Plum Girl (Romance)

by Winters, Jill

  "Wait. First tell me what you found out about the fax I gave you. Have you checked out the women who were listed on it?"

  He sighed, which she'd learned wasn't a great sign, but by no means indicated defeat. "Kid, I can't tell you every detail of the case," he said.

  "Why not? You've told me everything so far!" she said without thinking, and then her hand flew over her mouth. "I mean—"

  "Yeah, you're right. Jesus, I confide less in my damn shrink."

  "You don't strike me as the type to see a shrink," she remarked.

  "I don't. I just said that," he replied, chuckling.

  She rolled her eyes and grinned in spite of herself. "Detective, please. I want to know what you found out about the fax I gave you. I need to find out."

  "Boy, have you gotten an attitude since I first met you. Now, listen—" There was a pause and some muffled talking before Montgomery said, "Shit, I gotta go—"

  "Wait, please! Just tell me about the fax, and then I'll fill you in on B.J. whenever it's convenient, okay?" Her voice was calm but forceful. And he relented.

  "Ah, Christ." He sighed for the millionth time and continued. "I can tell you that we ran all those women's names through the computer, and only one came up." Ann Lee? "Sandra Neemas. She'd pressed charges against Bell for sexual harassment. Actually, she started to press charges, but then she dropped them. To tell you the truth, it's a total fluke that her name is even still on record here. It should have been deleted a long time ago."

  "How long ago?"

  "Uh... I guess a year ago. Right after she dropped the charges." Lonnie felt nauseated. She always knew Lunther was a slob and a buffoon. But a sexual harasser, too? What a creep. "But we already checked her out," he went on. "She's been living in London for the past five months. The other three women had similar stories, but they've all got alibis, so I've ruled them out."

  "What do you mean 'similar stories'?"

  "No, that's it."

  "But—"

  "I gotta go."

  Finally, she yielded to the nonnegotiable tone in his voice. "Okay."

  "Hey, do me a favor?" Montgomery added before getting off the phone. "Forget everything I just told you. And stop snooping before I arrest you."

  "Bye, Detective," she said, ignoring his silly threat. In some ways, Montgomery was as absurd as every other person in her daily life. Well, except Dominick. And Peach. And Margot. Okay, not Margot.

  Lonnie switched off her cell phone and emerged from the far-off corner of the lobby to go back to work. On the elevator, she thought about what Montgomery had told her. He'd said the women had similar stories. So that meant they all worked for Lunther? He'd sexually harassed all of them? How could she find out for sure?

  Macey! She was the only person Lonnie could ask about this. Did she know what'd happened to these women? Maybe this was why she hated Lunther so much. She'd have to ask her. Not only did Lonnie want to find out who killed Lunther for justice's sake; she also wanted to clear Macey... who didn't even know she was a suspect.

  Then she remembered that Macey was out of the office that day, making a court appearance. That meant Lonnie would have to wait all the way till Monday to talk to her.

  Damn it all!

  Lonnie pushed hard on the glass doors to Twit & Bell and charged over to her desk. She plopped into her chair and tried to calm her nerves with some semideep breaths. It didn't work. Her heart was beating fast and her stomach was working on burning a hole through itself. She felt wired. She needed to do something. And she didn't even know what.

  "Luanne, it's about time!" Twit barged stormily toward her. "I could've been to the moon and back by now." There couldn't have been a worse time for Twit's antics. He pointed his finger at her. "I need punctuality and reliability from my assistant, Lorna. Is that perfectly clear?"

  Lonnie inhaled a deep breath, gritted her teeth so hard they hurt, and shot icy eyes at him. "Oh, stuff it!"

  She vaulted off her chair, pushed past him, and stalked to the bathroom. And she'd be damned if she'd tell him later that she was just moody with "female problems." Enough was enough! She had more important things to think about than hand-holding Twit through another day of megalomania. Like protecting her friend and mentor. Like finding Lunther's killer. Like justice for all women, which somehow fit in.

  First thing Monday, she'd talk to Macey.

  Chapter 19

  "I still don't get it," Peach said, penciling an image on her large sketch pad. "How come Mom didn't invite me to dinner?"

  "What are you talking about?" Lonnie called from the closet. "She asked us both; you said you had other plans. Have you seen my blue Nikes?"

  "I think you got the order wrong there. First I mentioned I had plans on Saturday night. Then she asked us to dinner. Don't you get it?"

  Lonnie emerged from the closet disheveled—her ponytail was lopsided from crawling around looking for her sneakers, and the knees of her nylon running pants were torn open from a roller-blading "incident" at the Public Gardens last spring. "Get what?" she asked absently, and brushed a stray clump of hair away from her forehead. "I can only find one."

  "Why are you gonna wear your blue ones? They're ugly. No offense."

  "I like them."

  "Now, back to Mom..." Peach paused just long enough to grab a different pencil and change the angle of her pad. "It seems painfully obvious that Mom wants to get you alone tonight so she can talk about me."

  "What?" Lonnie scoffed because the suggestion was ludicrous, and her sister was hardly the paranoid type. "What are you talking about? Why would Mom do that?" She bent on her knees, lifted the comforter up, and looked under her bed for the other sneaker. "Yes!" She strained to reach for it, and shoved it on forcefully.

  "I'm serious," Peach said calmly while sketching. "She's obsessed with the idea of me getting a 'real job.' She thinks that taking an entry-level position with 'growth potential' at some company I don't care about is what my life needs. She figures I just need to be convinced, and that's where you come in." She looked up. "Don't you see? This dinner tonight—it's a sneak attack to bring you over to her side."

  "That's crazy. I'm the last person she'd try that with. She knows I'll defend your side no matter what." Lonnie stood and looked down at her just-laced feet. Maybe the sneakers were a little ugly... but in a fun way. What was the difference anyway? She was just having dinner at her parents' town house—it wasn't like she had to dress up for the occasion. Her mother had mentioned something about "looking presentable," but it was just one in a long string of nagging commands, so Lonnie hadn't given it too much consideration.

  Just then there was a knock at the door.

  "Oh, that's Cheryl." Peach set aside her pad and went to open the door. "Hey," she said.

  "Hi!" Cheryl enthused sweetly, and followed Peach inside. "Hi, Lonnie," she said, and sat down on the rug.

  "Okay, did you bring the dress we agreed on?" Peach asked, sounding a little like a teacher on the cusp of admonishing a student.

  Cheryl nodded sheepishly, and pointed to the shopping bag she'd rested against the sofa. "Are you sure...?"

  "Yes," Peach commanded, leaving no room for negotiation.

  "So, are you guys excited for tonight?" Lonnie asked, as she put on her puffy white parka. The coat, she could admit, was definitely ugly. But it had been raining the last time she checked and, if nothing else, the suffocating white monstrosity was waterproof.

  "Sort of," Cheryl answered shyly, with flushed cheeks and a tremulous smile, and pushed a short dark blond lock behind her ear. That night she and Peach were double-dating with Matt and his uncle, Jean-Paul. Peach had set up the whole thing—although, Matt had warned her that his uncle was not the stuff of dream dates. Apparently, Uncle Jean-Paul was a forty-nine-year-old widower who'd moved from France to America more than fifteen years ago but still insisted on speaking French in mixed company—and the less people understood, the better he seemed to like it. Granted, not what Lonnie would consider a
ten, but Peach said they had to start somewhere.

  "Do you guys know where you're going yet?"

  "Matt's uncle picked a place," Peach replied. "A new restaurant in Newton. Chez Noir, I think it's called." Lonnie nodded and reserved comment. "Actually, I'm spending the night at Iris's house afterward, okay? It's just easier. Oh! I forgot," Peach exclaimed, turning her attention back to Cheryl. "I have to teach you to French kiss before we go."

  What? Okay, her sister was a force that needed to be stopped. "Peach!" Lonnie cried scoldingly.

  "What?" Peach asked innocently. "She asked me to."

  Cheryl's cheeks went from pink to scarlet in .5 seconds, but she nodded. Lonnie gave up. All they needed was for Cheryl to start calling Peach "sir," and the Peppermint Patty-Marcy metamorphosis would be complete.... But, hey, it wasn't any of her business. Anyway, she had to admit that Cheryl appeared a lot happier than the first time she'd come to the apartment, so maybe Peach's intrusive brand of therapy was actually helping, after all.

  "Which reminds me," Peach proceeded, "do we have any really soft plums?"

  Lonnie squinted her eyes, bewildered by her sister's thought process. "Uh... no, I don't think so." Not only didn't they have any "really soft plums," but spicy V8 and lime JELL-O were usually the closest things they had to fruit. "Why?"

  "To practice kissing. How else do you think I'm gonna teach her?" Then Peach's tone changed to teasing. "Look, Cheryl, I like you and all, but—"

  "Okay, okay," Lonnie said, shaking her head. "Have a great time tonight, you guys."

  She zipped up her bulky parka, grabbed her keys off the table by the door, and left before Peach could ask her if they had any really hard bananas.

  * * *

  On the T, Lonnie used her cell phone to call Dominick.

  "So, what's the deal? How long do you think dinner's going to run?"

  "Hmm... I should probably be home before nine."

  "Let's do something after then." Yes! Although she figured it would take a good hour to clean up her act since she looked particularly rumpled and slovenly at the moment.

  "Okay. I'll call you when I get home. What are you doing now?"

  His voice was breezy and husky and blood-rushing all at the same time when he said, "Oh, I'm just here hanging out with my other girlfriend."

  "Well, don't let me keep you."

  "No, it's okay. I like you better, anyway. So, you're gonna call me when you get home?"

  "Mmm-hmm. I want to"—attack you—"see you."

  He lowered his voice and said, "Me, too."

  After they said good-bye, Lonnie switched off her phone absently, and let warm anticipation swirl through her. Dominick had jokingly said his "other girlfriend." Well, that settled it, then; he considered her his girlfriend. It just seemed too good to be true. He was too wonderful, and she liked being with him too much for all this to work out.

  She stopped herself, though, because she was feeling too giddy to indulge in her default relationship-pessimism. Plus, she had another Dominick-centered matter that was commanding more of her interest at the moment. Namely, her barely containable desire to ravage his body.

  So she wasn't exactly a well-practiced diva in bed. She could improvise, couldn't she? In the deep recesses of her mind, she seemed to recall liking sex with Jake. A lot. She had a vague recollection of being pretty passionate and uninhibited, too. Although, four years may have warped the memory. Nevertheless, wasn't sex supposed to be one of those riding-a-bike things? Wasn't it all supposed to come back to her? Hmm... She had a feeling she'd find out soon enough.

  * * *

  Margot's face fell the minute she opened the front door. "Oh, Lonnie, " she whined disapprovingly, and scanned her daughter standing before her.

  "What?" Lonnie asked, as she walked into the foyer, glancing down at herself and then back up. Margot grabbed her arm before she could move farther into the house.

  "I asked you to look presentable!" Margot whispered angrily, shutting the door with her free hand.

  "Is this what you call presentable? Sweatpants—or whatever those are—and with holes in your clothes!" She shook her head in disgust.

  "This is what I was wearing today, jeez. What's the difference?"

  Margot ignored the question, and maintained her huffiness as she hissed, "Did you do this just to spite me?"

  "What are you talking about? What's the big deal about how I look?" Lonnie was getting fairly huffy herself by now.

  "Because I asked you—" Margot stopped, looked over her shoulder, and whispered even lower, "Forget it. Just take off that big, boxy coat, for pete's sake!" Shaking her head again, she muttered, "I've never seen her wear that coat before in her life, but she wears it tonight." Lonnie's mouth dropped open—her mother was behaving like a loon.

  "Do you need any help out there, Mrs. Kelley?" An unfamiliar male voice sounded from the living room. Who was that?

  "Uh... uh... N-no, I'm fine over here!" Margot called back, and wet her lips nervously. "Now, Lonnie—"

  "Mom, what's going on?" Lonnie asked in a clipped, I'm-about-to-be-very-peeved-aren't-I tone of voice.

  "Now, honey, just give this a chance—"

  "Mom, what did you do?" Her voice rose, and she didn't care.

  "Shh! Please, honey, you'll embarrass our guest," Margot urged.

  "What guest?"

  "Shh!"

  "Mom, answer me!"

  "Hello there."

  Lonnie whipped her head around to see Thomas Ellabee standing in the archway between the kitchen and the foyer. Is it too late to be adopted?

  "Oh, hi, Thomas," Lonnie managed pleasantly. "H-How are you? I mean, how have you been since the last time I saw you?" Not the time I saw you at the mall and hid because I didn't want to talk to you—the other time.

  "Fabulous," he beamed.

  "Oh, well, that's nice to hear," she said politely.

  "I'm doing absolutely fabulous," he repeated, with his default-contented smile in full effect. "And you?"

  "Well...," she began, while Margot forcibly pulled the bulky parka off her, undoubtedly hoping whatever she had on underneath would be more attractive. For that moment, Lonnie was glad to be talking to Thomas, rather than catching her mother's face when she saw the pink-and-gray tie-dyed sweatshirt.

  "I've been doing pretty well. Same old, same old—"

  "Nonsense!" Margot yelped, too maniacally to be credible. "Lonnie, tell Thomas about all the exciting instructor positions you're applying for. But first, you two go into the dining room, and I'll put out dinner."

  They moved into the dining room, per Margot's orders, and Lonnie tried her best to swallow her anger. For the moment. Her mother had gone too far this time. Ridiculously too far, but that was no reason to make Thomas feel unwelcome. He hadn't done anything wrong. It wasn't his fault that Lonnie didn't dig bouffants and already had someone in her life. A "boyfriend" in her life, to be exact.

  Margot set down the salmon casserole giddily. It was the dish she was most proud of.... Too bad Lonnie hated salmon with a passion. Thomas certainly looked like he was enjoying it, though, which was obviously the goal of the entire meal. Lonnie's stomach growled as she picked at the crusty stuff on top and washed it down with some nice cold milk.

  Thomas had requested it, spring-boarding a discussion with Margot about their shared "belief" in the importance of Vitamin D.

  While Margot interviewed Thomas, Lonnie waited for the right moment to sneak into the kitchen and turn her glass of milk into a White Russian. She noticed her father's conspicuous absence at the table, and could only assume that he hadn't agreed with Margot's over-the-top meddling. Her mother had never done anything this extreme before—which told Lonnie that her mother was now panicking. It was as if she thought time was running out. It was as if she had no faith that Lonnie could attract a great guy on her own. It was damn insulting, is what it was!

  "That's so interesting, Thomas! Lonnie, isn't that interesting?"

  Consideri
ng that she'd been zoned out the whole time, it couldn't have been all that interesting, but Lonnie just nodded, smiling pleasantly. "Uh-huh."

  "Lonnie, tell me about this instructor position," Thomas said conversationally, and pounded his third cup of milk.

  "Oh. Well, so far it hasn't happened yet, but—"

  "She's still making up her mind about exactly which college offers the most promise."

  "Yeah, preferably one that acknowledges I sent a resume," Lonnie said, and Margot gritted her teeth.

  "What subject would you teach?" Thomas asked, as he started on the second helping of salmon casserole that Margot had automatically heaped onto his plate.

  "I don't know. I think I could teach a few different subjects, depending on what a particular school is looking for," Lonnie replied. She ate a morsel of casserole crumb topping, and tried to make it last. "But my strongest area would have to be feminist theory."

  "Well, I don't know if I'd use the term 'feminist,' honey," Margot interrupted. "Thomas, she earned a master's degree in sociology. With honors."

  "And then I earned a master's in feminist theory."

  "With honors," Margot added desperately.

  "In fact," Lonnie continued, just to annoy her mother, "I'd consider myself a hardcore feminist."

  "Really?" Thomas raised a wary eyebrow.

  "I have a lot of rage."

  "Honey," Margot chided.

  "Margot," Lonnie mimicked, and knew it was shamelessly immature. Oh well.

  "Well, that sounds nice," Thomas said, obviously eager to bring the table talk back to mind-numbingly dull subjects like vitamin D. Meanwhile, Margot glared at Lonnie with the you're-gonna-get-it-later look that only a mother can perfect.

  "So, Lonnie, I haven't seen you in church in quite a while," Thomas stated placidly.