Permanently Booked

by Lisa Q. Mathews

  “Hi,” she said to the girl at the customer service desk. “We have a turtle emergency.”

  “Huh?” The girl, whose name tag read Mandy, snapped her grape gum.

  Summer explained the situation, and asked for Safari Sue.

  “Sorry, Safari Sue is in Africa getting more animals right now,” Mandy said. “But I’ll page Dr. Josie for you. She’s our head veterinarian. You need tickets, too?”

  Summer glanced over her shoulder. The perspiring people behind them were looking pretty ticked off that she and Juliette-Margot had skipped the line. “Sure. One adult, one kid,” she said quickly. If things went south with Skipperdee, maybe a quick trip through the zoo would help make Juliette-Margot feel better.

  Summer carefully pried the turtle box from the kid’s hands. Today Dash’s daughter was dressed like a turtle herself, in a green sundress with a little green smock thing over it and matching sunhat. “Come on,” she said. “We have to go wait in the animal hospital for Dr. Josie.”

  The vet, a pretty young woman wearing all khaki and a Safari Sue scarf around her neck, introduced herself and gazed down at Skipperdee flopped out on his little plastic island. “Hey, a baby red slider,” she said, smiling at Juliette-Margot. “Where did you get him, sweetie?”

  Juliette-Margot pointed to Summer. “My friend.”

  Dr. Josie raised one eyebrow. “Oh. I see. Well, let’s go into one of the examining rooms and I’ll take a look at him.”

  Summer held her breath as the vet put Skipperdee through his paces. Or tried to, anyway. The little creature was pretty lethargic, but on the other hand, turtles were always slow, right?

  “Okay, guys,” Dr. Josie said when she was done. “Why don’t we sit down over there and we’ll talk.”

  That did not sound good, Summer told herself with a gulp. Skipperdee was doomed, Juliette-Margot was going to be totally devastated, and it was all her fault.

  “So here’s the thing.” Dr. Josie pulled up a stool as Summer sat down on a plastic chair and took Juliette-Margot on her lap. “I really think Skipperdee is going to be okay.”

  Summer almost dropped Juliette-Margot in relief.

  “But he needs a proper environment and the right food, not a bathtub of chlorinated water and lettuce.”

  For a second, Summer wondered what Dash would think of Skipperdee not having a good enough home. Jeez, he had to be the most pampered reptile on earth.

  “You see, this tiny turtle will grow into a very large turtle. And red sliders are endangered. I’m really sorry, but they’re not allowed as children’s—or anyone’s—pets. And they sometimes carry salmonella, so kids shouldn’t handle them.” The vet looked at Summer. “Where did you get this one?”

  “At a place called Camo’s Exotic Pets,” Summer said. “It’s owned by a guy named Ray.”

  “Well, I’ll have to report him, I’m afraid.” Dr. Josie leaned forward until she was almost eye level with Juliette-Margot. “Sweetie, if you leave Skipperdee here with me and Safari Sue, he’ll get the best of care. And he’ll get to be with all his friends. What do you say?”

  Summer felt Juliette-Margot freeze up in her arms. “But Eloise has a turtle like Skipperdee,” she said, sniffling. “He lives in her bathtub at the Plaza Hotel on the tippity-top floor.”

  The vet looked at Summer again. “It’s a book,” Summer told her. “But hey,” she added to Juliette-Margot, “guess what? I got us tickets to the zoo. You and I are going to see all the animals while Skipperdee hangs out with Dr. Josie. She’s going to make him well. Is that awesome, or what?”

  “Juliette-Margot does not want to see the zoo.” The kid gave a weird little hiccup.

  “Tell you what,” Dr. Josie said. “How about if I show you where Skipperdee is going to live with his new turtle family after he gets better? And then I’ll give you and your friend a special pass to Safari Sue’s, so you can visit him whenever you want.”

  Juliette-Margot thought about that one. “Okay,” she said finally.

  The turtle habitat tour was short and sweet, for which Summer was grateful. It cheered Juliet-Margot up at first, but after they’d thanked Dr. Josie and headed to the car, she looked a little down again.

  “How about we stop at Lime Rickey’s for an orange crème shake?” Summer said. She had to talk the kid into it, but by the time they were halfway to the fifties-style ice cream drive in, Juliette-Margot had warmed to the idea.

  After the two of them walked back to the MINI with their ice creams—Juliette-Margot with the orange crème and her with a Blue Hawaiian Freeze, Summer reached for the driver’s-side door—and screamed.

  Something dark, hairy, and almost the size of her fist was emerging from under the handle. The gnarliest freaking spider she’d ever seen.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Dorothy tried not to notice that Gladys Rumway and half a dozen other ladies at the poolside buffet were eagerly watching as she and Professor Bell carried their plates to a table in a far corner of the pool deck.

  She spread a towel beneath Guinevere’s carrier in the comfortable shade of a nearby cabana and gave the kitty fresh water from a drink cup lid.

  It would be better to drop her off back at the condo, but Dorothy didn’t want Charles to know where she lived—not that it would be difficult for him to find out—or try to accompany her.

  “So, why don’t you tell me about yourself, Professor?” Dorothy said, trying to spear a tough piece of pineapple.

  “Please call me Charles,” he said. “What would you like to hear?”

  The truth, Dorothy thought.

  “Well, let’s see,” he continued, before she could answer. “I’m not sure where to start, there’s so much to know about me. I was born in New England—Marblehead, Massachusetts, to be precise. I was exposed to the world of literature exceptionally early, by virtue of the fact that my father was a distinguished professor of English with a specialty in the Romantic poets…”

  Oh my. Professor Bell continued to drone on, and Dorothy nearly fell asleep in her fruit salad. He was quite possibly the most boring man she’d ever met. And the worst part was, so far he’d told her nothing she didn’t already know.

  As he went on at length about his academic research and publications, Dorothy tried her best to force her facial muscles into what she hoped was an expression of mild interest.

  “I’m sorry, I fear I must be boring you,” the professor said suddenly. He hadn’t touched a bite of his sandwich, with the all the talking he’d been doing. Before Dorothy could politely protest, however, he started up again.

  “Rather surprisingly, I have never had a wife.” Professor Bell finally took a few forkfuls of pasta salad, and Dorothy averted her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see him talk with his mouth full. “I suppose you could say I am married to my work.”

  “Of course,” Dorothy murmured.

  “In fact, in addition to my extensive research and teaching duties, I am writing a romantic novel,” the professor said. “Currently, the manuscript runs a shade under one thousand pages. Quite a literary undertaking, you understand. Each time I think I’m about to reach the conclusion, those words just keep writing themselves.”

  Good heavens. If she ever needed a book to cure her occasional insomnia, Professor Bell’s lengthy opus would surely fit the bill. “Have you considered dividing the story up, perhaps—say, into a three-book set?” Dorothy asked.

  The professor put down his fork. “Funny you should suggest that. I’ve been told that before, by my editor. But really, I anticipate this entire manuscript will be Book One. Would you like to hear the plot?”

  “No,” Dorothy said quickly. “I mean, I’m very impressed that you have an editor. When will your book be published?”

  “Oh, it’s not under contract,” Professor Bell said. “Not yet. My editor was more of a prepublication consultant, really. I was lucky to have her, as she had an academic specialty similar to mine, but sadly we are no longer working together. However, w
hen I…”

  The editor had to have been Lorella, Dorothy thought. Why had he failed to mention her by name—or the fact that she had passed away? He had been her employer, for heaven’s sake, and who knew what else? “Yes, wasn’t it very sad about Lorella Caldwell?” she said.

  The professor stopped talking. “You knew her?”

  Dorothy nodded. “Not extremely well, but she was our librarian here at Hibiscus Pointe. You two must have been much better acquainted.” She paused, expectantly.

  Professor Bell cleared his throat. “Yes, I knew Lorella. She was a nice lady. And she had excellent grammar.”

  Grammar? What was the matter with this man, and how could he be so selfish? “I’d love to hear more about her. Since I’ve assumed Lorella’s duties in the library, and the book club was a project close to her heart, I’d love to make sure I’m carrying out her wishes to the fullest extent possible.”

  The professor shrugged. “I’m not sure there’s much to tell. She was actually my administrative assistant at Santa Teresa, did I mention that? She didn’t list it on her résumé, but I learned not long after I’d hired her that she’d once been a professor at Wellsmount College. It just so happened, my father was also on the faculty there. As a student, Lorella had even been his teaching assistant. Quite a coincidence.”

  “Yes, quite.” Dorothy decided it might not be the right time to bring up the possibility of an affair between Lorella and his esteemed father. “You attended Wellsmount’s brother school across town, didn’t you, Charles? You never met Lorella, then?”

  He frowned. “No. I was just a kid. And I never took any classes on the Wellsmount campus, so our paths never crossed.”

  “I see,” Dorothy said. “Well, how nice for you that Lorella agreed to edit your manuscript later.”

  “When she had a little downtime on the job.” The professor went back to his pasta salad. “She thought I was very talented.”

  “She didn’t do any extra work on her own time?” Dorothy pressed. “With you, by chance? You must have visited her lovely Tudor home.”

  The professor wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Once or twice, maybe, before she suddenly quit working for me and moved without a forwarding address. And I did stop by there recently to see if she’d perhaps left behind any further editorial notes. Not that I really needed them that badly, of course. Sadly, she never finished reading my manuscript, and now she’s gone.”

  How heartless. And his whole story sounded fishy, in Dorothy’s view. But she couldn’t blame Lorella for leaving her job and moving to a gated community like Hibiscus Pointe to avoid this man and his terrible novel, if that was the case.

  “So it sounds as if Lorella was an excellent editor,” Dorothy said. “Did she write, as well?”

  “No,” Professor Bell said. “Some people are born to write, like I was, but Lorella didn’t have that gift.”

  Obviously, this pompous man had no idea that Lorella was a bestselling author. Or else he was lying. “What a shame. I could have sworn I heard something about her working on a book or two. You would have known that, though, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.” Professor Bell leaned across the table and placed a large hand over Dorothy’s much smaller one. “Why don’t we talk about you now, Foxy Dot?”

  Dorothy snatched her hand away, glancing nervously across the pool. Sure enough, Gladys and her cronies were staring and whispering. But she needed to ask the professor whether he’d been acquainted with Georgiana back in their small college town.

  Maybe he hadn’t known quiet Lorella, but the future GH Hamel might have been harder to miss.

  “So, how about it?” the professor was saying. “Dinner tonight? I can tell you more about my novel.”

  Dorothy jolted back to attention. “What? Oh my, no. I’d love to, of course, but I already have plans.”

  “So, you two are looking very cozy over here.” Gladys Rumway planted herself beside their table, grinning widely under her enormous zebra-print sunglasses.

  For once, Dorothy was happy to see her. “Oh my, what is the time? I need to get my cat inside before she overheats.” She rose quickly, nearly toppling her light plastic chair. “It’s been lovely, Professor Bell, but I really must go.”

  Gladys put a heavy, sweaty hand on her arm to stop her. “Hey, Dorothy, where’s the fire? Your cat’s fine. Helen just took that cute little Yorkie-wow-wow over to play with her.”

  Oh dear. Now Dorothy could hear sharp, excited yipping sounds from the nearby cabana. And a tiny, terrified meow.

  “You are going down to the TV station tonight for GH Hamel’s interview tonight, right? Oh, and that other one, too. The Carrie girl. They’re looking for bodies to fill the studio audience, so since you’re book club prez I let them know you’d be there.”

  Dorothy sighed. She’d secretly hoped to skip the live show, actually, but it was probably a good idea to attend, and keep an eye on Georgiana. “I’ll be there.”

  “Wait, GH Hamel’s going to be on TV live?” the professor said. “Where? What time?”

  “WMLO. Doors open at five,” Gladys said as Dorothy gracefully removed herself from the big woman’s grasp. “Use the bathroom first, though. They don’t let anyone out of the room once the cameras start rolling.”

  “On that note,” Dorothy said, “I’m sure I will see you both later.”

  She hurried away to rescue Guinevere, before anyone could try to stop her this time. She would broach the subject of Lorella again—and Georgiana—with Professor Bell later, and listen to what he had to say.

  But she had definitely heard enough from him for now.

  *

  “Are you two okay?” Dash asked Summer, the second she and Juliette-Margot stepped into the foyer. “I got your message, but it was all garbled.”

  “We’re fine. Well, we are now, anyway.” Summer headed straight for the living room and flopped onto the nearest white couch.

  Dash scooped Juliette-Margot, whose eyes were still a little red and puffy, into his arms. “What happened? You both look like you’ve been through the spin cycle.”

  Summer stuck a throw pillow over her face. “Don’t ask.”

  “I take it things didn’t go well at Safari Sue’s,” Dash said. When Summer peeked out at him from under the cushion, he nodded toward the empty plastic turtle carrier on the Berber rug.

  “We saw a big, très poisonous spider,” Juliette-Margot said. “But Summer grabbed Juliette-Margot and we ran back into Lime Rickey’s.”

  Dash seemed speechless.

  “Don’t worry, everything turned out okay,” Summer assured him. “There was a cute, off-duty fireman there and he captured the tarantula thing with his helmet. Scooped it right off the car door.” It was a good thing, too. She drew the line at gross bugs and all snakes.

  “A tarantula? On your car? You’re joking, right?”

  “Nope. I called that nice vet who’s taking care of Skipperdee, Dr. Josie, because I thought maybe the thing came from Safari Sue’s, but it didn’t.”

  “It came from the store where the big snake lives,” Juliette-Margot put in helpfully. “His name is Camo.”

  “Camo from the sign for that sleazy exotic pets store over on Immokalee? With the bars on the windows? You took my daughter there?” Dash’s face turned an unflattering shade of violet. “If Julian finds that out, we’re both dead.”

  “No, no, no,” Summer said quickly. “That was before I picked Juliette-Margot up. Besides, the tarantula might have just been a random deal. You know, it might have dropped off a piece of fruit from someone’s grocery bag in a parking lot or something.”

  “Right.” Dash did not sound convinced.

  Summer wasn’t, either. Could Ray have been lurking somewhere while she was talking to his employee about Skipperdee, and dropped the nasty spider into her car?

  “Skipperdee is going to live with Dr. Josie and Safari Sue and all the other turtles,” Juliette-Margot told her
dad. “Because he can’t live in our bathtub anymore.”

  He sighed. “Well, that’s nice, honey.”

  Georgiana suddenly swept into the living room from the lanai, dressed in a black-and-gold caftan. “I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said, taking her granddaughter from Dash and sitting down in the armchair across from Summer. “Don’t worry, darling, Grandmère will get you a much more interesting pet. How about a pony?”

  “Mother,” Dash warned. “Don’t start.”

  Georgiana turned to Summer. “You are a most intriguing young woman, my dear. Tell me, does trouble always follow you like this? I must create a character…” Her face clouded over. “But I still don’t have my writing notebook.”

  “I’m sure it will turn up,” Dash said. “I saw it in your bag at the Algonquin dinner.”

  “Yes.” Georgiana frowned. “I always carry it with me in case I need to jot ideas. And I am quite sure someone stole it.”

  “Maybe it just fell out somewhere,” Dash tried. “I’ve already checked with the club. Twice.”

  Georgiana sniffed. “Well, I really don’t think I’ll be able to attend that TV interview tonight unless I find it. Why should I have to share the stage with that journeyman hack Carrie Lumbar, anyway?”

  “Dunbar,” Summer corrected. It almost sounded as if the newbie author was more of a problem for the great GH Hamel than any missing notebook.

  “They can just do the show without me,” Georgiana said, with a dismissive wave. “I’ll stay home here and cheer up my precious granddaughter who’s mourning the loss of her beloved pet.”

  Juliette-Margot started to droop with gloom again.

  “He’s not dead,” Summer said quickly.

  “Here’s an idea,” Dash said. “Julian and I will take care of our daughter tonight, Mother, and Summer will take you to the interview. Maybe you can stop for a cocktail or two on the way.”

  “Sure,” Summer said, eager to make up the turtle and tarantula fiascos to her friend. “You can’t let all your fans down, Georgiana. They’ll be dying to see you on TV. I’ll be back to pick you up at three-thirty.”