Plum Girl (Romance) (25 page)

"You weren't interested in me in college," she argued mildly.

"How would you know?" he teased. "You were always following Eric around with your eyes bugging out of their sockets." Grinning, he added, "It was pretty embarrassing."

She flattened her palms on his chest and shoved. "Hey." He laughed. "Is this what I come down here for?" He was still laughing. "You're hysterically funny," she said sarcastically, and he pulled her to him.

"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all, and she just grinned. "Forgive me?" he mumbled against her neck.

"Um..." He placed gentle openmouthed kisses on her skin. "I... hmm... okay," she breathed. Then she said into his hair, "I should really get back." He groaned his disappointment, as she disentangled herself and slid off his lap.

"Okay. I guess I should start doing something that resembles work one of these days, anyway," he said, and his sexy grin almost changed her mind about going back upstairs.

"What are you implying?" she asked innocently. "That I keep you from getting your work done?" Standing over him, she spread her legs and locked his in between. She bent down to whisper in his ear, "I don't do anything."

His voice was strained. "Oh, yeah... you don't do anything..." He ran his hands up and down on her butt, and then tightened them to grasp her.

Her heart fluttered wildly in her breast—which, at the moment, was rising and falling to match her excitement. Dominick must have noticed, because suddenly his head was nearly buried in her sweater and his eyes were glazed as he monitored each heaving breath she took. She couldn't help it; his gently possessive touch never failed to arouse her.

A knock at the door broke their concentration. "Damn," he whispered, and she pulled back, feeling overheated. When she was on the other side of Dominick's desk, he called, "Yes."

It was Harold. He poked his head in. "D? Oh! Excuse me. I didn't know you had company. I was just calling you, but let me know when—"

"It's okay," Lonnie assured him, and headed for the door. "I'm just leaving. I'll talk to you later, Dominick."

"Okay—oh, wait!" Dominick called to her. He turned back to Harold. "I'll be right back." Then he walked with Lonnie to the elevator. "Listen, give me the names of those women listed on that fax. I'll look them up on the Internet, see if I find out anything."

"Oh, no. I don't want you getting involved in this," she said.

"If you're involved, I'm already involved," he said simply. "Come on, you can't do it, or people in your office will know you're up to something."

"No. I don't want you to take the chance," she said. "Besides, I left the fax in my bag, which is locked in my desk."

"But—"

"Really," she insisted. Then she leaned up to give him a firm, sweet kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for offering, but for now, I'm going to deal with it myself. Okay?"

After a pause, he just shrugged. "Okay, if you're sure."

"I'm sure."

* * *

An hour later, Lonnie was walking from the bathroom back to her desk when she overheard a familiar voice. It was a savage, hoarse whisper that could only belong to the man who'd accosted Bette in the library a few weeks back. And, what a coincidence, it was coming from B.J.'s office.

She hadn't planned to eavesdrop, but she caught B.J. saying something about being "desperate," so she'd lingered in the hall to hear more. "Look, I said I'd owe you, all right?" he was saying. "I'll owe you
big.
Whatever you want, just
please—"

"Look, I need this favor," he whispered urgently, although Lonnie wondered if B.J. had any idea how loud his whispering actually was. "Yes, yes... Whatever you want... Okay, okay, I'll do it. So, anyway—hello? Hello?"

As soon as she heard him slam down the phone, she darted away before he could catch her. When she got to her desk, she found Twit waiting for her, looking disgruntled and put out. He must've been waiting there for all of two minutes. "Hi, Beauregard," she said amiably. "Did you need something?"

"Uh, yes, I did. But I've been standing here waiting so long, I've forgotten what it is." He looked up at the clock. "I'm running behind now. I'll call you in when I remember what it was." He turned to go, but B.J.'s voice stopped him.

"Beauregard!" B.J. called, and hurried down the hall, jogging his skinny little legs toward Lonnie's desk. "Great news. I just got off the phone with that buddy of mine I told you about. He scored us tickets, third row, half-court."

What?
He was on the phone with a
buddy
of his? The guy he'd begged and bribed? The guy who'd hung up on him? B.J. needed new friends; "That's terrific!" Twit declared, and patted B.J. on the back.

He shrugged. "Please, like I'd said before, the guy was thrilled to do it for me. He owed me some favors."
Maybe B.J. was dropped on his head as a baby.
"Anyway, anything for a pal."

He patted Twit on the back and started to turn around, when Twit said, "Wait, B.J. Actually, since your friend owes you anyway, would you mind terribly getting one more ticket?" B.J.'s face fell in horror. Clearing his throat, Twit added, "I was hoping to take a lady friend, too." Now Lonnie's face fell in horror.

Okay, that was enough. Watching B.J. squirm. Picturing Twit having a lady friend. Picturing Twit having a friend, period. A girl could only take so much. She was about to interrupt and put a halt to everyone's discomfort when Twit looked at her quizzically for a second, and then shuffled away from her desk. She caught a glimpse of B.J.'s plastic joker smile before he turned on his heel and trailed after Twit. She couldn't believe how much she'd underestimated B.J.'s issues. She'd known he was insecure, but this was ridiculous. There was only one word she could think of to describe him...

Desperate.

Just then a message appeared on her computer screen, new mail. When she opened her inbox, she couldn't have been more surprised. It was a forward from Terry—who she hadn't heard from since he'd annihilated her on the phone a few days ago.

What a weirdo.
So apparently she "flares a temper" in him, but not enough to get banished from his forward distribution list. Just her luck. She hit DELETE without opening it, and went back to work.

Later that day, Lonnie found herself thinking about B.J. again. She wondered if she'd done the right thing by omitting information about him when she'd talked to Detective Montgomery. Could B.J. really be a
killer
? The idea seemed too hard to swallow... yet she couldn't say anything for sure anymore. It was becoming painfully clear that the Twit & Bell staff had more going on beneath the surface than Lonnie had thought.

Still engrossed in thought about the murder investigation, she absently clicked on her latest new mail message. Dear Lord, it was another e-mail from Terry. This one wasn't a forward, but an actual message. It read:
Hey, Lonnie Anderson, what's new in Bean town?

What on
earth
—was this guy
insane
? He'd told her in no uncertain terms—and a winding, maniacal monologue—that he couldn't stand her. He'd
dropped
her, for pete's sake. Did she actually need to explain to Terry the rules of etiquette that applied to dumping someone on their ass, cold? Generally speaking, congenial little e-mails weren't welcome.

Whatever.
She pressed DELETE, and went back to mulling over her B.J. dilemma.

Okay, that was it. She had to clear her conscience about B.J. She'd tell Montgomery all the information she'd initially omitted... right after she tried to get some answers herself. After all, it was only right that she first corroborate Matt's account of B.J.'s professional disgrace. How much of it was true, and how legitimate was B.J.'s fear that Lunther would fire him?

Lonnie pushed away from her desk, and made her way down to Bette's office. Who better to ask about the status of B.J.'s employment than the human resource specialist? Although Lonnie had a feeling that pesky "confidentiality" bit was going to be a problem. She knocked on Bette's open door and poked her head in. "Bette? Could I talk to you?"

"Lonnie." She looked up from her paperwork and creased her waxy face into a bogus smile. "How nice to see you," she crooned, and motioned with a French-manicured finger. "Come in."

Before she could come up with a suave opener, Lonnie noticed that something was different about Bette's office. Oh. Her pictures were back. Yep, there they were, all lined up. Reginald, Burberry, and Skylar-Blaise. Not to mention the obligatory family shot with their dog, Ellis, and their cat, Josephine. It wasn't fair that someone as snobby and shallow as Bette had such a picture-perfect life, but it seemed in keeping with the basic cruel irony that governed the universe.

"Dear?" Bette's nasally, patronizing voice broke the spell, and Lonnie jerked to attention.

"Um... Bette, I was wondering..."
Time to improvise.
"Should I put together some sort of goodbye party for B.J.?"

Bette's pencil-sculpted eyebrows shot up. "B.J.'s
leaving
?" Lonnie thought she heard a trace of excitement in her voice. Poor B.J. Then Bette regarded her skeptically and said, "This is news to me."
Interesting.
If Lunther was in the process of firing B.J. when he died, would Bette be this surprised?

"Oh," Lonnie started backpedaling, "maybe I got my information wrong, but—"

"Where
did
you get your information?" Bette was using that patronizing voice again—as if she fully expected her to admit she'd made it up.

"Uh..." Lonnie stumbled, "it must've been a rumor around the water cooler.... I can't remember the
exact
source...." Glancing up at Bette's squinted eyes, Lonnie decided to bluff. Well, to bluff
better.
She needed to look at Bette dead-on, completely confident in her assertions, and see what she revealed. It was worth a try, anyway.

"Forgive me, Bette." Lonnie spoke more firmly now, and made unfaltering eye contact. "I was under the impression that B.J. was leaving because of Lunther—uh, that is to say, because of what the situation was before Lunther passed away...
tragically."
She threw in the last part for good measure, and waited to see if Bette would take the bait.

"I wasn't aware that anyone knew about B.J.'s problems with Lunther."

"Actually, it was hardly kept a secret." When it came to inventing false claims, passive voice was key. And, thank goodness, Bette played right into it.

She snorted and shook her head in disgust. "Of course not. Why am I even surprised? That puny little reject just can't keep his big mouth shut, can he?" Lonnie assumed she was referring to B.J., in which case
reject
was only fair, but
puny
seemed like a pretty low blow. She didn't interrupt, though; she just let Bette talk.

"B.J. is lucky that Lunther never got around to firing him. But, then, I'm sure he had other things on his mind that were far more important than B.J." She chortled and added, "Which isn't exactly a stretch." Obviously, once Bette got going, she didn't need much encouragement.

"Lonnie,
dear,
do yourself a favor and don't waste even a brain cell recognizing B.J.'s existence on this planet." And she thought Matt was harsh. "He just doesn't get it, you know? You can't try to be somebody by lying about who you are. You're either born somebody or not; you either have status or you don't. He's so desperate to con every possible kind of acceptance out of people that they see right through him. People see through desperation. It's that simple."

Was it that simple? Lonnie didn't know. When it came to Twit & Bell, she didn't know very much anymore. She left Bette's office, headed for her desk, and retrieved the emergency Mounds bar she'd stored in the third drawer a month ago. She knew unequivocally... it was time.

* * *

"Laurel, I need this faxed A-SAP." Twit tossed two paper-clipped sheets onto Lonnie's desk and kept going, like the Energizer duck.

"Sure, no problem," she said to dead air.

Lonnie saved the Word document she'd been working on, pushed away from her desk, and headed over to the fax machine. After she'd loaded it and pressed SEND, she started refilling the paper tray. She thought of the fax she'd given to Montgomery. Even though she'd only given it to him the morning before, and technically he was under no obligation to give her the play-by-play of his investigation, she still hoped he would call her as soon as he found out anything.

The fax machine sounded, and the confirmation sheet inched its way out. Absently, Lonnie grabbed it, tossed it in her inbox, and continued thinking about that list of women. What did Ann Lee have to do with the others? And what was Twit planning to do with the names? She bit her lip, trying to figure it out, but she couldn't. Montgomery said he'd look into it, so why was she worrying about it? Why was she suddenly so fixated?

She couldn't discount what Montgomery had told her about poisoning being a more female crime. It seemed logical, therefore, that he would want to check out those women as soon as possible. The only thing was: Montgomery seemed to think he had a highly viable suspect already, right under everyone's nose. Macey. Which was ludicrous. Just because Macey was a strong, aloof woman, didn't mean she was a murderer.

Lonnie shook her head in frustration. She just wished she knew where the investigation stood. There was only one way to find out.

She took out Montgomery's card, as well as her cell phone, and headed to the elevator. On the ride down to the lobby, she remembered that she hadn't told Montgomery everything the day before. She'd omitted any information about B.J. because she hadn't wanted to implicate him. Sweet, clueless, hopeless B.J.

Now she wasn't so sure about her decision. After talking to Bette, she knew that Matt had been right: B.J. was on the verge of being fired. And he knew it. Matt had described B.J. as
obsessed,
which would explain why he accosted Bette in the library. Undoubtedly, he was grilling her for information about his job status. It also explained why Bette avoided him at the holiday party, and why B.J. returned to his gregarious old self after Lunther died.