Chapter Twenty-Four
Dorothy tried to give herself a silent pep talk as she, Summer, and Georgiana pulled up to the WMLO studios at almost exactly five o’clock.
Accompanying GH Hamel to this interview was definitely the right thing to do. As she’d reminded herself several times, she needed to support Georgiana and Carrie. It was her unwritten duty as the chief organizer of the Hibiscus Pointe Book Club.
Besides, other than her son, Georgiana didn’t have a dedicated assistant, as Carrie did, to take care of any issues that might pop up. And having gotten to know GH Hamel, there were sure to be at least a few of those.
Plus, once everyone was occupied, she and Summer would have a chance to compare notes on the case so far for the day. They hadn’t been able to talk freely over those cocktails, with Georgiana there.
The author had insisted on Larry’s Lizard Lounge, a somewhat questionable establishment attached to a motor inn just off the highway. Dorothy suspected Georgiana might have had a drink or two before they’d picked her up at the house.
A breathless young woman in a bright blue WMLO blazer, most likely a college student, greeted them at the door. “Hi there,” she said. “My name is Monesha, and I’m one of the interns here at the station. I’ll be taking care of you, Ms. Hamel—it’s an honor to meet you—so just let me know if there’s anything you need.”
“How about a drink?” Georgiana said.
Oh dear. That would be a very bad idea, Dorothy told herself. The woman was already tipsy. “Perhaps when you’re all settled,” she suggested.
“There’s a bar set up in the greenroom,” Monesha said. “The other author, Carrie—she said she’s a friend of yours—is already there. Her publicist is helping set things up with our assistant producer—you know, sound check, teleprompter, that sort of stuff. For both of you, Ms. Hamel.”
“Fine. I can’t be bothered with minor details,” Georgiana said. “And I always do my own makeup, just so you know.”
The intern led them all into the greenroom.
“Hi!” Carrie said, from the makeup chair, where a stylist was struggling to curl her limp hair. “I’ve been waiting forever for you guys to get here.”
Any changes resulting from the young woman’s spa makeover yesterday were not immediately apparent to Dorothy, but she would never say so, of course. “Don’t you look nice?” she said.
“Thanks,” Carrie said. “Isn’t this exciting?”
“So we’re going to be featuring a very short excerpt from each of your books,” Monesha told her and Georgiana. “But don’t worry, you’ll be reading straight from the teleprompter.”
“I don’t need a teleprompter,” Georgiana called as the intern left. She pointedly ignored Carrie and accepted the gin and tonic Summer had mixed for her at the wet bar in the corner.
About two minutes later, the greenroom door opened and Charles Bell stuck his head inside. Dorothy could see the top of Gladys’s curly gray head just behind him.
Good heavens. What if someone had been in the middle of dressing?
“Just stopping by to say hello,” the professor said. “Turns out I’ve been asked to join the literary conversation with you lovely author ladies.”
“How…nice,” Georgiana said. “We will see you onstage, then. Please let yourself out so I can”—she swirled her drink—”collect my thoughts for the interview.”
“Of course,” he said. “Maybe I can catch up with you after the segment, Ms. Hamel. It just so happens I have in my car that highly commercial manuscript I mentioned to you earlier. I’ve already had it edited by a literary expert, and I think—with your recommendation—it will be of great interest to your fine publisher, Maxwell & Perkins.”
“We’ll see.” Georgiana took a large sip of her G&T. “Now get lost.”
My, Dorothy thought as Charles scurried away, with Gladys right behind him. GH Hamel certainly didn’t mince words.
“Sometimes you just have to get rid of wannabe vermin,” the author said, with a side glance at Carrie.
Gladys poked her head back in. “Hey, Foxy Dot, not to worry,” she said. “I have no lovey-dovey interest in Charles at all. I’m only tailing him for the case—which, by the way, I’m about to crack wide-open.” Then she disappeared, to Dorothy’s great relief.
Georgiana turned to Dorothy. “Who was that horrible woman and what was she talking about?”
“Nothing, really.” Dorothy sighed. “Don’t worry, Gladys is quite harmless.”
“Just another wannabe rat,” Summer added, from the back of the room. Dorothy frowned in her friend’s direction, but if truth be told, she heartily agreed.
*
Summer and Dorothy slipped into the last seats left for the live interview—right in front of Gladys—just before a guy intern closed the studio doors.
“Oh dear,” Dorothy said. “Parker must not have made it in time.”
“She’s in the wings,” Summer said, pointing. “See, over there, pouring Georgiana’s drink into a mug. Dash’s mom can really hold her liquor.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Dorothy said. “She should be more careful, don’t you think? Especially speaking in public like this.”
“Maybe she’s nervous,” Summer said. It was hard to imagine a famous author like GH Hamel freaking out, though.
“It’s that Carrie kid.” Gladys leaned over the backs of their seats. “She could make butter crazy.”
Jeez. Summer guessed she and Dorothy wouldn’t be having any private conversations. But they probably couldn’t anyway, because another intern had just announced during the commercial break that the audience had to stay quiet. Except for lots of clapping after the interview, when the little Applause sign above their heads lit up.
It was just like being on a regular TV or movie set. She and Joy used to get to visit them when they were kids. Sometimes Syd had even let her sit in his folding producer chair. There was no food on this set, though. And all the walls were plain so they could use digital stuff like laser designs and weather maps and cheesy graphics to change things up.
Right now the background on the left side of the set said Book Corner. A hundred percent fake, and zero glam.
Another intern ran up and whispered something to the first one. How many interns did they have here at the TV station, anyway? Maybe she should send in a résumé. They probably didn’t get paid, though.
“Okay, everybody,” the first intern said to the audience. “Slight change of plans here. We need to do a quick, special news segment, so please keep the rustling to a minimum and no more talking, please.”
The two news anchors, a square-jawed guy who looked like a blond Frankenstein and a bony woman in a supertight knit dress and tons of makeup, showed up a second later. They sat down behind their cheap news desk on the other side from the one where Georgiana, Carrie, and the professor waited in fake-leather chairs.
Felicia Hernandez seemed a little annoyed that she was stuck on the Book Corner fireside and wasn’t going to deliver the breaking news, whatever it was.
The anchors tested the microphones and shuffled a bunch of papers. A stylist ran up and applied more powder to both of their faces. And then they were live.
“Milano police and wildlife officials are investigating reports of yet another spotting of a twelve-foot Burmese python that allegedly escaped Wednesday from an exotic pet store on Immokalee Boulevard in North Milano,” the woman anchor read from the teleprompter. “The giant snake’s owner, Ray Bob Slater, was unavailable for comment.”
A photo of a huge, gross, evil-looking snake filled the screen behind the news desk. “Oh my gosh,” Summer whispered to Dorothy. “It’s Camo! And if that snake’s down there by the beach, Ray must be, too.”
“Quiet!” Gladys said behind them, superloudly.
The background switched to the young woman reporter, Melanie Knight, who was filling in for Felicia Hernandez. She kept looking behind her as she tried to interview a cop about whether they k
new where the snake was now, and a bunch of people in the crowd who all wanted to see it.
“Residents have been warned to keep their pets and small children inside, and avoid swamps, woods, and other areas of vegetation,” Melanie told the cameras.
After viewers were treated to dark, fuzzy cell phone video footage of something long and slithery, the cameras cut back to the studio news anchors. They warned about the growing problem of invasive species in Florida, even right here in a highly populated area like Milano. Some were illegally imported into the country and escaped. Others were released into the swamps by illegal pet owners when they got too big to handle. And as the swampy habitats disappeared, from pollution and development, the creatures headed for the burbs for food.
Now the background showed a pic of some dinosaur-looking thing called a crocodile monitor lizard.
That did it. She was never going outside again.
She was almost relieved when the breaking news report ended, the lights went dim on the anchor desk side, and Felicia Hernandez launched right into the Book Corner segment.
She’d put on glasses so she’d look smarter, Summer noticed. “Hello, everyone, and welcome to Book Corner!” Felicia was all smiles again. “Today we’re honored to have bestselling mystery author GH Hamel here in the studios—along with debut author Carrie Dunbar.”
“Not really debut,” Carrie piped in. “Debut for Death was my first book, and that one came out last year. But my new one is A Killing Fog.”
The interruption threw Felicia off her game, and Georgiana actually rolled her eyes as she took a long sip from her mug. “Oh. Of course. My apologies, Carrie,” Felicia said. “And to my left, I’d like to introduce our local literary expert Professor Charles Bell, chair of the English Department right here at Santa Teresa College.”
The Applause sign lit, and everyone clapped. Carrie looked as if she were about to pop with happiness. Georgiana seemed really moody, Summer thought, not exactly playing the charming author for her fans. And the professor was his usual smug self.
“So, Professor Bell, perhaps you could remark on GH Hamel’s place in modern popular literature,” Felicia began. “She’s an established mystery novelist—a member of the Old Guard, some might say—but what do you see for the future of the genre?”
Carrie sat up superstraight. Beside Summer, Dorothy frowned in the dark. “Georgiana is hardly old,” she said. “How ridiculous.”
“Shh!” Gladys said. “I can’t hear the professor.”
Dorothy twisted in her seat. “He’s not even talking, Gladys. Yet.”
Ooo. Summer hardly ever saw Dorothy that annoyed.
“Well, if we look back through the entire history of the novel, and beyond the realm of the mystery genre…” the professor began. Summer tuned out as he began to drone on and on about books she’d never heard of. Beowulf? Jude the Obscure?
“Wake me up when it’s over,” she muttered to Dorothy, but her friend gave her a little nudge after what seemed like just a few seconds.
“But since we’re considering literature of the future,” the professor was saying—Carrie smiled at the audience—”I should mention, in full disclosure, that I have just completed a novel of my own. It’s a story of high romantic intrigue, with elements of—”
“Thank you, Professor Bell.” Felicia tried to cut him off. “I’m afraid we need to go to a commercial break right now.” She urgently motioned to the guys in the control room booth. “And when we come back, our guest authors will share excerpts from their books.”
All too soon, they were back to Book Corner. Summer was pretty sure Carrie read a different part of her book this time than she had at the signing party.
“That was lovely, don’t you think?” Dorothy said. Everyone clapped as Carrie bounced back to her seat.
“I guess,” Summer said. Carrie had finished reading just as she was starting to get half interested.
Georgiana strolled slowly to the microphone, carrying her mug. Then she waited, until the audience quieted down again.
When she started to speak, in that superlow, dramatic voice of hers, everyone was mesmerized. Even though she’d told the intern she didn’t need the teleprompter, she was definitely reading from it, Summer noticed.
GH Hamel’s story was just as good as Carrie’s. Better, actually, because GH Hamel had already written tons of book. Even though she was obviously on autopilot, the scene she was reading was a lot more exciting. The mystery writer character was confronting the guy who’d killed that old lady with all the money.
Summer sat up and paid more attention. Wow, this story was scary-amazing. But Georgiana was starting to slow down. She looked confused. And then really, really mad.
“This is outrageous!” the author suddenly thundered, whirling toward Felicia. “How dare you? What kind of ill-advised, unpardonable joke are you trying to pull here?”
“Oh no.” Dorothy sounded really upset. “I knew she shouldn’t have had those drinks.”
Summer frowned. “I’m not sure that’s it.”
“Ms. Hamel, I don’t know what you mean.” Felicia sounded all fluttery, not like a reporter at all.
“You’ll be hearing from my attorneys.” Georgiana knocked over the microphone, which made a loud, muffled noise as she threw her empty mug at the dark news anchor desk. “Regarding blatant theft of intellectual property.” Then she tossed her scarf over her shoulder and stomped off the set.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The moment the Book Corner host went to another emergency commercial break, Dorothy rushed for the studio door, with Summer right behind her.
Why had Georgiana stormed off the stage like that? Dorothy had heard of temperamental authors, of course, but no one could have expected that kind of diva behavior.
Georgiana was already on her way out of the green room. “Parker here has called me a town car,” she said. “Clear the door, please.”
“Georgiana, wait.” Dorothy didn’t budge. Neither did Summer. “Please tell us what on earth happened out there. Are you feeling ill? Is there anything we can do?”
“Hardly.” The famous author sniffed. “I have my attorneys on speed dial, and they will take care of this matter quite expediently, I’m sure.”
“Ms. Hamel, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” Parker sounded extraordinarily anxious. “That wasn’t even the section I chose for you, I swear. I don’t know where that other one came from.” She held out an open hardcover copy of Murder in the Mist, marked with sticky notes. “This is what I picked out.”
Georgiana threw up her hands. “You ignorant girl.”
Parker looked stricken.
“That’s enough, Georgiana,” Dorothy intervened quickly. “There is no need for any unkindness right now. Parker was doing you a favor, and I’m sure she had no intention of providing the wrong material.”
The author turned toward Dorothy. “Obviously, none of you understand. The scene I read from the teleprompter was the climax of my next book. Not Murder in the Mist. The one that no one has read yet. That would be impossible, because it can only be found in my writing notebook.”
“You mean, the one that’s missing?” Summer asked.
Dorothy wished her sleuthing partner hadn’t brought that up. She braced herself for Georgiana’s reaction.
To her surprise, the author’s broad shoulders slumped. “Yes.”
“Georgiana, please let Summer and me take you back to Hibiscus Pointe,” Dorothy said. “It would be so much better for you to be with friends right now. Parker can cancel the town car and make up some kind of explanation for your unexpected departure”—Carrie’s publicist nodded—”and we’ll have you home in no time.”
The author agreed more readily than Dorothy had expected, and she and Summer bundled her into the MINI before she could change her mind.
“I simply cannot believe this,” Georgiana said, from the tiny backseat. She definitely appeared to be in shock. “Who could have stolen my notebook? And pick
ed out the spoiler scene for me to read in public, before the book was even published? I hadn’t even typed it onto my computer yet. My story is ruined.”
“No, it isn’t,” Summer said. “I really liked it. And you’re such a great writer, I bet you can come up with an even more exciting scene on top of that one. You know—a double twist.”
Georgiana fell silent for a moment. “Perhaps.”
Dorothy was shocked by the turn of events—but then, maybe she shouldn’t be. What had happened to Georgiana had something to do with Lorella’s death, she was sure of it. There were just too many shared connections between the two authors for the teleprompter incident and the missing notebook to be pure coincidence. Their personal and academic backgrounds, their publisher, their parallel success, even Hibiscus Pointe…
A missing notebook, no matter what its contents, hardly compared with murder. But locating it might very well lead them to the other author’s killer.
Could that same person be targeting Georgiana for something much more sinister than a crucial plot reveal from her next, not yet published, best seller?
And, Dorothy wondered, did today’s fiasco at the TV station let Georgina off the hook for Lorella’s death?
No. Not necessarily, anyway. She was a mystery author, after all. She could very well have engineered a plot twist of her own for the case, to divert suspicion. Georgiana had to know that Dorothy and Summer were considering her possible involvement.
But who could have gotten their hands on that notebook? Charles Bell. Parker. Carrie. Anyone who had attended the Algonquin dinner, in fact, if that was indeed where it had disappeared.
From what Summer had told her on the way to pick Georgiana up this afternoon, the author had seemed quite certain about that.
Even Felicia Hernandez could have snatched the notebook from Georgiana’s bag Saturday night, before she was called away on the sudden assignment.
But the news story—a fire, if she remembered correctly, was legit. Ernie had mentioned seeing the live report on TV. And Felicia didn’t seem to have any motive to harm Georgiana’s career—or murder Lorella Caldwell.
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