Raspberry Crush

by Jill Winters

  "The paramedics are on their way!" Greg Dappaport announced. "I called Deputy Trellis, too."

  The manic chattering that followed seemed to drown Billy, descending into a miasma of empty clamor as she swallowed away a lump of anxiety and fought back the irrational tears that stung her eyes. She didn't deal with death well; ever since her best friend had died in a plane crash when she was twelve, Billy's heightened awareness of her own mortality had been a black mark on the back of her mind.

  Death up close shook her, rattled her almost frantically, and thank God Seth was beside her again, coaxing her to her feet and into his arms. Shutting her eyes, she buried her face in his chest and tightened her arms around him as he gently rubbed her back. The dead man was a stranger to her, but for some reason what she did know about him seemed unsettling. He was new in town, obviously not too popular; he liked Donna's fruity pink cocktails, was deathly allergic to nuts, and he'd been the burly, bearded man arguing on the beach—so angry and so alive just a few hours earlier.

  Chapter 10

  Corryn was freezing in her green cotton scrubs, which was kind of ironic, because she was trolling for ice cream. A craving had hit her between episodes of House Hunters, and she figured Pike Bishop could use the walk, so she'd thrown her fleece pullover on top of her pajamas, wrapped a scarf around her neck, and headed around the corner, onto Newbury Street.

  "Come on," she said, tugging lightly on Pike's leash when he stopped to sniff something on the sidewalk. After she took one last drag, she tossed out her cigarette. "Come on, sweetie." Relenting, Pike walked with her down three steps to the left, into a tiny espresso and ice-cream shop almost lost between two trendy, glittering restaurants.

  While she was waiting in line, Corryn caught a glimpse of her reflection in the chrome of the ice-cream case. Holy hell, she looked like complete crap. And wait a second... what was that?

  Squinting, she hunched down for a better look at the dark, thick smudge along her jaw, and realized it was a remnant streak of the mud mask she'd donned during Seinfeld. Using her sleeve she rubbed, but it was all crusted over, so only half of it flaked off. Oh, who cared how she looked anyhow? She was just here to stuff her face with ice cream and walk it off at the same time. With any luck she'd be in bed (alone) by eleven, with Pike guarding her front door.

  Sounded perfect—and with the exception of Billy's dog, a typical Saturday night.

  "Next!" called the kid behind the counter.

  "Hi," Corryn said, stepping forward, "can I have a waffle cone with a scoop of Vanilla and a scoop of Mocha Madness—"

  "Yeah," the kid said, turning to get it.

  "And a scoop of Mint Chocolate Chip," she finished.

  "Oh—okay, yeah," the kid said, sounding surprised by her appetite.

  After she paid, Corryn hurried out of the shop, because Pike was getting restless. Once he was out in the night air, he became more himself—alert, protective, and stopping every few feet to sniff the sidewalk. Gently, she nudged the leash. "Come on, come on, sweetie," she urged. Balancing her giant cone with only one hand was trickier than she'd thought.

  Just then, a dog barked loudly across the street. Pike jumped into action, barking like crazy, as Corryn let out a startled yelp and tried to rein him in. He was practically circling in place, trying to get to the hyper dog across the street. "C'mon, settle down," Corryn coaxed, tightly gripping the leash and no longer paying attention to her ice-cream cone, which had started to tip. Finally the other dog disappeared with its owner, and Pike settled down—just as one of Corryn's ice-cream scoops rolled out of the waffle cone and onto her sneaker with a splat.

  "Oh, damn it," she cursed, "damn it, damn it!" Passersby doled out pitying looks, while Corryn lost her anger and bent to wipe some of the semifrozen slop off her Nike with the one-ply napkin she'd gotten inside the ice-cream shop. It wasn't exactly working wonders.

  "Need some help?"

  Corryn looked up and saw a tall man standing above her, bearing napkins. The streetlight wasn't falling his way, so she couldn't make out his face, but she was too preoccupied with her cold, wet shoe to notice. "Thanks," she said, eagerly taking the stack from him, "thank you so much. God, I don't know how I do these things."

  "Hold on," he said, and ducked into the shop. Seconds later he returned with more napkins. As Corryn finished drying off her sneaker, the kind stranger bent to pet the dog. "Well, take care," he said.

  And as he moved past her, Corryn's eyes caught the shiny glare of something on his belt. A police badge... and then she placed the voice. No, it couldn't be. Whipping around, she squinted into the darkness, trying to see if the man walking away from her now was the pervert from the T. Inevitably, there was only one way to find out.

  "Hey!" she shouted to him. "Wait!" He stopped and turned, and now the streetlight was hitting his face, which looked confused—not to mention extremely familiar. "It is you!" she said.

  "Huh? Oh... Christ." Obviously it clicked for him, too. Running his hand over his face, as though tired already, he walked back toward her.

  On her guard, Corryn held her back straight, while her heart pounded hard in her ears and blood thundered through her veins. She couldn't believe it; she'd never expected to see him again! "Hi, there," he said when they were only a few feet apart. "I'm Joe. Joe Montgomery." He held out his hand, and she recoiled like he had fleas, so he set it back down at his side. "Look, about what happened on the subway the other day... I'm not sure what I did to offend you, but I'm sorry I made you upset."

  "Are you saying it wasn't you?" she asked suspiciously.

  "Wasn't me what?"

  "Who tweaked my nipple," she replied with exasperation, and Joe snorted a laugh. "It's not funny!"

  "No, no, you're right—I'm sorry, it's just... I don't know; it sounds funny." Just then, as if automatic, his gaze dropped to her breasts. Corryn swallowed hard, grateful for the heavy fleece concealing her nipples, which were probably prickling under her scrubs right now. "Anyway, I can promise you it was not me," Joe went on. "That train was so packed, it could've been anyone."

  Hmm... she supposed he had a point.

  Now he smiled gently at her, and she noticed little lines around his eyes that matched the ones around his mouth. There was something rugged about him—something craggy and sexy—and without thinking, Corryn dropped her gaze to his left hand. No ring. Jesus, what am I thinking?

  "So, do you forgive me?" he asked lightly. "Even though I'm innocent?"

  "Well..." After a pause, Corryn grinned. "I suppose."

  Joe bent down to pet Pike's head again. "I never got your name," he said, looking up at her.

  "It's Corryn."

  "Joe," he said, extending his hand again, and this time she took it. His smile was easy, attractive, and... suspicious. No, she did not trust that smile, even if she did like looking at it.

  Grinning, he said, "So what do you do when you're not getting groped on the E line?"

  Vaguely she heard the question, but was mostly sidetracked by Joe's chest. He wore a sweater and a lightweight coat, and he was just so massive-looking, especially compared to her, that she couldn't help wondering what it would be like to sleep with a big, overpowering guy like him... and where else might he be big and overpowering?

  Not that she intended to find out.

  Please. Not like he intended to show her—what, with her tantrum on the subway, and now tonight's five-star appearance.

  "Okay, I'll start," he said when she didn't answer. "I'm a homicide detective."

  "Oh, right—I'm a Realtor."

  "That sounds interesting."

  "It does?"

  Joe chuckled, then said, "Listen, I don't know what you're doing now, but would you maybe want to go for a cup of coffee? There's a little place down the street. My treat."

  "But I don't even know you," Corryn said, scrunching her face warily.

  "Hence the cup of coffee," he replied, grinning.

  She realized how socially inept she l
ooked, but he'd caught her off guard. Anyway, why should she go for coffee? She was just going on an ice-cream run, and Pike was restless; besides, if she wasn't mistaken, there was a 30-minute Meals marathon on in half an hour. Obviously she had a full night, and anyway, she was suddenly feeling tired.

  Shaking her head, she tugged lightly on Pike's leash. "No, no, I don't want to," she said, then amended, "I mean, I can't." In the back of her mind, she wondered why she was acting like a rude asshole, but she couldn't seem to stop herself.

  "Okay, no problem," he said with a brief nod. "Take care." When he disappeared down the street, Corryn realized her legs were trembling a little. It had been a long time since she'd gone out with a man, and... well, of all the men to go out with, a cocky, muscular cop just seemed like the stupidest choice. One driven solely by hormones, which made up the most destructively oblivious part of herself.

  A gust of wind blew, and as she bundled her scarf up tighter, she felt something hard along the side of her chin. What the—Oh, damn. She'd forgotten all about her crusty mask residue, which had been on her face the whole time. Talk about embarrassing! With a hapless sigh, she buried her face in her hands. Oh, hell. So much for her typical Saturday night—a muddy beard, a hunky stranger, her heart still racing and no effing mint chocolate chip.

  * * *

  Ted Schneider's dropping dead put a damper on the jubilee. Things had wrapped up quickly after the paramedics came and took the body away. Deputy Trellis had arrived on the scene, looking like he was barely out of high school. Apparently Sheriff Mueller was on vacation in Marblehead for the next two weeks. With him Trellis brought the medical examiner, who stated that Ted Schneider had died from an allergic reaction to nuts.

  Jesus.

  After the medical examiner noticed pronounced swelling in Ted's neck, he realized that Ted's throat had closed up and that he'd died, in fact, from suffocation. Once Billy and Mrs. Tailor said that Ted had mentioned a nut allergy, the case was closed as far as the ME was concerned.

  Of course, Deputy Trellis questioned the catering staff, but considering that Georgette had told Ted specifically what foods to avoid—with Billy and Mrs. Tailor as her witnesses—there wasn't any reason to assume that Ted, in his apparent drunkenness, hadn't simply gotten confused and eaten one of the items Georgette had warned him about. The ME highly doubted the possibility of "cross-contamination"—or that Ted had ingested something that touched something else with traces of nuts—because he said that whatever Ted had eaten most likely had a very high concentration of nuts to kill him so quickly.

  It was a terrible allergic reaction, and one that was chalked up to carelessness on Ted's part, especially considering that he'd had no EpiPen on him. The death was an accident, pure and simple.

  Yet... the tasteless joke Greg Dappaport had made earlier about killing Ted by slipping him pecan pie... it kept echoing in Billy's mind.

  Georgette had resurfaced in the middle of all this, apologizing for cutting out on work to go "necking" with a man she'd met that night. Suffice it to say, Billy was too unnerved by everything to care about the bizarre terminology or worse, the image. Too disturbed by another image: Ted Schneider's big, sturdy body lying limp and crumpled on the grass.

  Most of the guests had filed out and headed home when Seth offered Billy a ride home. She declined, though, because she had promised to share a cab with Des to Brookline, since Melissa had taken the Aggerdeen wheels when she'd left the jubilee early. So Billy headed home, wishing that Des exuded the same kind of comfort that Seth did, but knowing that he didn't. Listlessly she stared out the taxi window, watching the start of pelting raindrops, watching the city lights float by, and watching the moon. Wasn't it funny the way it appeared to be moving? As if it had a destination. And wasn't that somehow the trick of it all?

  * * *

  When Billy got to the Bella Donna on Monday morning, she found her coworkers talking about the man who'd died at the jubilee that weekend. Billy shared Katie and Des's confusion, but Georgette remained wholly unapologetic. "I told him what he shouldn't eat; that's all ya can do," she'd stated more than once.

  By the early afternoon, everyone had become preoccupied with work. Billy was decorating the bottom tier of a lemon-vanilla wedding cake when Katie ducked her head into the back. "Hey," she whispered, "your man's here."

  Billy turned around, pastry bag in hand. "Mark's here?" she said, surprised.

  "No, no, your other man. You know—Blondie."

  "Oh..." Billy said, feeling the familiar tightening of nerves in her abdomen. "Okay," she said, setting down the pastry bag and wiping some loose strands of hair away from her face with the back of her hand.

  When she walked into the front, she saw Seth waiting for her, looking handsome and golden and a little scruffy. He particularly stood out in the crowd of young professionals that had just entered the bakery, all looking like carbon copies of each other: the guys in khakis and blue button-downs, the girls in black pants and pale-colored blouses.

  "Hi," Billy said, smiling, as she led him down to the far side of the counter, away from the register. "What's up?"

  "Hey... is this an okay time?"

  For what? That was the question. "Yeah, sure. Is everything okay?"

  "Everything's fine, but I was wondering... well, I'd love to take you to lunch today. I mean, if you don't have other plans already."

  Other plans... interesting concept. Did that include sitting alone in the food court while she stuffed her face with orange chicken? If so, then she had other plans quite often.

  "No, I don't have plans," Billy said, smiling. "I'd love to have lunch." And why not? It was perfectly innocent; it wasn't like she was cheating on Mark. In fact, she'd be sure to tell him all about it the next time she saw him—which wouldn't be for five freaking days, anyway.

  "Katie, do you mind if I take lunch now?"

  "No problem," Katie said brightly. "I've got it covered."

  "Thanks," Billy said, and turned back to Seth. "Let me just grab my bag." On the way to the back, she took a few deep breaths and reassured herself that this was fine—it was a nice, friendly gesture on his part, because Seth was a nice, friendly guy. So that was settled. They'd have lunch, make pleasant small talk, and relax.

  She just had to make sure there was no hugging involved.

  * * *

  While Seth was waiting for Billy, a white-haired woman stormed out from the back, flapping a piece of paper in her hand. "Where the hell is Melissa?" she shouted.

  "Still not here," replied the blond girl behind the register.

  Heaving a sigh, the older woman said, "Well, maybe you can tell me something. Who the hell eats pears on a sandwich?" The blonde looked confused, so the woman showed her the sheet of paper. "Look at this list! When the princess said 'sandwiches,' I thought she meant bologna and cheese. Not 'bean sprouts, pears, and Fontina,' " she read, then slapped the paper. " 'Bok choy pesto and mizuna'—who the hell's even heard of half this stuff?"

  Whirling around angrily, she stopped short when she made eye contact with Seth. Shit, he hadn't meant to stare.

  "Hey, you're the guy from the jubilee," the white-haired lady said, sounding intrigued.

  "Yes, hi," he said, "I'm Seth, a friend of Billy's."

  "Georgette Walters," she said, reaching out to shake his hand—or to clutch it, as the case may be. "So if you're a friend of Billy's, will we be seein' more of you around here?"

  "Uh, I really don't know..." he began, just as Billy came back out with her coat and bag, and suddenly everything was brighter.

  "Ready?" she said, walking toward him.

  "Your friend Seth and I were just gettin' acquainted," Georgette explained with a wink, squeezing Seth's hand once more before releasing it.

  As they walked out of the bakery, Billy whispered to him, "Don't mind Georgette. Apparently she's at her sexual peak, or something equally disturbing like that."

  "Ah," was all he said, but almost had to laugh. Christ, maybe it
had been a while for him, but when he finally broke his dry spell, it sure as hell wouldn't be with Billy's white-haired coworker.

  And he had to keep reminding the insane voice in the back of his head that it wouldn't be with Billy, either.

  Chapter 11

  "So what's good here?" Seth said, as they looked over the Cheesecake Factory menu.

  "Everything, I think," she replied, resisting the urge to issue the trite reply: "Cheesecake."

  As she scanned her menu, Billy swallowed a lump of nervousness and ran her hand over her fluttering stomach. From across the table she could smell a hint of Seth's clean, masculine scent.

  "So... thanks for inviting me to lunch," Billy said, sipping her Diet Coke. "That was really nice of you." God, had she ever been more banal?

  "Sure, I wanted to do it," Seth said, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "So how are you doing after what happened on Saturday night?"

  Oh... she'd temporarily forgotten about that. The way Ted Schneider had looked lying dead on the ground.

  "What can I get you?" their waitress asked as she approached their table. Billy ordered chicken Romano, and Seth ordered a burger. After they ordered and the waitress left, a silent pause stretched between them. Under the table Billy accidentally brushed Seth's calf with her foot. "Oh, sorry," she said, sitting up more and pulling her legs in.

  As she watched his fingers rapping lightly on the table, she noticed how sexy they were... how strong... briefly she imagined how they might feel sliding inside her panties, climbing up between her—Wait, what was the question again?

  "Billy?"

  "Huh?"

  "I asked what you were thinking."

  Well, hell, she wasn't about to tell him that. "Oh, nothing," she said, "just wondering about your company. You never really told me the details. What's it called? What do you do? Do you like it? What's a day in the life?"