Plum Girl (Romance)

by Winters, Jill

  What could he be doing in that office? It was more than odd.... It seemed, well, suspicious.

  I'm being paranoid. What could Twit be doing in there, if not assembling some outrageous stack of work for her? The mother of all PowerPoint presentations, or something equally tedious? That sounded like Twit. Yes, undoubtedly, he'd unload a project big enough to make up for all the task-free hours she'd had that morning. And, if she wasn't at her desk the second that he needed her... Well, she knew Twit. He'd get that infuriated eye tic no matter how unreasonable it was.

  This whole day was just plain weird! Was it that Beauregard hadn't asked her if any confidential faxes had come that day? It had gotten to the point that Twit's daily, obsessive requests for some mythical fax were a staple in Lonnie's routine. No, it was more than that. The first day back at the office since the day of the holiday party—since Lunther's death—and half the staff hadn't even shown up. Among the no-shows were B.J., Macey, and Bette.

  Maybe she should call Dominick again. He'd called her first thing that morning, but she was ten minutes late getting in, and just missed his call. In his message he said that he had several meetings on his schedule, but he'd call her later. Then he'd left another message when Lonnie was busy wiping black cherry soda off the lime green kitchen floor Now she picked up her receiver, dialed his work number, and felt disappointed to hear his voice mail pick up.

  Just then she saw Macey walk through the main glass doors. Before Lonnie could say anything, Macey hastened past her, waving a quick hello as if not to bother her while she was on the phone, and smiled behind dark sunglasses. She moved briskly down the hall toward her office, and Lonnie started deliberating her options.

  Should she tell her about the mugging? That Lunther had orchestrated the whole thing because he was worried about the "security of the firm"? Hell, what did that even mean? She didn't want to imply that Macey was doing something wrong, but she had given Lonnie the notebook and wanted her to keep it a secret. That seemed rather suspicious now, but Lonnie was sure Macey had an easy, innocent explanation. That settled it. She rose from her comfy leather chair and headed down the hall.

  She knocked gently on Macey's door. "Yes, come in," Macey summoned. Lonnie walked into the familiar office, remembering the many times she'd come in to discuss a project and ended up talking about other, more interesting subjects. She remembered all the times that Macey had pleasantly offered her a Snapple and let down a bit of her icy facade. (Lonnie assumed it was at least partly a facade.)

  "Hi, Macey. Do you have a minute?" Lonnie asked, slightly reserved.

  "Hi!" She welcomed her with a sweet, open smile crossing her lovely features. "Come in. Come in," she added brightly, and motioned toward the blue armchair.

  "Hi," Lonnie repeated, relieved by Macey's good mood. "I don't want to disturb you, but—"

  "Nonsense," Macey interrupted, and waved her hand in complete dismissal of the idea. "Lonnie," she started, "I just want to first say that I'm sorry I didn't have more of a chance to talk to your sister last week. Unfortunately, I was somewhat preoccupied at the party, and, well, the point is, she seemed like an independent, interesting woman, and I regret not getting to know her."

  "Oh... thank you," Lonnie replied, a little lacking for words. "Well, she enjoyed meeting you, even if it was brief. Macey," she continued, eager to bring them onto the topic of Lunther and the notebook, "I just wanted to apologize for not getting your research project finished in time. I know it was supposed to be done by Friday, but with everything that happened, I—"

  Macey held up her hand to stop Lonnie from explaining. "Don't give it a second thought. In fact, if I could have that notebook back as soon as possible, that would be great."

  "Oh, okay... But, don't you want me to finish the project?" What, was the project no longer important?

  Macey shrugged, smiling amiably and looking more relaxed than Lonnie had ever seen her. "Nope." Nope? Macey did not use words like "nope."

  "It's just not relevant anymore." She wheeled her chair over to the minifridge. "Snapple?" she asked, beaming, and handed Lonnie a raspberry iced tea.

  "Macey, actually, I was sort of wondering—"

  BRRRINNG!

  "'Scuse me a sec," Macey said, and picked up her ringing phone. 'Scuse? A sec? Macey was abbreviating words; now this was disconcerting. "Macey Green... Oh, hi! How are you? Me? Bloody hell, do you even have to ask?" she enthused into the phone, and laughed.

  Lonnie stood up and moved toward the door, hoping that Macey would stop her. But Macey didn't stop her. She just smiled... and waved good-bye with one finger. Huh?

  As she was shutting the door behind her, Lonnie heard Macey say "natch" two times, in succession. Okay, it was time to panic.

  * * *

  Lonnie couldn't help but wonder if heart palpitations and intense panting were the norm for everyone who lived on her floor, as she opted for the stairs over the elevator. Climbing the five flights to her apartment definitely seemed better in theory than in practice, a distinction she vowed to remember next time she came home. So much for regular exercise.

  Once she got her key in the door, she feebly turned the lock as she mildly huffed and puffed—fully aware of how ridiculously out of shape she must be, but choosing to blame most of the discomfort on her platform Mary Janes. She walked into her studio apartment, and noticed mid-key toss the broad silhouette sitting on her sofa. It looked uncomfortably familiar.

  "Hey," Peach called. "Lonnie, you remember—"

  "Detective Montgomery," she finished. "Hi. Is everything okay?" She looked warily at Peach, and then back at Montgomery. To be fair, it wasn't just Montgomery that made Lonnie nervous. It was police, in general. Besides a default guilty conscience, she'd seen way too many movies in which innocent women were framed, arrested, and demonized with absolutely no warning. In other words, she occasionally watched Lifetime. Yes, she'd been planning to tell Montgomery about Lunther's step-nephew, but she'd figured a brief phone call would suffice.

  "Everything's fine," he said bruskly. "But I was hoping I could talk to you a little about what happened last week at the Easton."

  "Um... okay." Why her? She felt like screaming at him: I don't know anything else! Leave me alone! But then it hit her: Lunther was murdered, after all. He had to have been. And since she was the one to find him, Montgomery was here to confront her about it... and... Omigod, I'm going to be the patsy. Me. The temp! Come to think of it, hadn't she seen that movie, too?

  Lonnie slowly shook off her ice-blue coat and placed it on the armchair nearby. Then without thinking, she sank into the same chair, on top of her coat, crushing it mercilessly. All right, she had to calm down. She was just getting paranoid.

  "Why don't you just tell us what's going on?" Peach suggested, generally braver than her older sister.

  Detective Montgomery glanced at Peach—not dismissively, but quickly—and then down at his notepad. "Maybe you wouldn't mind giving me and your sister a moment or two alone."

  "It's a studio apartment. Am I supposed to wait in the shower?"

  "Detective," Lonnie broke in, "have I done something wrong?" Her heart thudded in her chest, even though she hadn't done anything illegal since she was thirteen and—under heavy peer pressure—shoplifted exactly one pack of gum. She swallowed hard, wondering if Detective Montgomery was out to get her for some reason. Could he know about the gum? "I don't understand what's going on... Plus, whatever you tell me, I'm just going to tell my sister word-for-word, anyway, so..." Her eyes darted to Peach's reassuring face, silently telling her they were in this together. Whatever this was.

  Montgomery sighed, as if exhausted by her ramblings. "Okay, kid, it's like this." He dropped his notepad to his side and leaned forward, resting his elbows loosely on his legs. "I've checked you out, and—"

  "What? Checked me out? Why?" Green-honey eyes shot wide with alarm.

  "Okay, relax," Detective Montgomery said, putting out his hands, and patting them down in a hushin
g motion. Lonnie swallowed hard again and felt like an idiot.

  "But, Detective, I don't understand—"

  "Calm down. Jeez, I've never seen someone so nervous. You got something you want to confess while I'm here?" Lonnie just shook her head overeagerly. "Then relax." She nodded overeagerly. He sighed again. "Look, based on what I've checked out, you seem to be a trustworthy, law-abiding citizen. Am I right?" Another manic nod. "I wondered if you could just keep an eye out around your office." He softened his tone. "It's only natural that after Bell's death at your company's party, people are bound to act a little different. What I want you to do, is make a note of anything you notice. In particular, behavior that seems out of the ordinary for particular people, or comments made about Bell that catch your attention. Even if they seem off-the-cuff."

  Lonnie let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "O-okay... except I don't understand why you want me to do this. I thought you said Lunther had a heart attack, didn't you?"

  "Yes and no. Bell did have a heart attack, but we believe that heart attack was induced."

  "But how—"

  "Textbook poisoning job. You off someone with potassium chloride and make it look like a heart attack. We've seen it dozens of times."

  This time her swallow was an almost painful gulp. "You're absolutely sure?" she asked.

  He shrugged. "Nothing's absolute, I guess. But the autopsy showed more potassium in Bell's system than his body would've reasonably produced on its own. And also..." He paused and stroked where his beard would have been if he had one.

  It appeared that he wanted to tell her something, undoubtedly something that he was not supposed to share with a possible suspect he'd just met. Lonnie figured he'd tamp down whatever it was, but instead, he spoke again. "Look, there's no way I should be telling you this, but..." She and Peach waited expectantly. "There had been threats."

  "What, you mean death threats?" Lonnie asked, incredulous.

  He nodded.

  "But when, who—?"

  He held up his hand to stop her from pushing the issue. "I'm not at liberty to say anything else. I just want you to understand why your help could be very important."

  She exhaled a deep, wavering breath, and her stomach was knotted even more than when she'd first seen Montgomery sitting on her sofa. Could someone she worked with at Twit & Bell actually have killed Lunther? It seemed too far-fetched for words. Still, she couldn't deny the very real presence of Detective Montgomery in her apartment telling her just that. She recalled how different the office dynamic had been that day. Beauregard and Macey had acted peculiarly, B.J. and Bette hadn't even shown up, and Delia had noticeably upped her bitch factor. Even Matt had behaved oddly; he'd said a quick hello in the morning when he passed her desk, but he didn't stop back even once to chat. Still, that wasn't enough to convince her she worked with a killer.

  Finally she said, "So, basically, you want me to be... an informant?"

  "Let's call it an unofficial informant. I should tell you, you're under no obligation to help me, but I would really appreciate it if you would. Just pay attention at work; keep an eye out for anything strange."

  "Of course, you understand"—His voice hardened into a stern warning—"you'd have to keep this all to yourself. You absolutely couldn't say a word to any of your coworkers about me talking to you."

  Lonnie thought for a minute. Should she agree? Oh, hell, how could she not? He was only asking her to pay closer attention to her coworkers, who probably weren't guilty anyway. Also, she was still in obsequious-with-law-enforcement mode, which left her considerably pliable. But still, she needed to get something straight. "How can you be sure that I'll be safe?" she asked.

  "Safe?" he repeated.

  "Yeah. I mean... what if we're dealing with a psychopathic maniac here?"

  He shook his head. "Oh, no. I have no doubt that whoever killed Lunther was after him, and only him." Montgomery leaned back against the sofa cushions. "I've been doing this a long time, kid. I've learned to trust my gut. At least, most of the time." He drew himself upright again, and pointed his finger at her. "But you cannot snoop around or do anything obvious, like asking people a million questions. Remember, I just want you to keep your ears and eyes open. Nothing more. Got it?"

  She nodded. "Okay. Got it, Detective. I'll help in any way I can."

  "Great," he said.

  "So, then, you definitely think it was someone at Twit & Bell who killed Lunther?"

  He shrugged. "Don't get me wrong. We're looking into several possibilities. But having a set of eyes and ears at Bell's firm would really be a help."

  "Okay."

  He smiled. "Thank you. I mean it. We really appreciate it."

  "Who's 'we'?" Peach piped in. "Where is your partner, anyway? Don't cops go everywhere in pairs?"

  That seemed to throw him a little. He just cleared his throat, and said, "Well, I thought I could handle this myself. Good night." He picked up his notepad, slipped it in his front pocket, and headed to the front door. "I'll be in touch."

  "Oh, Detective, wait!" Lonnie said, rushing to the door herself. "I almost forgot..." She told him about Lunther's connection to her mugging, and how he'd been after her bag.

  "Step-nephew, huh?" Montgomery repeated. "Interesting."

  "W-why's that?" she asked, trying to learn his thought process.

  He shrugged. "It's just that poisoning is usually a female crime. So what was in the bag?" Oh, no, it was happening again. If she mentioned the notebook, she'd be implicating Macey, whom he hadn't seemed too fond of the night of the murder. Infinite seconds passed while Lonnie considered her best course. She didn't want to unintentionally confirm any misperception that Montgomery had about Macey, but she wasn't going to withhold information during an official police investigation. Ultimately, she decided to come clean with the detective.

  So she told him. "Well, I can't be sure," she said. "But I think Lunther might have been after a notebook I had in there."

  "A notebook?" he said.

  "Yeah. It had some different cases outlined in it. And some citations." He waited, and she knew that wasn't going to be enough. "It was Macey's," she finished. He gave her a look that was a cross between why am I not surprised? and aha! Lonnie didn't try to defend Macey, though, because she knew with no reasonable argument, Montgomery wouldn't listen anyway. So she'd just have to find out what was going on herself—then she could clear Macey of any suspicion, and convince Montgomery that her friend and mentor was innocent.

  Lonnie opened the front door like an auditioning butler, and Montgomery stepped through. Impulsively, she asked, "Detective? Why me? I'm just a temp."

  He half smiled. "That's why. Like I said, I checked you out, and on top of that, I've got fifteen years of character judgment under my belt. I trust you to do what's right." Interestingly, she didn't mind his civic-duty guilt trip. "But like I said, you can't mention to anyone at Twit & Bell that I've spoken to you about this. Just in case." She nodded yet again. Then he winked, and she chose to ignore it. It was hardly a time to dwell on her pet peeves.

  Lonnie smiled good-bye and started to shut the door, but before it closed all the way, she heard Montgomery's voice. "Hey, kid," he called to her from down the hall.

  She opened the door wide again, and he said, "To tell you the truth, the only thing that seemed fishy about you was that you haven't had a boyfriend in four years." He smiled broadly now and continued down the hall, chuckling. Once again, she got the distinct feeling that Detective Montgomery got a kick out of intimidating her.

  Lonnie locked her door and went to join Peach on the sofa. Peach spoke first. "That was so weird." She grabbed one of the yellow-and-blue-striped throw pillows, clutched it to her stomach, and turned to Lonnie. "Don't you think?"

  "Yeah... It doesn't seem real. Then again, life is getting stranger by the minute."

  Chapter 15

  "Beauregard Twit's line."

  "Hey." A curt male voice. Lonnie hadn't done anyth
ing to make Dominick dislike her lately, so she could only assume—

  "It's Terry." Damn. She hadn't recognized his voice right away because Terry was never curt, his tone was never clipped, and his demeanor rarely deviated from hyper.

  More to the point: she didn't feel like talking to him at the moment. In fact, she hadn't technically spoken to him since his visit over a week ago. It wasn't all one-sided; he hadn't called her either. True, he'd sent her some e-mails, and she hadn't gotten around to replying, but it wasn't as if she was "avoiding" him.

  "What, are you avoiding me?" he demanded. Lonnie shrunk lower in her chair. So he had noticed.

  "N-no, of course not," she lied. "I've just been... really busy." She borrowed that line from the Every Lying Asshole's Handbook. "I was actually going to write you an e-mail after I finished this thing I've got to do for Twit."

  "I haven't heard from you since before Christmas," he said. Apparently he wasn't going to let her off the hook that easily.

  "Well... I... it's not like you called me, either, Terry." Not that she'd minded. In truth, she'd just assumed that things were naturally cooling off between them—especially after seeing the apparent way he flirted with other women.

  "Me?" he said. "Oh, is that why you're being all distant?" Now he'd misunderstood and thought she was all broken up about the fact he hadn't called. "You're right, I should've called." No, you shouldn't have, really! "I've just been really busy at the club, working double sets." Lonnie rolled her eyes. So, Mr. Sensitive had pretty much forgotten she existed, too. Could there be any more proof of how hollow their relationship was? Of how fast it was going nowhere?

  "But I want to see you and make it up to you." No! Couldn't Terry just let things taper off? "How about tonight?"