a few longer passages of lovely writing—probably for Lorella’s next book. There were character sketches, too, and notes for clothes and setting.

  Finally, there it was: a calendar at the back. With renewed hope, Dorothy perused the monthly pages, in which Lorella had made sporadic entries. Book deadlines, occasional reminders to order various items for the Hibiscus Pointe Library—and a few fairly recent references to “C.” Underlined.

  Were those the assignations Lorella had had with Charles Bell? The very man Dorothy was committed to meet, in just a few short hours?

  She shivered, remembering the bloody bookend that had killed the earnest librarian and author. Maybe Summer should tuck the professor’s matching piece back into her bag tonight, just in case they needed it to defend themselves.

  No, that was absurd. The two of them—plus Ernie and Esmé, of course—would be perfectly safe in a public place like La Volpe.

  A heavy, furious shape launched itself at Dorothy, startling her from her thoughts. Mr. Bitey had woken from his nap and detected that his unsuspecting rival was curled, peacefully purring, in his owner’s lap.

  As Guinevere beat a hasty retreat to the drapes again, clawing them half-threadless with flailing paws as she tried to ascend them in a panic, Dorothy grabbed the hissing tomcat firmly by the collar and deposited him in his new powder room jail.

  Perhaps she should tuck her attack cat into her purse tonight, for extra protection.

  *

  “So you’re all set?” Summer asked as Dorothy settled herself at the small, marble-topped bistro table. “Are you sure you don’t want me to run over to Fleurs de Paris and get you a red rose?”

  “No, thank you,” Dorothy said. It was almost mortifying, to be in this position, even if it was for a case.

  “I put in your reply to Professor Bell that you’d have one sticking out of a book, so he’d know it was you. It’s a Silver Sweethearts thing. I saw it in a movie once, too. And Esmé said…”

  “He knows who I am,” Dorothy broke in. “And there’s a rose right here on the table, see?”

  “But it’s white,” Summer pointed out.

  “White rose, red rose, who cares?” Ernie was looking stormy again. “This jerk won’t even notice the difference. All he wants to do is try and seduce Dorothy.”

  Dorothy closed her eyes. “No one is going to do anything of the sort. Really, Ernie. I believe I can handle things. Now both of you go sit down and order your dinners. I will be just fine.”

  “Well, okay, if you’re sure.” Ernie still sounded reluctant. He and Summer chose a table a ways back against the brick wall, but it still seemed oddly close in the nearly empty restaurant.

  Summer’s choice of outfit was somewhat inappropriate as well, Dorothy noted. For one thing, her friend was wearing a big, floppy hat and tinted sunglasses—indoors and during the evening. She’d also draped herself in an unusually baggy dress that failed to flatter her trim, toned figure.

  Surely the girl didn’t think such extremes were necessary to disguise herself from Charles Bell. He might remember her from their chance meeting in his office or the book club events, of course, but that look was definitely overkill.

  It was so obvious it might even scare their suspect off.

  “Hey, Dorothy, what can I get for you?” Esmé materialized at the table in wide-leg black pants and a wrap-style white leotard. “A glass of wine, maybe? Summer says she’s buying, but it’s on the house.”

  “No, thank you,” Dorothy said, smoothing her plain navy dress. She’d worn as dull an outfit as possible. “I’ll wait. How about some nice peppermint tea?”

  “Coming up,” Esmé said. “By the way, good luck with that creep tonight.”

  Lovely, Dorothy told herself, trying not to cringe with humiliation. There was probably a reason the man chose a restaurant named after a wolf to meet his dates.

  She opened the book she’d brought with her—she was rereading Mansfield Park—and tried not to notice that Professor Bell was late. A gentleman should never keep a lady waiting. No wonder his dates didn’t go well.

  The minutes ticked slowly by, and melted into half an hour. Then forty minutes. This was ridiculous. Dorothy put her book aside and took out her little pen and pad set from her pocketbook. Maybe she’d make a few notes for the next book club meeting, since she had so much time to kill.

  At eight o’clock sharp, Dorothy clicked off her pen. Obviously, her “date” was not going to show up, the cad.

  Had he spotted Summer through the window? She’d been craning her neck and looking around every two minutes. Perhaps her sleuthing partner had scared him off.

  Dorothy felt a sharp stab of annoyance, and not just because she wouldn’t have the chance to prod Charles into spilling information about him and Lorella.

  She’d been stood up, for the first time in her life. How embarrassing, as well as infuriating. What would Ernie think?

  “Hey, Dot,” he said, looking considerably more cheerful as he put his napkin down and came over to Dorothy’s table. “Looks like you haven’t had much to eat yet.”

  She glanced down at the telltale crumbs of the bread sticks s
he’d nibbled with her tea. Maybe she shouldn’t have waited to order dinner. “No, I guess not.”

  “Well, come on over and join us,” Ernie said. “We’ll order another plate of clams marinara and Summer and I will save you some cannoli. The chef has nothing to do back there, so it’ll make him real happy.”

  Dorothy grabbed her pocketbook. “Thank you. I believe I will.”

  “Oh well, we tried,” Summer said, removing her sunglasses as Dorothy sat down. She looked as dejected as Ernie was full of new energy. “I knew Professor Bell was a loser. Let’s get some spumoni, too, okay, Ernie?”

  Esmé brought a decanter of red wine and two more glasses, and pulled up another uncomfortable bistro chair. “Mind if I join you?” she said. “And if your date shows up, Dorothy, you can use some of this to throw at him.”

  “Thank you,” Dorothy said. “I just might.”

  *

  Summer was still feeling out of sorts the next morning, even after a quick mile or so of laps in the pool. Now she was reading Georgiana’s book, which was actually pretty good—better than Citizen’s Arrest—in an attempt to distract herself.

  Charles Bell hadn’t shown last night, and neither had Jennifer and her “date,” aka Detective Donovan. Where had the two of them gone? Plus, her sister Joy in New Jersey woke her up at 8:00 a.m. to rant about having to kick in their joint rent payment to Syd again this month—even after Summer had sworn she’d take care of the next two in a row for sure.

  Also, the home theater guys had come yesterday afternoon, while she was out at the spa with Carrie and Jennifer, so they hadn’t installed anything. Again. And to top things off, she had a freaking killer headache from all that cheap wine last night.

  Her cell rang, and Summer answered it without rolling over in the pool lounge chair. If it was Carrie, she would tell her her phone was running out of juice and hang up.

  “Hey, it’s Dash.” He sounded totally panicked, and he hadn’t even called her Cali Girl the way he usually did when he called.

  “What’s the matter?” Summer quickly sat up.

  “It’s that blasted turtle you got Juliette-Margot. Skipperdunk, or whatever she calls him.”

  “Skipperdee,” Summer corrected.

  “Right. He’s not doing so well. The thing looks kind of floppy, he’s not eating, his shell is all mushy, and he’s moping around the soap dish with these little bubbles coming out of his nose.”

  “Uh-oh,” Summer said. That did not sound good.

  “Juliette-Margot won’t eat, either. Not even the pancakes à l’orange I made her this morning. She’s posted watch beside the tub—and I really think this turtle will need Last Rites soon.”

  “I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Summer’s head started to pound again. “Maybe he’s just getting used to living at your house.”

  “Don’t think so,” Dash said. “And the vet at Purr-fect Angels Pet Hospital and Resort refuses to call me back. I’ve left a thousand and one voice mails. Anyway, can you run over to wherever in Hades you got this bloody reptile and pick up another one, just in case?”

  “In case what?” When Dash didn’t answer, Summer finally swam out of her hangover fog and filled in the blanks. “Oh, right. Got it. Sorry.”

  “I’d go myself, but to add to the high-drama chez Hamel-LeBlanc, Mother has misplaced her precious writing notebook and she’s beyond hysterical.”

  “I’m on my way to the pet store,” Summer said, sliding into her flip-flops. “I’ll be at your place as soon as I can.”

  The trip to Camo’s Exotic Pets was a good thing, she told herself as she pulled into the empty parking lot. Hopefully, she’d run into Ray, or at least get some intel on his whereabouts, while she was doing a good deed for Juliette-Margot and Dash.

  With everything else that had been going on, she and Dorothy hadn’t been focused enough on cornering Ray and Trixie and their vanishing RV. So many suspects, so little time.

  The same teenage kid with the ball cap was manning Ray’s store. This time Summer headed straight to the counter, without looking at any of the cages and glowing tanks or snakes and lizards and furry spiders.

  “Is Ray here?” she asked the kid.

  “Nah, he ain’t been around much, but that’s the way he is. If he don’t give me a paycheck soon, though, he’ll be here a lot, because I’m quitting.”

  “I know what that’s like,” Summer said. “I’ve had some pretty bad bosses myself. By the way,” she added, glancing nervously around at the filthy floor, “did Ray ever find Camo the snake?”

  “Nah,” the kid said. “But that cop came in here again yesterday and asked more questions about Ray. He didn’t seem that interested in Camo.”

  Detective Donovan, Summer thought. No wonder he’d been over at the golf course. But ugh. She’d better wrap this turtle mission up quick, in case that slimy giant python showed its ugly snake face around here again.

  “Hey, where are all the little green turtles?” she asked, peering at the empty tank near the counter. It was completely dark today and the bubbles were gone.

  “Uh, we had a filtering malfunction.” The kid shrugged. “Happens a lot.”

  “That’s terrible,” Summer said, horrified. “So…you don’t have any more turtles? Not even one?”

  “Nope. Don’t know when we’ll get a new delivery, either. Our suppliers ain’t real reliable.”

  Well, that wasn’t good. Summer explained the mopey turtle problem to the kid. “What can I do?” she asked. “Can I get another one somewhere?”

  “Dunno,” the kid said. “But if the turtle ain’t dead already, you can take it to Safari Sue’s Wildlife Park and Zoo over on the Trail. Maybe they can help you out.”

  Fabulous. Summer wasted no time in beating it out of the creepy-crawly pet store.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dorothy struggled to jam one more slim volume onto a dusty, overcrowded shelf in the Hibiscus Pointe Library. At this rate, she had only managed to shelve two boxes worth of donated titles—and there were a good two dozen more to go.

  Perhaps the book club might sponsor a book sale to help create a literacy program for migrant children. She’d overheard Summer talking about something like that to her date at the author signing party. What a marvelous idea.

  The two of them could bring the subject up at their first actual book discussion meeting, if they ever managed to have one.

  Someone knocked softly on the closed library door.

  Startled, Dorothy nearly tripped over Guinevere, who’d been winding around her ankles. She’d brought Lorella’s cat with her this morning, for company. And to give Mr. Bitey a breather from the powder room.

  “Come in,” she called. “And close the door behind you, please.”

  Instantly, she regretted those words. Standing just inside the library now was Charles Bell, smiling with unsuccessful charm. She was trapped.

  “What can I do for you, Professor Bell?” she said stiffly. She certainly wasn’t going to bring up his failure to appear for their appointment at La Volpe last night. And what are you doing here? she wanted to ask.

  “The staff at the desk told me I might find you in here,” he said, still smiling. “I wanted to apologize for standing you up last night.”

  Dorothy crossed the room and busied herself arranging papers on Lorella’s old desk. She was hardly about to stay back there in the stacks, where her predecessor had been murdered.

  Possibly by this very man.

  “I was unavoidably detained,” he said.

  Dorothy briefly glanced up. The professor was blocking the door now. Had he really told people he was looking for her, and they’d directed him to the library? If so, then if anything happened to her, they’d know who to look for. But if he’d been lying…

  “I’m so terribly sorry. Please allow me to make it up to you. I know a lovely little sandwich shop that’s just opened over on Periwinkle. Would you be willing to go to lunch with me?”

  Absolutely
not, Dorothy thought. She had a policy of not riding in cars with suspects, if at all possible. No one would even know where they had gone. She needed to make a graceful—or less than graceful, if need be—exit from the library.

  On the other hand…how could she pass up the opportunity to interview Professor Bell for the case? She and Summer badly needed that information. “I’m extremely busy today, so I’d prefer to stay on the premises,” she said finally. “But there’s a buffet lunch set up at the pool. We could talk there, perhaps.”

  At her feet, Guinevere gave what sounded like a warning meow. Oh, heavens. She’d forgotten about the cat.

  The professor seemed delighted. “I assure you, you won’t regret it.”

  Dorothy barely suppressed a shudder of disgust. The man certainly had an overly high opinion of himself. She reached down to scoop up Guinevere and grab her cat carrier from under the desk, just as the professor stepped closer.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, quickly putting the carrier between them.

  He stepped away, looking a bit taken back. “Sorry,” he said. “I was just going to help you with that heavy-looking crate.”

  “No need, thank you.” Dorothy sidestepped the professor and headed straight for the door.

  He followed at her heels, like an admiring puppy. “You’re something else, Foxy Dot. I must admit, I love a woman who’s a challenge.”

  *

  Summer drove as fast as she dared to Safari Sue’s, after a brief stop back at Hibiscus Pointe to pick up Juliette-Margot and Skipperdee.

  “You know what, JM?” she said as they stopped at about the eighty-fourth red light. “I think Skipperdee is looking pretty good there. He’s probably just sleeping inside his shell.”

  Juliette-Margot stared sadly down at the see-through container on her lap with the little plastic palm tree. “It is très grave,” she said.

  When they got to the animal park, which the entrance sign said had been established in the 1940s, Summer rushed Juliette-Margot past the line to get Skipperdee out of the brutal heat. They couldn’t have him baking in that Tupperware-looking thing.