Cardiac Arrest, page 1
Cardiac Arrest
By Lisa Q. Mathews
When a man falls at your feet, you’d better hope he’s not dead
Twentysomething party girl Summer Smythe is starting over in the unlikeliest of places: Hibiscus Pointe, a kitschy retirement community in upscale Milano, Florida. Her new gig? Working for Dr. A, Milano’s much-loved cardiologist. But being in over her head is the least of Summer’s worries when her new boss drops dead…right in front of her.
Longtime resident Dorothy Westin prefers to mind her own business. But when the young blonde already causing ripples throughout Hibiscus Pointe becomes a person of interest in Dr. A’s murder, Dorothy springs into action. Not only because the real killer is still on the loose, but because there’s simply no way her clueless-but-kind new friend could have poisoned someone.
Dorothy and Summer soon discover that despite his chosen specialty, Dr. A had quite a reputation for breaking hearts. And if the Ladies Smythe and Westin don’t identify the guilty party fast, Summer will end up in handcuffs…and Dorothy in a body bag.
Book one of The Ladies Smythe & Westin
Dear Reader,
Here in North America, we’re swinging back around to cozy days spent inside reading, while some of you (picture me waving at you, Australia) are headed into summer beach days. Whatever weather you’re enjoying—or not enjoying, as the case may be—a good book is always in order, and I have a few that may be just what you’re looking for.
This month, we’ve got a particular emphasis on the mystery and romantic suspense genres. We also have the first in several new series and are introducing four new-to-Carina authors!
Barreling onto the scene with a new series, new genre and a new pen name, Piper J. Drake offers explosive (at times literally) action and an endearing romance in the first book in her new romantic suspense Safeguard series, Hidden Impact. Meet military-veteran-turned-mercenary Gabriel Diaz. Betrayed, injured and building a new mercenary team, the last thing he expects to do is sweep Maylin Cheng off her feet—and out of the path of the car that tries to kill her. But now that he’s fallen for her, he’s all in to protect her at all costs, while helping find her kidnapped sister.
The always incredible Josh Lanyon joins Piper in the romantic suspense category, with a charming and loveable male/male romance, Jefferson Blythe, Esquire. With only an outdated copy of Esquire’s Europe in Style to guide him, Jefferson Blythe sets out to see the world and runs straight into death, danger…and the boy next door.
And making her debut, Mia Kay brings us her romantic suspense Soft Target. Wounded FBI agent Gray Harper will honor his dead partner by returning to work—as soon as the Bureau shrink clears him for duty. In the meantime, a long vacation in his best friend’s hometown sounds like the perfect distraction. But Nate Mathis has another plan. His twin sister, Maggie, has a stalker, and Gray’s the only one Nate trusts to catch the bastard.
In a contemporary romance that unexpectedly hooked the entire Carina Press acquisitions team from the first page, Lucy Parker brings everything we love about romance and our heroines to the page—and the stage—in her debut book, Act Like It. Enter our heroine stage right: she’s the darling of the London press. Enter the hero stage left: he’s public enemy number one. They barely tolerate each other—and they’re about to become the most mismatched couple on the West End stage.
Two new authors join Carina Press with new mystery series. Debut author Lisa Q. Mathews is first on the scene with The Ladies Smythe & Westin series. In Cardiac Arrest, Summer Smythe, a twentysomething party girl making a fresh start in a ritzy Florida retirement community, teams up with her neighbor, feisty senior Dorothy Westin, to clear her name in the murder of her popular—but heartless—cardiologist boss.
Jonathan Watkins debuts with Carina with his previously self-published and newly reedited and revised Bright & Fletcher Mysteries. As soon as criminal defense lawyer Issabella Bright’s long-lost father blows into the Motor City, kidnapping, ransom and murder follow him and threaten to tear asunder the work-and-romance partnership she’s built with the man who will go to any length to keep her safe. And that man, Darren Fletcher, soon learns that shielding Issabella from danger could swiftly end with his Dying in Detroit.
Weather (ha, get it?) you’re under a blanket keeping warm on your couch or enjoying the sun of your summer, these books will keep you company for a few hours and provide some take-you-away entertainment.
Coming in December: Hitting both physical and digital shelves just in time for Thanksgiving here in the States is book two of Shannon Stacey’s combustible Boston Fire series, Controlled Burn. Also in December: Caitlyn McFarland ties up her dragon-shifter romance trilogy, male/male author Annabeth Albert joins the Carina team and Kate Willoughby is back with a terrific new hockey romance.
Until next time, here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.
Happy reading!
Angela James
Editorial Director, Carina Press
Dedication
To Jack Quinn, who never wanted to move to Hibiscus Pointe.
This one’s for you, Daddy!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Excerpt from Permanently Booked by Lisa Q. Mathews
Chapter One
As a general rule, Dorothy Westin preferred to mind her own business. But the leggy blonde on the top-of-the-line smartphone three lounge chairs down was making that rather difficult.
“Come on, Joy, give me a break. I’ve only been in Florida two weeks, and I’m living in a freaking old-farts community.”
Well. Dorothy carefully concentrated on applying SPF 50 sunscreen to whatever parts of her weren’t covered by her black, old-farty swim dress. She might not get away with a candy-cane-striped string bikini like her rude young pool companion, but she was in decent enough shape for seventy-eight.
“I told you, I’ve got a job.” Bikini Girl’s voice was louder now. “I start tomorrow, so as soon as I get a couple of paychecks I’ll send you the rent, okay?”
Maybe she was visiting her grandparents, Dorothy considered. Of course, Hibiscus Pointe had strict rules regarding how long visitors, even relatives, could stay. The owners association didn’t generally approve of renters, but they’d loosened the rules when the economy tanked.
“Forget it, then!” Bikini Girl practically shouted. “I don’t have to listen to this, especially from my own sister. You’ll get your stupid money. Have fun freezing in New Jersey.” She tossed her phone toward the chic straw bag beside her chair, but it missed and hit the concrete.
Dorothy pursed her lips. Those fancy phones were expensive. It didn’t sound as if the young woman could afford another one, either.
With an audible sigh, Bikini Girl retrieved her seemingly intact phone and flopped onto her flat, tanned stomach. Was that a tear sparkling on her cheek, Dorothy wondered, or a stray speck of glitter from last night’s eyeliner?
She couldn’t be at the pool before 8:00 a.m. to catch the rays. More likely the girl was catching up on sleep after a wild evening in the clubs downtown. Milano was something of an entertainment mecca for the trendy, Gulf Shore after-dark crowd.
A shadow fell over Dorothy’s legs.
“Well, well. Imagine meeting you here, Dorothy. Have you gotten those crack-of-dawn laps in yet?” Gladys Rumway, wearing a tentlike, aqua-print dress, wraparound sunglasses and a huge floppy hat, gave her a magenta-lipsticked smile.
“Not yet,” Dorothy admitted. “I was just about to hit the water.” She reached for her bathing cap, hopeful of a quick escape. Gladys was a talker.
“I just don’t get why you’re always swimming, at your age,” the big woman went on. “You know what really killed Esther Williams? All that chlorine.”
Bikini Girl suddenly launched herself out of her lounge chair and stepped to the side of the pool. Now that she was standing, Dorothy could get a better look at her: tall, athletic and extremely pretty, in a natural way. The girl adjusted her minuscule bikini bottoms and executed a perfect dive into the water, sending a wall of cold water onto Gladys’s back.
Gladys whirled like a furious manatee. “Watch it, you hussy!
Dorothy hid a smile. Was it her imagination, or had Bikini Girl just winked at her?
“Margaret Sloan’s granddaughter, apparently.” Gladys gave an unattractive snort. “Does she call that piece of thread a swimsuit?” She looked pointedly at the pool rules posted beside the well-disguised equipment closet. Number Seven: Clothing Required.
Dorothy kept her mouth shut. The suit was darling, if truth be told. And if the girl had the figure, which she clearly did, she had every right to flaunt it. “I was so sorry to hear about Margaret,” she said. “I didn’t know her well, but she seemed like a lovely person.”
“Hmmph,” Gladys said. “Hard to believe she was related to that piece of work.” She leaned closer to Dorothy. “I heard Margaret left her fancy condo in the Towers to her son Syd, the Hollywood movie producer. Like he needs it.”
Dorothy drew back slightly to escape the spritz of spit that accompanied Gladys’s words. Hurriedly, she began to push her dark silver waves under her bathing cap.
Gladys leaned in another two inches. “Anyway, I have big news. Guess who’s getting married?”
“I have no idea,” Dorothy said. These days, weddings were few and far between, thanks to the lopsided male-female ratio at Hibiscus Pointe—and the rest of Southwest Florida, for that matter. The arrival of any new man with a pulse was cause for ridiculous celebration—and cut-throat competition—in every senior community.
“Dr. A!” Gladys revealed with glee.
Well, that certainly got Dorothy’s attention. Dr. Anthony Amoretto was a prominent cardiologist in Milano, young and extremely popular with his female patients. In fact, she had her monthly checkup scheduled with him tomorrow morning.
“Can you believe it?” Gladys was clearly beside herself. “According to my sources, the lucky lady is Mia Rivera-Jones. You know, that skinny socialite who always has her picture in Milan-O Magazine?”
“I’m very happy for them.” In truth, she didn’t care much one way or the other. She was thankfully immune to Dr. A’s charms.
“There are going to be some very disappointed ladies around the complex,” Gladys said. “Not me, of course.”
“Oh, heavens, no,” Dorothy murmured. Now that she’d been reminded about her appointment with the swoon-inducing Dr. A, she’d better get those morning laps done. If she stuck around too long gossiping, the late-February sun would soon be scorching. “See you at dinner, Gladys,” she called as she headed toward the steps at the shallow end of the pool.
Margaret Sloan’s granddaughter, or whoever she was, did a flip turn at the wall and glided gracefully for several feet before breaking into an effortless crawl. The girl was like a seal in the water.
Dorothy admired good form. It was so rare to see these days.
She dipped all the way into the pool and let the gentle coolness rush over her head. Without a doubt, Bikini Girl would be far better company than that busybody Gladys.
* * *
Summer Smythe, a.k.a. Summer Sloan, rolled over to hit the snooze on her phone for the zillionth time. Why had she set the alarm, anyway?
Then she remembered. Today was her first day of work at that slimy Dr. Amoretto’s office. The guy reminded her of one of those crazy little lizards that showed up everywhere at Hibiscus Pointe: on the sidewalks, at the pool, glued to her sliding screen door, lurking under every tree and footlight.
She hadn’t wanted to take the medical assistant job. Even she thought it was a bad idea for a supposedly successful physician to hire someone after buying her a drink or two at a swanky pick-up bar. But thirty bucks an hour for a college dropout with a spotty résumé and zippo training wasn’t bad. And all she needed was to keep Joy off her case.
At least she hadn’t slept with the sleazy doctor guy. Way too old—probably early forties—and definitely not her type.
Summer dragged herself to the alleged luxury kitchen, which was half the size of her closet back home in California. It obviously hadn’t been remodeled since the eighties. Her Grandma Sloan, whom she’d only visited a few times when she was a kid, must have been pretty cheap.
Whoops. She’d programmed the coffee maker for “p.m.” instead of “a.m.” A good excuse to spring for Starbucks on her way to work.
The doorbell rang and, after a quick check through the security peephole, she answered it. She’d expected a maintenance guy, but it was just some old lady, all dressed up in a peach suit.
“Hello,” the woman said, glancing away from Summer’s thin cami and rumpled, men’s-style boxers. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Nope,” Summer said.
The woman gazed past her into the messy condo, filled with unopened moving boxes of every size. “Well, I’m Helen Murphy, our Residents Board president, and I wanted to be the first to welcome Mr. Sloan to Hibiscus Pointe.” She held out a fancy gift basket, conveniently packed to Summer’s taste with a bottle of red wine, grapes and an assortment of cheese and crackers. “We were all so sorry to hear about his mother. Is he home, dear?”
“Sorry,” Summer said. “He doesn’t live here.”
Helen lifted her eyebrows. “I see. And you are...?”
“His daughter,” Summer replied, taking the basket. “I’ll definitely let him know you stopped by. Thanks for the wine.” She closed the door and pulled the little chain across it in one swift motion. Nosy old biddy.
Leaving the basket on the breakfast bar for later, Summer grabbed a few handfuls of Cheerios as she tuned in to a morning talk show. Absorbed in a segment where a mousy woman got pulled off the street for a hideous makeover, she didn’t notice the time on the microwave until the third Clap-On! commercial.
Eight twenty-three. She was supposed to be at Dr. A’s office in seven minutes. That wasn’t going to happen.
Dodging boxes, Summer raced to her bedroom and tore the wrapping off the pink-and-blue, teddy bear scrubs she’d bought at the mall yesterday. They were all she could find in her size at the last minute.
It cost her valuable time to wait for the elevator and locate her car, which she’d had to park in the last space in the lower lot. Most of the spots were designated for handicapped residents.
Dripping with sweat, Summer pushed the ignition button of her orange Mini Cooper.
Nothing. She tried again. Still nada.
She pounded the steering wheel in frustration. Why? Why did these things always happen to her, at the worst possible times?
Never, in her entire twenty-six—okay, twenty-nine—years had she ever been lucky.
She glowered at a Hibiscus Pointe shuttle as it departed from the Hibiscus Gardens stop and chugged slowly toward Hibiscus Towers. Everything in this place was Hibiscus-something.
A small group of residents waited under the shade of the long, dark-green awning, armed with walkers, wheelchairs, and rolling shopping carts. The shuttle’s overhead destination sign read Milano-Downtown.
A miracle. Summer jumped from her car, sprinted across the already-steaming asphalt of the parking lot, and charged up a monster hill toward the Towers stop.
It was amazing how fast a bunch of fragile-looking seniors could board a bus. The driver had the wheelchair ramp lowered and raised again by the time she finally made it to the shuttle stop.
The doors closed right in front of her face.
“Hey!” Summer cried. “What the‒?”
The driver pointed to his watch and slowly pulled away from the curb.
Summer pounded on the side of the bus as she ran alongside it. “Stop!” she shouted, waving her arms. “This is an emergency!”
The driver continued to ignore her, until an older woman in a practical-but-stylish sunhat leaned over from her seat to tap him on the shoulder.
Abruptly, the bus stopped and the doors flew open.
“Thanks so much.” Summer swept past the driver, flashed the hat woman a grateful smile, and dropped into the nearest seat. Where had she seen that nice lady before? Oh yeah. At the pool yesterday, with the Battle-Ax.
Leaning back, she breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, a tiny stroke of luck.
