Plum Girl (Romance) (16 page)

"You saw her talking to the caterer?"

"Well, no, but I wasn't really looking—"

"Before Macey left, did she say anything to you about Bell? Were any words exchanged about him at all?"

"No, no. Nothing like that."

"Think back. Who did you see interacting with Bell over the course of the evening?"

She sighed. "Detective, it was a party. He could've interacted with most of the people there. I don't know."

"Let's try this again." His tone became stern, and she became a compliant eight-year-old. "What did you
see?"

"Right, sorry," Lonnie said, nodding. "Well, I saw him with Delia Smucker early on."

"Secretary, right?" he asked without flipping back to check his notes.

"Administrative assistant, yes." Nothing like political correctness when you're talking to an impatient, overdeveloped grouch with handcuffs.

"Who else?"

"Um..." She searched her memory. "I saw him talk to Macey very briefly—"

"When was this?"

"Right before he came over to Dominick and me. Why? I mean, what does this have to do with what happened?"

He ignored the question. "What did Macey and Bell talk about?"

"I have no idea. They were fifteen feet away from me."

"Did they appear amicable?" he asked, grilling her with his eyes.

She pondered the question for a second. No. In truth, they'd appeared to be anything but amicable. They'd looked like they were arguing, but still... how much was she supposed to tell Montgomery? Was he fishing for something against Macey? She didn't want to go along with that.

But she didn't want to withhold information, either. Honestly, she doubted she even could with Montgomery imposing on her personal space and demanding concise, accurate answers. Talk about pressure. "No, I guess I wouldn't say they looked amicable," she managed. "But like I said, I couldn't hear anything, so—"

"Were they fighting? Is that what you're saying?"

Surveying the room helplessly, Lonnie just shrugged. "Detective, I really don't know. You should ask Macey. I'm sure she can explain it much better."

"Yeah, it's just too bad she was nowhere to be found when I showed up on the scene," he said mildly. But his nonchalance was unconvincing.

Oh, no, what have I done?
She'd certainly never meant to say anything against Macey! Yet, somehow, she'd managed to implicate her.

"Detective, how did Lunther die exactly?" Lonnie probed.

He ignored her question again. Instead, he asked, "So you didn't see Bell in the ballroom the rest of the night?"

"Well, I didn't
not
see him there. I mean, I just didn't notice him one way or the other. I couldn't tell you
for sure
that he wasn't there." She folded her arms across her breasts to hug herself and ward off some of the chill. Now that she had no coat, she was shivering. Apparently Montgomery wasn't the chivalrous type; he looked quite content in his thick, warm coat, and made no move to offer it to her. Not that she would've taken it, or anything. Unless he absolutely
insisted,
of course, as any decent man would.

"What do you think about the people you work with? Or, for... whatever." Was this a trick question? She thought they were all head cases. Was she supposed to tell
him
that?

"Well... I like them, I guess. But I'm not close with anyone there, or anything." He arched a brow. She started backpedaling. "I don't have anything against them! Or,
anyone.
What I mean is, everyone at work seems really,
really
nice."

"Okay, okay, kid." Surprisingly, she thought she detected a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Detective?"

"Yeah."

"I heard people saying something about a heart attack before, when they were taking Lunther...." Her voice momentarily trailed off, before she cleared her throat and continued. "I just mean... Well, there was blood. I remember. On Lunther's neck. Was he... stabbed?"

"Oh. No, no. Apparently he cut open the back of his neck on a nail that was jutting out of the closet wall," he replied, and closed the pad.

"So then, he did have a heart attack?"

"Apparent sudden cardiac failure. Yeah."

Now she was really confused. If Lunther suffered cardiac arrest, why were the police still here asking questions?

Montgomery kept his cop's eyes on Lonnie, and maintained his frustratingly inscrutable expression. "Is there anything else?" she asked, not wanting to appear uncooperative, even though she hoped like hell there was nothing else.

He paused and then said, "Yeah. Think back. Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary around the office over the last couple weeks? Anything at all?"

Lonnie searched her brain and, quite predictably, it went blank.

"Has anything happened?" he prodded. "Anything strange?"

She shook her head because she couldn't think of anything to tell him. Not about the office, anyway. "Well, this past weekend I got mugged. Almost got mugged, I should say. But that didn't have anything to do with work."

"Where were you?" he probed with interest.

"Borders, downtown. Like I said, it wasn't related."

"Did you report it?"

"No," she admitted, feeling appropriately foolish.

"Why the hell not?" he demanded in pissed-cop fashion.
Stupid, stupid.
Why did she even bring up the mugging? It wasn't relevant, and it would only make Montgomery think she was some clueless, lazy citizen who couldn't be bothered with pesky tasks like filing a report. But his imposing presence had made her ramble. Jeez, did he have to be such a close talker? She'd felt like she had no breathing room already; now he was leaning in even closer in annoyance.

"Well... I was going to, of course...." Not exactly the truth. She'd pretty much forgotten all about it the moment Dominick's mouth covered hers. And when his tongue nearly grazed her tonsils, the mugger could've been a giant bug-human hybrid for all she cared. "I just..."

"Were you hurt?"

"No."

"Next time, you report it," he ordered gruffly. "You understand?"

"Yes, Detective. I will." She gave him a trying-too-hard smile, and the corner of his mouth twitched up, spoiling his tough-guy image. Lonnie was getting the strange feeling that he
enjoyed
rattling her.

"All right. Now let me just ask your sister a few questions, and you can be on your way."

"Okay," she said warily.

While Detective Montgomery talked to Peach, Lonnie made her way across the lobby. Dominick and the rookie were standing, and obviously not talking official business anymore. The cop's pad was closed and he was nodding profusely while Dominick explained something to him using hand gestures.

She came up beside them, and Dominick smiled warmly, slipping his hand into hers. "Hey," he said, and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. "Are you okay?" She nodded and felt him squeeze her hand comfortingly anyway. "I was just explaining to Chris here how to replace his motherboard." She knew computer-nerd talk when she heard it. Before she met Dominick, she never realized how adorable it could be.

"Chris Stopperton," the officer said, extending his hand to Lonnie.

"Hi," she replied, friendly in spite of the fact it was the middle of the night and she wanted nothing more than to shed her stockings and dumb heels. She'd caught a glimpse of her reflection earlier, and noticed that her black hair was combining nicely with her paled face and raccooned mascara, making her into a veritable goth chick. Coincidentally, that had been around the same time her mind had gone on autopilot. Now, she just wanted to slip under the covers and thank God for her life, over and over, until she fell asleep.

Then she had a thought. "Hey, Chris...," she began, and appreciated the open friendliness that awaited her question. Unlike Montgomery, this guy might actually give her some information. "What exactly happened tonight?" she asked. "I mean, at first I thought Lunther might have been stabbed or something, because of the blood... and then the police were questioning people. But, now... I mean, if it was a heart attack, then—"

"Stopperton!" Detective Montgomery shouted. "You ready to go?"

"Oh... yeah, okay," Chris replied.

"Kid, come on," Montgomery called to Lonnie. "I'll take you and your sister home." He turned to Officer Stopperton. "Chris, drop Mr. Carter off—"

"That's all right," Dominick said. "I'd rather take a cab. Its no problem."

Montgomery nodded and motioned to Officer Stopperton, who turned and bid his good-byes to Lonnie and Dominick.

"What time is it?" Lonnie asked.

"Uh... one forty-six," Dominick replied, and gently brushed a lock of hair away from her face. "Tired?" She just nodded. There was a faraway quality about her right now that he didn't exactly know how to reach. He hadn't realized how sensitive Lonnie was until they'd found her boss's body and he'd held her for a long time while she cried. Now she was collected—as if she'd come to terms with the shock of what happened—but he could tell she was still affected. He just wished there was something he could do to make her feel better. "Do you want company tonight?" he asked softly, his hand still lingering over her face and down her neck.

"No, it's okay. I just want to go home with Peach and try to forget what happened."

"Okay," he agreed, a little disappointed.

After they said good-bye, Lonnie hooked her arm in her little sister's. "Let's get outta here." Peach sighed, sounding as exhausted and drained as she looked. They headed outside and into the police cruiser that was driving them home.

As tired as she was, Lonnie had almost unbearable trouble sleeping that night. She tossed restlessly, her body in anxious, tense knots. And when she finally did drift to sleep, she had haunting dreams about pain and blackness and death. Thank God she and Peach were spending the next two nights at their parents' town house. Christmas would be the perfect excuse for Lonnie to hide away from the world... and to forget the way Lunther Bell's corpse had looked lying at her feet.

Chapter 12

Peach and Lonnie finished Christmas Eve dinner and sprawled themselves out in their parents' cozy family room. There were two thick, cushy sofas, and each had claimed one. Margot crocheted peacefully in a suede recliner, and Jack read E. L. Doctorow in his Barcalounger. Peach had promised not to tell their mom about Dominick. Even if it was a ridiculous superstition, Lonnie didn't want to jinx the relationship by talking about it too confidently, too soon. The last thing she needed was to go on effusively about the new guy in her life, and then get blown off and have to explain to her mother—who'd undoubtedly use the incident to springboard one of her "this is why you need to join MENSA and find a nice engineer" pep talks. No thanks.

"Peach, I circled some Sunday want ads for you, honey," Margot said. "I left them on the kitchen counter, so don't forget to look at them."

"How come? My job's okay," she said serenely, while she strung turquoise beads on twine.

"I know it's 'okay,' but I think you should start looking for something that uses more of your special skills. You don't want to be someone's personal assistant forever."

"Forever? It's only been a few months. Anyway, I'm not ready to try something else yet. Not when I'm making such progress with Cheryl." Peach tossed her beaded twine to the side and brought both hands behind her head to prop herself up.

Margot nodded approvingly. "I know, honey, you're trying to help your new friend, but still, I think—"

"What progress have you made?" Lonnie asked curiously.

Peach answered, "Oh, little things, like now Cheryl can go to crowded restaurants without freaking out. And I got her to be assertive with a saleslady at Filene's yesterday."

"Well that's nice," Margot said. "How about becoming a consultant?"

"But I don't know anything about consulting," Peach protested.

"They'd train you."

"What would I consult about?"

"They'd teach you that."

"Then, how is that using my special skills?"

"What about your art?" Lonnie asked. "Not to sound like Mom or anything, but you should really do something with it. You're so talented."

"Oh, didn't I tell you? Last night, Judge Stephens's wife told me about an art contest her company's sponsoring. The first prize is five thousand dollars." Margot shot forward, and Peach finished with, "I'm entering it."

"What do you have to do?" Lonnie asked.

"Apparently they're looking for a new logo. Something really cutting edge for the company to reinvent itself, and minimalist is out. I have to come up with a design and submit it. Whoever's design gets chosen wins five thousand dollars."

"Omigod," Lonnie said excitedly. "That sounds great!"

"Mmm-hmm, that sounds good, honey, but you'd better get started," Margot advised. "Have you come up with any ideas yet?"

"Mom, the party was just last night!"

"Okay, okay." Margot held up her hands defensively. "Don't kill the messenger." Peach and Lonnie rolled their eyes at the same time.

"Why is the prize so big?" Jack asked suspiciously. "Five thousand for a
design
? Peach, how much do you really know about these people?"

"Dad...," she whined.

"Now, wait a second. This could be important," he warned sternly, pointing his finger at no one in particular. "Whatever you do, just do not give them personal information about yourself. Don't tell them your bank account number—"

"Dad,"
Lonnie broke in, "please, she's not an idiot."

"Jack, read your book. I'll deal with this," Margot chided, and Jack snorted in discontent.

"Just so you know," Peach explained, "the prize is big because whatever logo the firm chooses, they're gonna get all rights to it and trademark it for all their products. The five thousand is their way to give an artist a big enough chunk that she can't later claim she's owed anything."

"Mmm-hmm, the contest sounds great," Margot encouraged. "Still, it's only a one-shot thing so it won't hurt to look through those want ads I circled." Peach put a throw pillow over her face to keep from screaming. Margot didn't notice and crocheted merrily.