Permanently Booked

by Lisa Q. Mathews

  It was the reporter’s job to scout out news. Would a scoop on Georgiana’s unpublished book or Lorella’s secret identity as Angelina St. Rose warrant theft and murder?

  Possible. But highly unlikely.

  Two suspects in Lorella’s murder did seem to be in the clear for stealing Georgiana’s notebook, however: Trixie and Ray. Certainly neither of them had shown up to the Algonquin dinner.

  From the backseat, Georgiana blew her nose loudly on a handkerchief with a little skull and crossbones on the corner. In today’s interview, she had been painted as a fading literary star.

  Was the great author shedding tears over that precious notebook, or her relegation to the so-called mystery-writing Old Guard?

  And why wasn’t anyone shedding tears for her pseudonymous colleague, Lorella Caldwell?

  *

  Summer dropped off a still-fuming and sniffling Georgiana at Dash’s, then walked Dorothy to her door at Hibiscus Gardens.

  “If you don’t mind, dear, I’m going to retire early tonight,” Dorothy said. “I have a few leftovers, and may even just crawl into bed right now, with a book.”

  “Okay,” Summer said. Fine with her. She needed a break, too, to clear her head and blow off some steam. It had been a crazy day.

  But first, a quick nap. She and Dorothy were missing something, Summer told herself as she flopped out on Grandma Sloan’s ugly couch, feeling like Skipperdee on his plastic island.

  They had a whole bunch of pieces right in front of them, and none of them fit. If this were a Citizen’s Arrest episode, they’d be in the last ten minutes already. That was usually when she had the crime solved herself and headed to the freezer for ice cream.

  Three hours later, Summer woke up, ready to go. It was almost eleven, but she didn’t feel like going downtown.

  Not to a bar or club, anyway. It was the perfect time to go for a swim—and maybe even a little surfing.

  She’d go to a really quiet beach. Nowhere near where all those news crews and crowds were. That snake sighting was probably a bogus report someone put up on Twitter as a joke, anyway.

  She threw on a bathing suit and grabbed a striped Hibiscus Pointe pool towel—she’d have to return it sometime—from the floor of her bathroom. Then she headed to the lobby, making a quick stop at the storage closet around the corner from the elevator.

  That was where she kept her surfboard. It wasn’t like any Hibiscus Pointe residents were going to use it or anything.

  The clock in the MINI, which was usually wrong, said eleven-twenty when she parked at the little sandy spot off the parking lot that security patrols usually missed. Milano beaches were officially closed an hour after sunset—they posted the exact time, down to the minute—but no one really cared about that, except the cops.

  Plenty of people showed up at the beach at night: couples making out, homeless people looking for left-behind food and a comfy place to sleep, even guys with flashlights using those crazy metal detectors to find treasure—watches, rings, spare change.

  Tonight, though, the place was deserted. She had the whole beach to herself.

  Summer stepped off the boardwalk and kicked off her flip-flops, feeling the welcoming, still-warm sand between her toes. There was a full moon and the lampposts along the pier also gave extra light, so she shut off her cell flashlight app and carefully left the phone at the base of the boardwalk steps.

  The waves weren’t killer, but that was okay. Night surfing could be a little dangerous and you really had to know what you were doing. She was always supercareful. She’d even worn an all-black bathing suit so any sharks lurking out there—they liked to feed at night—wouldn’t think she was food.

  Paddling out smoothly, Summer took a few gentle waves. She felt better already. After a while, she just floated around on her board, staring at the moon. It was so peaceful she almost could have fallen asleep again.

  Finally, she decided to pack it in. Trudging out of the water with her board, she headed to rinse off her feet at the sprinkler near the end of the boardwalk. The night sky was starting to cloud now and it was getting kind of misty. The disgusting smell through the mangroves and banyans in the swamp surrounding the boardwalk was really kicking up now, too. Yuck. The wooden boards, rotting in parts, creaked as she quickly walked along.

  “Ouch!” She’d stepped out of one of her flip-flops and onto a nail or something. Wincing, she turned on her cell flashlight again. Yep, she was bleeding. Not too much, but enough to gross her out.

  Yikes. Another light, a bigger one, was moving out there in the swamp. Straight toward her.

  Who—or what—was that? Summer shut off her light and stifled a gasp as the moon suddenly emerged from behind the clouds. An RV—mostly hidden by vegetation—was parked out in the swamp on a broken section of old boardwalk, which was half-sunken into the gunk. She could just make out the words “Happy Trailways.”

  Trixie and Ray! Summer had to call Detective Donovan, immediatamente.

  She was so excited and nervous she dropped her cell phone. It fell through the railing of the boardwalk, straight into the freaking swamp.

  Summer muttered under her breath, even though no one could hear her. Well…maybe Ray and Trixie. Without her phone, she was dead meat. Plus, the moon had disappeared again and she was too far from the lampposts to see much.

  Her phone was gone. Unless it got caught on a root or something. Maybe, if she leaned over the railing, she could try to scoop it up with her surfboard…

  Summer laid herself flat on her stomach and reached out the board. It was way too short. But when the moon popped out again, she found herself staring into a large, gleaming eye.

  Hoooly spumoni…She couldn’t make out the whole thing in the darkness—but judging by the size of the head, she didn’t need to.

  Camo. And she was definitely out of here, suspects or no suspects.

  Summer charged down the long, twisting boardwalk in her bare feet toward the deserted parking lot. She kept a good grasp on her long board in case she needed to fend off a ginormous reptile.

  Which one would be worse, Camo or Ray? Or flying bullets from Trixie’s buddy General Luger?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Dorothy went to bed almost as soon as she’d arrived home from the TV station, but even after reading for hours, she couldn’t sleep.

  Now it was just past midnight.

  A ball of warm gray fur snuggled up against her, purring loudly. She’d been letting the cats take turns sleeping on the bed. Right now it was Guinevere’s turn, while Mr. Bitey sulked in the kitchen.

  “Sweet kitty,” Dorothy said, scratching her under the chin. Still no messages on her machine from any potential adopters. That alone was enough to keep her up at night, but figure in her and Summer’s murder investigation, and the bouts of insomnia had increased threefold.

  Perhaps some warm milk would help.

  Leaving Guinevere stretched out on her good comforter, Dorothy padded to the kitchen in her chenille slippers and set out a saucepan. Microwaved milk never tasted the same.

  “Here you go, Mr. Bitey,” she said to her other cat, placing a small saucer down on the linoleum floor. Maybe that would cheer him up.

  Returning to the bedroom with her steaming mug, she flipped on the TV. Nothing was on other than infomercials and a repeat of the news—Georgiana’s reading and her storming out of today’s interview had thankfully been edited out, turning the spotlight on Carrie and her book.

  Dorothy also found a Heartflower Channel remake movie based on, of all things, an Angelina St. Rose novel she’d read years ago. During one of the racier parts—now rather boring after being toned down for TV—she flipped through Lorella’s Moleskine notebook again. Maybe she had missed something.

  A burst of overly foreboding music sounded from the TV, and Dorothy’s attention returned to the screen. Before she knew it, she became absorbed in the story, unable to stop herself from making comparisons between the original and the remake.


  The new actors weren’t quite as good, in her view, but the female lead was appealing enough and the hero indisputably handsome.

  Almost before she knew it, the movie ended and the credits began to roll. When the book credit came onto the screen, Dorothy nearly flattened Guinevere as she jackknifed up in bed.

  The “based on the novel by” credit didn’t go to Angelina St. Rose. The name listed on the screen was Carrie Dunbar.

  How was that possible? It had to be some mistake.

  Then Dorothy looked down at the notebook that had fallen from her lap, open to the calendar section.

  Were all those references to C for Charles? Or…Carrie?

  *

  Freaked-out and phoneless, Summer tried not to panic as she strapped her long board to the top of the MINI in record time. She wasn’t leaving her board here, no matter what. Then she sped to the Milano PD Headquarters downtown.

  When she arrived, she pulled on her shorts and a T-shirt from the backseat over her still-wet bathing suit and ran into the station.

  “I need to talk to Detective Donovan,” she said breathlessly. “It’s really important. Is he here?”

  “He’s done with his shift, but I think so.” The young guy behind the enclosed booth just inside the door looked through the small, round window. “Can I ask what you need to see him for?”

  “Information about the Caldwell case. Tell him it’s Summer.”

  The guy nodded and made a quick inside call. “Detective Donovan will be out in a minute.”

  So he was going to escort her inside. Well, that was nice of him. But the tail of her oversize tee was dripping on the station house floor. Casually, she tried to wring it out behind her back and step away without the reception guy noticing.

  That looked even worse.

  The detective took longer than a minute. It was more like ten minutes. When he finally came out, he looked beat. And he had his laptop with him.

  “Wow, you look tired,” Summer said.

  He smiled, sort of. “I am. Rough day. So, what did you want to tell me?”

  “Well, guess what? I know where Trixie and Ray and the van are. And that crazy-big snake.” Talking fast, she gave him the location of the van and exactly where she’d had the close encounter with Camo. Then she started to shiver. A lot.

  “S-s-sorry,” she said, sounding like a snake herself. But she was freezing, and she couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering.

  “Hey, are you okay there? You’re in shock, or you might be having a panic attack. And your foot looks a little bloody. Do you want to go into the squad room and sit down? Here, take this.” He pulled a navy sweatshirt tied to the strap of his laptop bag and held it out.

  “Th-th-thanks.” Summer pulled the shirt over her head. Milano PD. Pretty cool. But she still couldn’t stop shaking.

  Detective Donovan rapped on the window of the little booth. “Hey, Mike, can you get us some Band-Aids and a cup of hot chocolate?” He looked back at Summer. “Unless you’d rather have tea or coffee? I thought maybe the extra sugar might help.”

  “Hot chocolate’s f-fine,” Summer said. She hadn’t had much of it since she moved to Florida, but right now it sounded great.

  The detective nodded and gestured toward the chair she’d used while waiting for him to come out. Then he made a couple of quick calls, but he stepped away toward the squad room door and she couldn’t hear what he said.

  “So, do you want to go downtown with me?” he asked her after he’d hung up.

  “Sure.” Oh, good. She was going to be in on the action when the detective brought in Ray and Trixie. And maybe Camo. Ugh. That wasn’t quite as good. She’d stay in the squad car for that.

  To Summer’s surprise, Detective Donovan pulled the unmarked car into the parking lot of the Tick-Tock Diner, not far from the beach. The sign in the window said, “Open Round the Clock.”

  “What are we doing here?” Summer asked.

  He smiled. “Waiting. I come here a lot.”

  “But what about Trixie and Ray and that freaking snake? I don’t know whether they saw me—well, Camo did, I guess. They might get away.”

  The detective got of the car and came around to open her door. Wow. The only other guy she knew who did that was Dash. “No, they won’t,” he said. “I made a couple of calls before we left the station. My team and Animal Control can handle things for now—and this way, I can be sure you’re not going to be in any danger.”

  Summer frowned. “But I found the RV and your suspects for you. And the stupid snake. Can’t I at least be there when Ray and Trixie get arrested?”

  “I can see you’re already feeling much better.” This time Detective Donovan opened the diner door. “But I didn’t have dinner, and maybe something to eat will help calm you down. We’ll be notified as soon as anything happens, okay? And I’m buying.”

  The Tick-Tock Diner smelled like bacon. And sausage and eggs and pancakes. “Okay,” she said.

  It was hard to decide what to order off the huge, multifold menu. Everything sounded delicious. “I’ll have the Milano Medley,” Summer said. “With extra whipped cream on the waffles. Oh, and a side order of bacon, please. It comes with sausage and biscuits already, right?”

  The waitress just nodded and scribbled on her notepad. She looked a little like Carrie, but she definitely wasn’t as talkative.

  Detective Donovan ordered two eggs over easy with toast, coffee—black—and a side of fruit. When the silent waitress brought their plates, he seemed amused by her towering breakfast. “Are you sure you can handle all that?” he asked.

  “Yep,” Summer said. “Can you pass the syrup, please?”

  They didn’t talk much, since they were both busy eating, but it wasn’t one of those awkward silences or anything. Just kind of comfortable. Summer was digging into her home fries when the detective’s cell buzzed on the table.

  “Donovan.” She strained to hear the caller on the other end, but the detective turned away from the table slightly, and frowned. Uh-oh. Had Ray and Trixie gotten away?

  They could have gotten out of that swamp fast, on the broken, sinking boardwalk.

  “So what happened?” Summer asked the second he hung up. “Did they get them?”

  “The RV has been located and secured,” the detective said. “And Ray was taken into custody without incident. We can only question him for the Caldwell case, I’m afraid, but we can hold him for a while on possible RV theft. And maybe a few other things.”

  Summer’s stomach tightened, and not from the waffles and breakfast meat. “What about Trixie? She’s pretty slippery.”

  He sighed, and took another sip of his coffee. “She didn’t seem to be around, and the team is very thorough. They’ve got canines in the area now. Ray isn’t talking. Says he has no idea where Trixie is now.”

  “And what about”—Summer shivered again—”my buddy Camo?”

  “No sign of the snake, either.”

  Summer looked down at her plate. The syrup-logged waffles didn’t look very appetizing anymore. How could Trixie have given everyone the slip?

  If she was even down by the beach in the first place. Summer hadn’t actually seen her tonight. That woman could be anywhere.

  Plus, no one was going to believe her about Camo. This was the second time she’d seen the python. How could people not find something that big?

  Summer and the detective finished eating in silence—not so much the good kind anymore, either. He seemed preoccupied now, and she was bummed about Trixie.

  And this diner date didn’t really count as a date. It was more like a work thing. Or worse, maybe he’d just felt sorry for her, because she’d been a hot stuttering mess tonight. His hand had brushed hers when they both reached for the ketchup. That was it.

  She hated to admit it, but his grandma was right. He needed a nice, careful, put-together girl like Jennifer.

  “I know someone you could call about the snake,” Summer said, suddenly remembering as Detecti
ve Donovan signaled for the check. “Dr. Josie over at Safari Sue’s.” She handed him the vet’s crumpled card from her bag.

  “Fish and Wildlife is working on it,” he said. “As well as Milano PD. But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to see if she might be willing to consult. Thanks. So far, no one’s managed to bring that reptile in.”

  Just like Trixie, Summer thought.

  The ride back to the station house was supershort. Detective Donovan drove like a guy in a hurry, which was a good thing. They needed to be there when Ray arrived in handcuffs.

  The detective pulled into a space and opened the car door again. “So, will Ray be here soon?” Summer asked him as she got out.

  “Should be,” he answered. “But you won’t be here then.”

  Was he kidding? “Why not?”

  “I’m sorry, but this is police business,” the detective said. “Besides, you were one of the people who found Lorella Caldwell’s body. That makes you a witness. So it’s better if you’re not around when Ray is brought in.”

  “Why is that a problem?” Summer said. “I can identify Ray in a lineup or something.”

  “We really don’t need you to do that,” Detective Donovan said. “You shouldn’t even be here right now, in fact. How would it look in court if a detective was personally involved with a witness?”

  Wait. What? They were “personally involved” now? “Okay,” she said reluctantly, leaning back a little against the car. “I get it.”

  “But hey, thank you,” he said. “You’ve been a big help in the case. And now it’s time for you to step out, okay? You could have been in real danger tonight.”

  She was about to answer when he suddenly leaned in and kissed her, quickly and very gently. Almost without thinking, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him back, longer, feeling his broad, windbreakered chest against her damp sweatshirt.

  But oh noooo. Jennifer.

  She still didn’t know for sure what the deal was between them, but this didn’t seem like the right time to ask. And now she was weirdly shaking again.

  “I h-have to go,” she said, moving away. “Before, uh, Ray gets here.”