Plum Girl (Romance) (42 page)

"Bette, it's none of my business, and I certainly don't intend to tell anyone," Lonnie said.

"Yeah," Dominick agreed automatically. "We won't say a word. We swear."

"Right!" she scoffed. "How could you possibly resist? Who could pass up telling this story?"
Well, that seems a bit over the top.
"The story of a woman so desperate to be in the upper class of society that she'd actually invent a husband and two children."

Or not.
"That story will get you more than a few friends at the old water cooler, eh, Lonnie?"

Lonnie stood there, stunned, almost not believing what she was hearing. Reginald Linsey wasn't real? Bette had made him up? But that was crazy! What about Burberry and Skylar-Blaise...? They were fictitious, too? She could only assume that the Linsey dog, Ellis, and cat, Josephine, weren't any more legitimate. This had to be the most bizarre thing she'd ever heard in her life.

And now Bette was telling her that her life had come to an end.

Oh, God! Please, no!

No, this couldn't happen.
Not now.
She couldn't let it happen. She looked over at Dominick plaintively, desperately, wishing more than anything she could hold his hand again. His black eyes were soft and molten and told her he was almost as scared as she was. Bette commanded them to move farther into the house and away from the front door.

"Oh, sorry I can't offer you a seat," she said sarcastically. "But just trying to hold down the mortgage on this place—and wear enough expensive clothes to fit my image—preclude me from such
luxuries
as furniture. Oh, and let's not forget all the payments on
Reggie's
beamer." She glanced into the adjoining room, and then back to Lonnie and Dominick. "Obviously, expensive wine and glassware don't fit into my budget, either, as I'm sure you saw for yourself."

"Sit down," she commanded harshly, waving her gun. "It'll be less of a mess that way." She let out a quick, bitter laugh, and added, "Not that I'm an expert on murder. I've only killed one person, but hey, I got away with it, didn't I?"

"You killed Lunther," Lonnie whispered, more to herself than to Bette.

"You catch on fast," she said with the intellectual superiority that could only be reserved for the ever-disdained temps, but Lonnie didn't think now would be the time to point out the irony of Bette's snobbery.

"Look, I'm not a monster, okay? And I'm not crazy. Do you understand?" She thrust her gun forward again. "I'm not crazy!" She sucked in a shaky breath. "All I did was slip some shit into his drink as the night was winding down, and then try to leave before it took effect. Unfortunately," she went on, "he staggered into the coatroom just as I was getting my coat. The idiot actually spent five minutes complaining to me that he felt sick! I almost laughed in his face!" She plowed chipped French-manicured nails through her less-than-sleek-at-the-moment crop cut. "He started backing up, leaning against the wall for support, and I thought I heard footsteps approaching, so I covered him up with some coats, and got the hell out of there. It was all so
perfect."

Lonnie and Dominick were sitting on the floor, a foot apart, just listening to Bette's almost-manic confession. Well, they didn't exactly have much choice in the matter. Half of the time Bette was talking, she was looking off into the distance, as if she were only vaguely aware of their presence in the room.

"Lunther should've minded his own business," Bette said, shaking her head in weary frustration. "But he had to go and have me investigated. Greedy slob."

"Was he blackmailing you or something?" Lonnie asked quickly. "Because, if so, I think that is just so awful and I can certainly understand why you'd need to kill him."

"Oh, can it."

"Okay," she said overeagerly, with a fake smile plastered on her face, and Dominick shot her a warning look to tone it down.

"I'm assuming you must know something or you wouldn't have come here," Bette said. "I've seen how tight you are with Macey. What does she know?"

"Nothing! I mean... I don't even know anything. Not really."

"It's ironic that Macey doesn't know more," Bette remarked. "Because if she knew I killed Lunther, she'd probably thank me. They hated each other, but then, I guess I don't need to tell you that."

Lonnie and Dominick kept silent, and Bette kept talking. "That's what made Lunther investigate me. He was obsessed with the idea that Macey was going to convince Sandy Neemas to refile sexual harassment charges against him. So he wanted me to fudge negative performance evaluation reports—you know, falsely document complaints about Sandy during her employment with the firm. He figured that would be his defensive strike if they tried to claim she had to leave because of any kind of harassment."

"But Lunther liked to keep the gun loaded, if you know what I mean. He wanted to come to me with his request only after he knew he had me under his thumb. So he had me investigated. Undoubtedly, he just expected to get a little dirt to hold over my head. He never dreamed that my whole life—the whole image I'd created for myself—was completely made up. That's why he had to die."

"Mmm... that does make sense," Lonnie said as agreeably as she could.

"You should've seen the way he gloated when he told me he knew," Bette said, ignoring Lonnie and talking more to the air. "I was so distraught, I started cleaning out my desk, packing up my pictures and personal effects, and got ready to run. But then I realized: where would I go?"

"The pictures," Lonnie echoed almost inaudibly, suddenly remembering the day of the party, when she'd noticed that Bette's desk was missing her family photographs.

"Those damned pictures," Bette went on. "Hired actors. And wouldn't you know the fucking cat was the most expensive one!"

"But if you knew about his sexual harassment," Dominick injected, trying to pacify Bette—or just keep her talking; Lonnie wasn't sure which—"couldn't you use that to blackmail him back? And, you know, keep him quiet about you?" he asked.

"No, you don't
get
it!" Bette yelled, full of rage again. "He
knew.
No one can know, or it's not real! So what if I knew about what a bastard Lunther was—I even knew about him missing a critical court date because he was carrying on with Delia, but how would that help
me?"

She buried her forehead in one hand and kept the gun held out in the other. "You just don't get it," she scolded bitterly. "I've worked so hard to create my image. I've practiced the act so much—everything, from my mannerisms to my signature, and there was no way I could work side by side with someone who knew it was all bullshit! There was no way..." Her voice trailed off, shaky now, and suddenly, tears sprang to her eyes.

"Bette—" Lonnie began soothingly.

"Don't patronize me!" she snarled, as her tears fell onto the hardwood floor below. "All I've ever wanted was to be rich. But it wasn't for the money itself. It was for the whole package. The perfect husband, the perfect children, the au pair, the trips to Hilton Head and Cabo; all of it. But I couldn't get any of it on my own, and I thought even if I invented it, my life could be full just living out the fantasy. Just having people treat me the way they would if I really were everything I pretended to be. But the reality is—" Her voice broke off again, as she bawled some more and blew her nose into the sleeve of her robe. "The reality is... my life stinks! Its so empty. The worst part is, all I've got is bullshit, and I can't even afford to lose that. I can't lose the one thing I've got—total and utter bullshit!" She leaped to her feet and walked over until she was just inches away from them.

"What are you going to do?" Lonnie asked, terrified.

"What does it look like?" Bette retorted, wiping her face with the back of her free hand and shoving the gun against Lonnie's temple with the other. In that moment, Lonnie became her pounding heart; nothing else existed. She felt like she'd stopped breathing.

"No, please," Dominick pleaded, his face pale and horrified. "Please, don't do this!"

"Don't worry," Bette said. "You're next." She put her finger on the trigger... and her doorbell rang. "Oh, who could that be?"

Please, God. Please, God. Please, God.

"Who is it?" Bette called out, still holding her gun to Lonnie's head.

"Ma'am? Its Detective Montgomery. Could you open the door?" the gruff voice called back, and Lonnie almost burst into tears.
Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God.

"Oh, shit!" Bette uttered savagely. "Uh... Detective, I can't talk now! Please come back another day!"

"Uh, ma'am, I'm afraid I can't do that. Please open the door." His tone wasn't threatening, but it was firm, telling Lonnie that Montgomery had no idea the extent of what was going on inside Bette's house, but he knew enough to push the issue.

"Please, Detective! Please, I-I'll go down to the station first thing in the morning—"

"Open the door,
now!"
he demanded, and when she didn't do it, he busted the heavy oak door open. "Ms. Linsey!" Montgomery called out as he made his way through the empty, dark house. Bette froze in place, nervously, unsure what to do next, when Montgomery appeared in the archway.

"Freeze!"

Instinctively, Bette jammed the gun hard into Lonnie's temple, wordlessly warning Montgomery not to come any closer. "Ms. Linsey," he said slowly, carefully. "Please... don't do anything crazy—"

"I'm NOT crazy!" Bette shrieked, shoving the mouth of her gun even harder against Lonnie's head, as two more tears streaked down Lonnie's cheeks.

"Okay, okay," Montgomery said, holding his hands up in surrender. But he was still holding his revolver, and Lonnie knew Bette would have to be beyond distraught not to notice.

"Give it to me," Bette snapped, and extended her free hand out as far as she could, reaching for Montgomery's gun. "Now!" Montgomery leaned forward, with his weapon in hand, and Bette must have finally realized how precarious the exchange would be. "Stop!" she yelled suddenly. "I-I mean, just drop the gun on the floor. Then kick it over to me." Montgomery froze for a moment longer, and then followed her order.

Bette didn't dare bend down to pick up Montgomery's gun; she'd lose any advantage that way. But at the same time, she was leaving a loaded revolver on the floor only two feet away from Dominick. She didn't seem to notice that.

"I don't know how I'm going to get out of this," Bette said bitterly. "I just need to think. I need to think." She brought her hand up to her forehead and scrunched thin folds of skin with her fingers. "Think, think, think!" she commanded herself. Meanwhile, Lonnie wished she could do something more productive than stay frozen on her knees with tears streaming down endlessly and her heart beating painfully hard.

Just then, Officer Stopperton ran into the room, gun in hand and blue uniform hanging loosely on his skinny frame. "Oh, no!" Bette yelled, looking beside herself. "Can I ever get a fucking break?"

"There are more cops outside, Mrs. Linsey. You'll never get out of here."

"Stop lying! There's just the two of you."

Montgomery held up his hands again and looked completely sincere when he said, "I'm not lying, ma'am. If you don't believe me, check for yourself."

Bette backed up only less than a foot to try to catch a glimpse of her front stoop through the opening crack of her curtains. But it was enough. Without premeditation, Dominick took advantage of the situation. He flew onto Montgomery's discarded revolver, grabbed it, and pointed it at Bette. She was so stunned that Montgomery was able to snatch her gun out of her hand.

The second he did, Lonnie sank back on her heels and let out a breath so deep that for a second she thought her lungs had collapsed. She was shaking, still trembling inside out with fear. Dominick lurched across the hardwood floor to gather her up in his arms. Both of their foreheads were dotted with perspiration, and Lonnie had tears running down her cheeks. "Omigod, omigod," she kept mumbling as Dominick hugged her, and his body felt more than a little unsteady, too.

"No!" Bette screamed.
"No! No!"
The scream turned into a wail, and she burst into hysterical sobbing. She knew what they did: it was all over.

After Bette had been arrested and taken away by two of the police officers, Montgomery offered to take Lonnie for a cup of Irish coffee to calm her nerves. She said no, but thanked him with all her heart—about a hundred times—for saving their lives.

"How on earth did you know I was here?" Lonnie asked him.

"I called to make sure you were staying home—
like I told you
—and your sister informed me what you were up to. I knew you wouldn't do what you were told."

"But how did you know about
Bette?"

He sighed. "It's a long story." She shot him a cross look that said,
I think I have the time,
and he explained. "We discovered that there was no Reginald Linsey living in this house within the first week of our investigation. So I had Bette come in to finish making her statement, and I mentioned it to her. She explained that her husband had left her, and that she was still devastated and humiliated, and she didn't want anybody to know—"

"I can't believe this!" Lonnie interrupted. "You
knew?
How could you not tell me?" she asked, annoyed, and filled with an admittedly inappropriate sense of betrayal.

"Hey, I couldn't take the chance you'd say something to her at work. She might've figured out you were working with the police, and then word would've gotten around the office."

"I wouldn't have said anything!" she protested.

"Maybe not. But you probably would've done some of your oh-so-suave sleuthing, and that's just as good." Considering Montgomery had just saved their asses, Lonnie decided to concede the argument for the moment. "Anyway, she begged us not to say anything, and we really couldn't see any harm in it. It certainly didn't seem related to Lunther Bell's murder."

"Then tonight we had a major break in the case. Apparently Bette had left her sunglasses at the station. They were real expensive, I guess, because the department secretary took 'em home with her. That's where Stopperton comes in."