Plum Girl (Romance) (30 page)

Macey's phone rang.

"Macey Green..." She talked to whoever was on the line for less than two minutes, but it was still enough time for Lonnie to try to come to terms with what she'd just learned. She knew Macey never particularly liked Lunther, but she'd never realized the intensity of her hatred. Suddenly, she had a thought. Was there any chance that...

Could Macey possibly have hated Lunther enough to put a stop to his harassment herself?

No, that seemed unfathomable.

"That was a friend of mine," Macey explained, setting the receiver back in its cradle. "Actually, she's the reason I wanted to speak with you today."

"What do you mean?"

"My friend Emma is the director of social research at Maine Bay College. I told her about you, and she requested that you send your resume to her immediately."

Lonnie's mouth dropped. She couldn't believe Macey had done that for her. "Macey, I... I don't know what to say. That was so kind of you...." She almost felt choked up, because it was just so unexpected, and she wasn't the type of person who inherently felt owed favors like that.

"Nonsense," Macey said gently. "You would be more than an asset there; it's just as much of a service to Emma as it is to you. And I can tell you right now, Emma is
very
interested."

Macey was all but promising her a job at Maine Bay College, and Lonnie knew it. Her stomach flip-flopped at the idea. It was the best lead she'd had yet, considering none of the schools she'd applied to had called her at all. She couldn't believe Macey had gone to that trouble for her....

But then... now that she thought about it...

Why
had
Macey done it? Just to help her out? Or did she have another motive—like getting Lonnie out of the way?

Oh, God, I'm ridiculous.

All her snooping was taking its toll; it was making her more suspicious every day. She had to get herself in check. Macey was her friend. Of course she only wanted to help her.

"What do you think?" Macey asked.

"I... Thank you so, so much. I... I'm just so honored that you helped me like that."

Just then the phone rang, and this time Macey stayed on the line. Lonnie took the hint and waved good-bye, quietly making her way to the door. This day was turning out to be one disorienting surprise after another. Lonnie didn't even realize that she was holding her breath until she got back to her desk... and it all came gushing out.

Chapter 22

"So am I gonna get any smutty details, or what? I mean, I am your sister. I think I have the right."

Lonnie laughed. "Hold on a second." She rested the phone receiver on her shoulder, rolled her chair over to the printer, and grabbed a copy of Twit's itinerary, which had the header: a leader's pay-at-a-glance. Per Twit's instructions, of course. She wheeled herself back to her desk and put the phone to her ear again.

"Okay, now where were we?" she asked Peach.

"You were dodging my probing questions about you and Dominick and the horizontal lambada."

"Ech—must you try to shock me with corny vulgarity?"

"Yes, I must," Peach replied. "Come on, seriously, how was it?" The only reason Lonnie hadn't been relentlessly grilled over the weekend was because she hadn't seen Peach since Saturday. She had gone to breakfast with Dominick on Sunday morning, and he'd convinced her to come back to his place so they could start making up for her four sexless years. She'd bought it willingly. And they'd had more sex in eighteen hours than she'd known was possible. Not that she was an expert, of course. All she did know was that she'd been sore this morning in the most fabulously primal way.

Just then, Lonnie's other line lit up. "Oh, Peach, hold on. There's another call." She hit the button that was flashing. "Beauregard Twit's line."

"Lonnie?" The bubbly male voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"Yes?"

"What, you don't recognize my voice? It's Terry."

Jeez.
Did this guy know anything about breaking up? First his e-mails, now a phone call. She wanted nothing to do with him, and last she'd heard, neither did he. According to his insane tirade last week, she "flared a temper" in him of volcanic proportions.

"Uh... hi," she muttered, feeling no motivation to be friendly.

"Hey! How've you been?"

"Um... okay. Why are you calling me?" she asked pointedly. She wasn't normally a rude person, but this guy tore her apart over the phone only a handful of days ago, and now he was acting chipper and clueless. And she wasn't going to play along.

"Oh... well, I just wanted to say hi."

"Okay. Hi. But I'm on the phone with Peach, so—"

"Listen, about the last time we talked..."

Oh, this ought to be good
. "Mmm-hmm."

"Well, I should tell you," he explained, "that I've switched shrinks, and my new therapist made me realize that I was really just projecting my own issues onto you."
No kidding. I could've told you that for free, buddy.

"Oh, okay. Well, good to know. But I've really gotta go—"

"Anyway," he went on, oblivious to her desperation to get off the phone. "Why don't we just forget it? I wanted to come to Boston this weekend so we could hang out. How does that sound?"
Cruel and unusual!

"Terry, I... No. No, I don't think that's a good idea. I've really gotta go, okay?"

"Well, okay, but—"

"Take care of yourself," she said. "Bye."

She clicked back to Peach. "Hey, are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Peach said.

"Sorry about that. You'll never guess who it was. Terry."

"What did
he
want?" Peach asked, obviously horrified.

"Nothing. I'll tell you later. It's not worth getting into. Now, what were you saying?"

"You
were saying, remember? You, Dominick, The Double-Decker Loin Sandwich—"

"Ew,
enough."

Peach just giggled. "Well?"

"It was good."
Really, really good.
In truth, she hadn't known she could be so wild. She shut her eyes, embarrassed at the sudden memory of the way she'd yelled and screamed in Dominick's bed. Especially when he had his head between her legs. And when he had her pinned up against the wall. There was no way she was telling Peach that part.

"And?" Peach prodded.

"And that's it."

"Your narrative could use work."

"Okay, enough about me," Lonnie said. "I want to hear about your double date with Matt and Uncle Jean-Pierre."

"Jean-Paul."

"Right."

"Um..." Peach began slowly. "It was... hmm... what's the word I'm looking for?"

"What?"

"Revelatory."

"Huh? Can you speak normal?"

Peach giggled. "Okay, okay. Let's see. We went to Chez Noir in Newton, and Jean-Paul started telling us about his new car. In French. My first thought was that he was as big a jerk as Matt had implied. But, then, you'll never guess what happened."

"What?" Lonnie pressed the receiver closer.

"Cheryl started speaking back to him.
In French.
And I said, 'Cheryl, why didn't you tell me you knew French?' And you know what she said?"

"What?"

" 'You never asked.' " Lonnie held back a laugh. "Anyway," Peach continued, "she and Jean-Paul had a great time the rest of the night, just talking in French and cracking up at jokes no one else could get."

Lonnie asked, "Was that annoying at all?"

"No way—I was thrilled she had such a good time. Lonnie, you should've seen her. It was like for the first time, she was completely comfortable in her own skin. I think all the progress I've been making with her has just finally taken hold, you know?" Lonnie ignored her sister's immodesty, and agreed.

Peach continued "So, basically, Cheryl and I had a powwow in the bathroom. She told me that she really liked Jean-Paul, and I told her I didn't like Matt anymore—"

"Wait, what? When did that happen?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? Yeah, I decided that he's too negative for me. I don't know if you ever noticed, but it's like every word out of his mouth is a put-down about someone else." Yep, that summed up Matt pretty accurately.

"I see what you mean," Lonnie said. "So what happened with Cheryl and Jean-Paul?"

Peach giggled. "She attacked him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Jean-Paul drove Matt back to his apartment and me back to Iris's house, and then he and Cheryl went for 'a drive.'" Lonnie could picture Peach's handmade quotation marks. "She called me Sunday afternoon and told me they drove to the Cape, rented a cottage, and went for broke."

"What?"

"I know!" Peach enthused. "I guess you weren't the only one who had a fun weekend. I knew Cheryl was getting bolder, but I never expected a breakthrough like this."

"Tell me about it," Lonnie muttered, amused. Then she had a thought. "How does Cheryl feel today? She doesn't regret anything, does she?"

"Nope. She's going to Jean-Paul's house for dinner tonight.
Coq au vin."

Lonnie sighed. Life was so strange. One identical, unmemorable day followed the next, over and over. And then, out of nowhere, things got interesting.

* * *

"D?"

Dominick was vaguely aware of Harold's voice.

Harold walked closer and waved his hand across Dominick's line of vision. "Earth to D. Earth to D."

Does he have any idea how dumb that sounds?
Dominick turned his head a fraction to make eye contact with his annoying protégé. "What is it?" he asked.

"D, I've been calling you for the past five minutes." It couldn't have been that long. "Didn't you hear me?"

"Sorry, I was just thinking." About the weekend he'd spent in bed with Lonnie. He moved his chair closer to the desk to conceal his burgeoning erection from Harold, who was on a need-to-know basis with all GraphNet matters. And a never-need-to-know basis with all personal matters. "What did you need?"

"D, quite frankly, we've got a problem." Harold's face was grim and foreboding, but Dominick couldn't bring himself to feel anything more than utter contentment with life.

"What is it?"

"Well, I don't know how to tell you this, but I've found more errors in your work." That got his attention. "This code you gave me before—for the three-D link—well, it's not viable." Harold tossed the printout down on the desk, and Dominick saw red ink all over it.

Not again!
No, it wasn't possible. He'd been careful. He'd been precise. He'd double-checked his work. Then one of Harold's red-pen marks caught his eye. It was a circled word a quarter of the way down the page. It
couldn't
be....

But it was. In the middle of his programming code, it read
lonnie.
What the hell was he thinking? Well, it was obvious what he was thinking, but how could he have made an error like that? Looking like an ass in front of Harold might be a more minor concern, but it was a concern nonetheless. He was the kid's boss, for chrissake! He was supposed to set an example.

"D, maybe you'd better have me go over your other files, too." Harold motioned to the shelf. "Want me to start with the pile back there?"

But Dominick didn't answer because the way Harold had said "back there" had sounded an awful lot like "black hair," and that made him think of Lonnie. Her long, shiny hair. Spread out on his pillow. Wet and hanging down her breasts in the shower. Falling on his lap as she ran her mouth all over his stomach, his cock, his testicles...

"Earth to D!"

"Will you stop saying that? Jesus, I hear you."
Now, what the hell had he said?

Harold just shook his head, and walked out with a stack of Dominick's work. "Listen, whatever's preoccupying you, don't worry." He stopped at the door, turned, and flashed a high-wattage smile. "I got your back, D."
God, help me.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hi, may I speak with Ann?" Lonnie tapped her pen nervously on the coffee table, hoping this all didn't blow up in her face. On the way home, she'd thought about what Macey had told her, and after she'd arrived at her apartment, made a thoroughly depressing veggie burger, and popped open a can of diet Coke, she looked Ann Lee up in the phone book. She figured it couldn't hurt to feel her out and see if she might be a viable suspect in Lunther's murder.

Peach had left a note saying she'd gone crock-pot shopping with Cheryl, whose freelance catering was apparently taking off, so Lonnie figured now would be a good time to call.

"This is Ann," the voice on the other line said. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, yes," Lonnie said. "Ann, this is Lonnie Kelley, from Twit & Bell. I've been temping as Beauregard Twit's—"

"Lonnie, of course I remember you. I'm not that old yet! What can I do for you, hon?" She sounded positively perky and energized, not downtrodden and victimized. Then again, if she'd killed Lunther, she'd have a good reason to be upbeat once he was dead.

"Well, this is a little awkward, I guess, but I wanted to talk to you about Lunther Bell."

"Lunther? Why—oh, no. Don't tell me." She paused, and said, "What'd he say to you, honey?"

"Oh, no, no, nothing. Actually, I sort of... Well, I know what he was capable of. That's why I was calling."

"What do you mean?" Ann asked.

"I know this sounds weird, but I found out about Lunther's—well, the way he harassed some of the women who worked for him. And I wanted to..." What could she say? She wanted to know if Ann killed him? Because, if so, she planned to run right to the detective in charge of the case and tell him? No, that wasn't going to get her anywhere. So she stuck with the same angle she'd used in Macey's office earlier. "I wanted to... offer my support."

"Honey, I'm not sure I follow you," Ann said gently. "What are you talking about, the adult-baby thing?"

"Yes, exactly," she replied. "You see, I've worked with women in crisis before and—oh, not that I'm suggesting that you're in crisis, or anything. But, I just meant... well... if Lunther had tried to coerce you into... inappropriate activities, I know how that can affect a woman."