Plum Girl (Romance) (18 page)

"Uh... pretty good. Unless you consider five masses in two days excessive." He started telling her about how his born-again brother David added myriad religious twists to the Carters' Christmas—which had always leaned more toward an all-American agnostics-giving-gifts kind of tradition. Lonnie laughed, amused and giddy with liking him. Then she gave him the abridged version of her Christmas. Leaving out the part where her mother had made her feel like Elvira the Heifer. And the part where she'd started crying a little thinking about Grandma Deborah, but it was probably because she'd had too much wine.

"It's snowing here," she said, unconsciously hugging her legs to her chest and resting her cheek against her knees.

"Yeah? You should go outside and make a snowman," he teased. "Or,
showperson."

"Showdiva, "
Lonnie corrected, smiling to herself. God, she wished he were there to hug.

Dominick's tone turned more serious when he asked, "So, how are you doin'?"

Lonnie sighed. "Okay. I'm still having trouble believing it all really happened." They talked about Lunther's death only for another minute or two because there didn't seem to be much to say that wouldn't be obvious and pointless.

"Oh, shit! I just realized," he said. "I'm using up all your long distance minutes."

"Don't worry about it." She wasn't. She was having too good a time talking to him, hearing his low, sexy voice, picturing him on the other end....

"I'll let you go anyway," he said.

"Okay."

"I'll see you Monday. Merry Christmas."

"You, too. Bye, Dominick."

"Bye... Miss you."
Click.

What?
He missed her? Well, hell, she missed him, too, but... wasn't it too soon to be saying it? Was this a bad sign? Who was it who'd told her that when guys fall
in
fast, they also fall
out
fast? Oh, wait, it was B.J.; he'd been hovering at her desk one morning, offering unsolicited observations on the sexes. Well, considering the source, at least she could disregard that warning immediately. Still...

She had to be careful. She wasn't going to pull away from Dominick like she'd done before, since he didn't seem to be a big fan of that approach. And more importantly, it wasn't any fun for her. But she'd have to keep her guard up. In her own mind. He'd never have to know how skeptical she was about the relationship. He'd never have to know that she was mentally preparing herself for it not to last. And with any luck, she'd never get her heart broken again.

Chapter 13

Lunther's wake was on Thursday, the day after Christmas, and in the proverbial spirit of the season, Lonnie was trying not to show just how desperate she was to leave. There had been a brief, closed-casket service that morning, followed by a lunch at Lunther's home. Honestly? It was depressing, awkward, and morbid.

His older brother, as his only next of kin, had organized everything, since Lunther had lived alone since his divorce several years ago. His house was a large, six-bedroom colonial in Cambridge. Lonnie had borrowed her father's car to make the drive through the snow, and now, after having been at the wake for nearly an hour, desperately wanted to go home and not see anyone from Twit & Bell again until the office reopened on Monday.

She thought she'd make the rounds and be sure to say good-bye to all her coworkers. First, she approached Delia, who was sitting alone on the window seat in the far corner of the room. Lonnie figured she should get her over with first since she promised to be the most unpleasant. Because of the thick carpet, Lonnie's boot heels were soundless as they traipsed over to the window, and she wasn't sure if the element of surprise would be good or bad with Delia.

"Delia?" Lonnie said softly, and watched a matted broom of white-blond hair whip around as Delia turned to face her. Her expression conveyed something less than elation.

"Yeah," she demanded. Well, so far she wasn't
as
hostile as she'd been the last time she'd seen her—which had been at the holiday party.

"I'm going to get going," Lonnie explained, knowing Delia didn't give a rat's ass. "So I just want to tell you again that I'm really sorry. I know you worked with Lunther for a long time—"

" 'Kay." With that, Delia turned back around and resumed her staring out the window. It took a second or two for it to sink in that the conversation had really been so awkwardly terminated. Well, awkwardly for Lonnie. In general, Delia seemed oblivious to awkwardness. Otherwise she wouldn't act the way she did half the time. Regardless, she definitely seemed far too bitter right now to be concerned with the temp's condolences.

Mentally shrugging, Lonnie turned and walked away. Oh well, she tried.

Next, she made her way over to Matt and B.J., who were hovering around the hors d'oeuvres. They both looked stoic and unemotional. Lonnie knew, however, that a lot of men handled shock that way. And grief. And love. And life, in general.

"Hey, guys," she said.

"Hey," Matt said coolly. Schmoozer mode was on standby.

"Hi," B.J. said with a toned-down version of his usual friendliness, and he piled a few more Southwestern egg rolls onto his plate. "Jesus, I can't even believe I'm here right now, you know? I can't even believe this happened to Lunther." He shook his head, as if disgusted with fate.

"Yeah," Matt said. "Bell was a great guy."
Since when?
Matt had never expressed a positive opinion about anyone at Twit & Bell. But Lonnie figured that's what death could do. After exchanging a few more trite words, she said good-bye to them and looked for Bette.

She found her by the fire, carefully pressing a monogrammed handkerchief to the corners of her eyes. Lonnie expressed quick condolences to Bette, who was polite and gracious—much appreciated. If Macey were there, Lonnie would've said good-bye to her, too. But Macey wasn't there, and Lonnie couldn't help feeling she was rather conspicuous in her absence. After all, Twit & Bell was not a very large firm.

Now where was Twit-head?

Lonnie circled the living room and foyer, but still couldn't find Beauregard. Then she heard—"Beauregard." It was Lunther's brother, Henry. Lonnie turned around and found Twit, appearing uncharacteristically sheepish. "Don't play games with me," Henry demanded fiercely. "I want to know what you were doing in Lunther's study."

After a nervous chuckle, Beauregard darted his eyes around and said, "Henry, please, lower your voice." He
heh heh hehed
again. "I told you, I got lost on my way to the bathroom." Then he slapped Henry Bell lightly on the shoulder. "My deepest apologies about that, Henry. It was an honest mistake." He turned to go and saw Lonnie standing there watching.

"Beauregard," she started, "I just wanted to say good-bye—"

"Oh, Leah. Glad to see you. It was good of you to come." The kind words put her off guard. "So sad...," he went on, then dropped his head dramatically and covered his eyes with his palm. His shoulders heaved lightly in what Lonnie could only assume were restrained sobs. Yet when he looked up at her again, his eyes looked dry and clear to her. But what did she know? Maybe his tears were all cried out. It was time to leave.

Lonnie grabbed her ice-blue coat from the front-hall closet and slid it on. She was hastily pulling her hair out of the collar when she spotted a familiar face. It was one of those sudden jolts of familiarity; she had no idea how she knew the man she was looking at, but she
had
seen him before. That much she knew.

Why was he so familiar? She was looking at a clean-cut man standing by the foot of the stairs, talking to an older woman Lonnie didn't recognize. Damn her selective memory! How did she know him? How... how...
holy shit !

It was the mugger!

That couldn't be, but she knew it was. Once she placed his face, there was no doubt in her mind. He was the man who tried to snatch her purse outside of Borders the week before—the one who punched Dominick and fled. But what was he doing at Lunther Bell's wake? Could it possibly be a coincidence? She had trouble believing that.

Looking back, the mugging
had
been strange. The man had zeroed in on her bag, even though she was hardly an easy mark with the bag slung across her body and held closely at her side. Yet, he'd been so relentless, so determined to get the bag. And now, if he also knew Lunther... Let's just say, Lonnie didn't believe in coincidence very much. Still, she couldn't imagine how it all fit together.

Her curiosity should've mobilized her into action, but she was too shocked to do anything but stand there, frozen, staring at the mugger. He was leaning casually against the railing while he spoke to the older woman. His thin build gave him a deceptive air of harmlessness. He must have just arrived because Lonnie'd been at the wake for an hour already, and hadn't seen him.

She swallowed hard and felt more than a flutter of fear in her chest. She momentarily considered turning and leaving before the mugger saw her—just in case he was a psycho with a ruthless vendetta against her. But even she knew that wasn't the most reasonable scenario. There had to be a logical explanation for what happened at Borders, and the fact that the mugger knew Lunther. Now if she could just stop deliberating, with her mouth going dry from nervousness, and her heart racing from fear, and confront him.

When Lonnie saw him go up the stairs, she finally pushed her anxiety aside and followed him. She crossed the foyer and climbed the carpeted steps. She felt comforted in the knowledge that there was a house full of guests downstairs.

She was about fifteen feet behind him when she glimpsed him turning the corner at the end of the hall. Treading faster so she wouldn't lose him, she spotted him going into the bathroom as a woman came out.

Lonnie decided to do whatever she was going to do before she lost her nerve. She marched over to the bathroom door and knocked hard. When he responded, "Yeah, just a minute," his voice was mild and even—emboldening her more than a surly one would have—so she knocked again. Much harder. Hurting her knuckles, but she didn't mind.

"Yeah, okay, okay!" he called, his impatience blatant but not deterrent. To be honest, she sort of liked pounding on the door; in a totally inappropriate way, it was a stress releaser. So she kept knocking until he swung the door open, exclaiming,
"Jesus Christ,
what the hell—"

He stopped as soon as he saw her face, and she said, "Hi, remember me?" She hadn't planned that corny opener, but so be it. Right now she had to get to the bottom of this. It was all too weird; she had to know if that mugging was a deliberate, calculated attack.

He sighed and dropped his chin to his chest. "Ah, crap." He shook his head, as if he couldn't believe his rotten luck. What about her rotten luck that day at Borders? She'd been in the middle of a perfectly lovely day with Dominick when he had burst in and tried to steal her bag.
And he is going to answer for it right now.

This wasn't like her; she really wasn't the confrontational type. But, she'd never been mugged before, either.

"Look," he said, and held his hands up to keep her calm, "I'm sorry about that, okay? It was just... It was a misunderstanding."

She narrowed her eyes, half confused, half suspicious. "What do you mean? You assaulted me!"

"Uh..." He looked around, as if the answers he needed could be found in the sink or on the towel rack.

"You deliberately tried to grab my bag, right?"

"I know. Look—"

"No, I mean, it wasn't a random mugging, was it?" Lonnie demanded. "It was deliberate?"

"Yeah, like I said, I'm sorry about that."

"Well, did you have me confused with somebody else?"

"No."

"But," she persisted, less angry now but more confused, "If you meant to grab my bag, how could that be a misunderstanding?"

"Uh."

Does he think that qualifies as a complete thought?

He looked antsy and agitated, but Lonnie didn't feel the least bit afraid. It seemed the more tenacious she was with him, the more he retracted. Peach had once told her that confrontations almost always came down to who blinks first, and now Lonnie could see what she meant. Peach claimed that all that mattered was attitude, because ultimately everyone was profoundly insecure inside, and "hostile projections of ego" were little more than bluffs.

"Well, maybe misunderstanding was the wrong word," he finally conceded.

Lonnie shut her eyes in annoyance and spoke sternly. "Let's go about this a different way. I'll ask you a couple questions, and you'll answer them. Otherwise, I'll make a scene downstairs. Trust me; you don't want that." He sighed and dropped his head back, looking to the ceiling for sympathy. "And, I can be
very
dramatic," she lied.

"I said I was sorry!" The mugger was definitely testy by this point. "It's not like I even got the damn bag! What's the big deal?"

Lonnie ignored his tirade, unwilling to let him turn the tables; she didn't want to lose control of the confrontation now. "First of all, what are you doing here? How did you know Lunther?"

Apparently he figured out it would be easier just to pacify her and answer her questions. "He's my step-uncle," he said. "His brother Henry is married to my mother." Perhaps that was the older woman he'd been talking to at the foot of the stairs.

"Did he have anything to do with what happened at Borders?" Lonnie asked.

"Yeah... Listen, I'm sorry if I scared you that day." His voice softened a little, but Lonnie wouldn't let herself get sucked in by kind words. "And I'm sorry I punched your boyfriend, or whoever." He put his hands in his pant pockets and went on. "It was stupid—I mean, I shouldn't have agreed to do it. But Uncle Lunth offered me two hundred bucks and—"

"He paid you two hundred dollars to mug me?" She couldn't imagine why Lunther would have wanted to attack her; she thought he'd barely noticed her around the office.

"I was just supposed to grab your bag," he said defensively, as if that was worlds apart from mugging. "All he wanted was the bag."