Plum Girl (Romance) (43 page)

The lanky uniformed cop stepped forward and added, "A few days ago, I overheard her complaining that the sunglass case had this powdery residue in it, and she'd thought she'd gotten something really nice, but she hadn't." He smiled crookedly. "Our secretary's sort of a kleptomaniac. Anyway, I was only interested because I'd heard her say she took it from a suspect."

"He pressed her on it," Montgomery jumped in, "and found out they were Bette Linsey's. On a long shot, he had the lab run a test on it. The results were in tonight, and that's when he told me what he'd been up to." Lonnie waited expectantly, and he finished, "Potassium chloride."

"Officer Stopperton," she said with some awe, "you mean you did all that on your own? You went to all that trouble
just in case
there was something there?"

He shrugged, and his hat slipped a little more. "I'm trying to get promoted."

Montgomery said, "It wasn't enough to charge Bette with murder, but it was enough for me to worry like hell when Peach told me you'd gone to confront her about something."

Lonnie asked, "But how come you told me to stay away from B J.?"

"Yeah," Dominick piped in. "How come you thought Matt might be in danger?"

Montgomery explained what Stopperton had learned from B.J.'s former roommate at Dinkle College, Stanley Turner. Apparently, B.J. had been so paranoid that he would fail one of their prelaw classes, he'd cheated on a midterm and then threatened to kill Stanley if he ever breathed a word of it. The threats had been credible enough for Stanley to take him seriously, and move out. According to his story, B.J. was particularly competitive with him because they were the same year, and while B.J. struggled desperately, Stanley got straight As.

"So, B.J. had threatened this guy, but he never actually made good on it?"

"Right. But we still had to find out if there'd been any incidents like that since, and make sure Matt Fetchug wasn't in danger, since he and Flynn joined the firm at the same time, and Fetchug was doing great, while Flynn was just barely hanging on to his job."

Lonnie nodded. "So, basically, B.J. is a thoroughly messed-up freak, but at this point, not a criminal?"

"Right," he agreed. "Well, not counting the Faneuil Hall episode."

Dominick looked questioningly at her, and she said, "I'll tell you about that one later," and leaned into him. "Detective, there's just one thing I don't understand."

"Yeah?"

"How come you and Officer Stopperton are working together? You're not partners, are you?" They couldn't be; one was a homicide detective and one was a uniformed cop.

Montgomery shrugged. "He's my protégé."

Lonnie laughed. If life got any more bizarre, she didn't know if she could bear it.

They talked for a couple more minutes, and then, as she turned to go, Montgomery touched her arm. "Hey, kid," he said. She looked at him, waiting for whatever it was he was going to say, and her eyes were swirls of green and pink from all her crying. "My heart almost stopped tonight when I saw Bette's gun on you." He paused awkwardly, then said, "You're all right. That's all I'm trying to say."

She smiled, and tears started to fall again, despite her best intentions. "Thank you for saving our lives," she said quietly. "In case I haven't mentioned it." And she pulled him into a hug before he could see it coming.

* * *

Dominick took her home and stayed with her. After they explained what happened to Peach, they went to bed. And once Lonnie was warm in her hearts-and-stars pajamas, with Dominick's arms wrapped around her, she slept deeply.

Every dream was a reminder that she was lucky and blessed and still very much alive.

Epilogue

The next week, Lonnie sat in Dominick's Nissan, trying to talk some sense into the man. They were parked in Margot and Jack's driveway, about to go inside for dinner, when Dominick brought up the subject of Maine. Despite Lonnie's reasoning, he seemed unwilling to consider any other option than moving, and being with her.
The man has nerve.

"You might be bored there," Lonnie said, probably for the fifth time.

"You'd be there," Dominick replied.

"But it's not as exciting as Boston."

"I hate excitement. Present company excepted."

"There's probably not as much to do there."

"You'd be there."

"But if we broke up—"

"Don't even talk about us breaking up, because it's not gonna happen."

"How can you know that?" she challenged. "Things change, relationships change. Look at me and Jake—"

"Jake's a shit."
Valid.
"And I'll be damned if I don't get to marry you someday." Her mouth dropped open, and he said, "Sorry to break it to you, baby, but it's gonna happen at some point. It has to."

"Why?" she asked in a near whisper, suddenly floored by the whole conversation, and by how elated and alive it made her feel.

"Because..." He brought his hands to her rosy cheeks, and looked magnetically through her green-honey-brown eyes. "You're the one," he said, as if the answer was so obvious.

She felt tears sting the backs of her eyes. She threw her arms around Dominick and hugged him so fiercely she wondered if he could breathe. He didn't voice one complaint, though, and only held her to him, murmuring sweet words into her ear.

"You're the one," he said. "And don't try to get out of it."

She smiled into his neck. "I won't," she said softly, and turned her head to kiss him. "Wait!" she said, breaking their kiss. "What about your family?"

"What about them?"

"They haven't even met me. I mean, they're gonna wonder about some girl who's dragging you to Maine."

"No way. They'll love you. We'll drive to Connecticut and introduce you to the family next weekend, if you want."

"Okay," she said, beaming.

"Oh, just so you know, my parents are really traditional," he said, gently brushing silky strands of her hair away from her face. "They might ask you if you're pro-breast-feeding, but just ignore them."

"
What?
"

"Skip it. Skip it," he said, waving his hand. "So that covers my family. Now, as for your parents, any tips before I go inside?"

"Nope," she replied, taking his hand in her own. "Just act very respectful of me, be your usual charming, wonderful self," she said. "And—oh yeah—if possible, throw in something about your earning potential before dessert." He quirked his mouth into a disbelieving grin. Lonnie just smiled and said, "What can I say? My parents are just as sexist as yours."

He grinned wider—making her stomach knot, her heart race, and her blood heat—and he said, "I'm on board with that." Hands locked, they headed for the front door.

Over dinner, the whole family laughed, overate, and maybe overdrank a little, while they congratulated Peach for winning the art contest. Her logo had been chosen, and the timing couldn't have been more perfect. With the five thousand dollars in prize money, she'd be able to keep Lonnie's studio apartment for herself. For a while anyway, and when she started to run out of money, she'd just come up with another harebrained scheme. That was Peach. Cheryl and Jean-Paul came to dinner, too, and they really did seem very happy together. When they didn't think anyone was looking, Lonnie noticed, they'd murmur things to each other in French and laugh quietly.

Margot and Jack made their approval of Dominick evident by the way they kept offering him more of everything—food, wine, and elbowroom at the table. Lonnie reasoned that they wouldn't want to keep him well fed, satiated, and pampered if they didn't want to keep him around.

Now, everyone made their way into the cozy family room, with espresso and biscotti. "So, Peach," Jean-Paul said, "what are you going to do now that you're a rich woman?"

"Hmm... I don't know. I
just
don't know," Peach said dramatically. "Maybe buy a couple new paintbrushes, save money to go visit my sister who's abandoning me." She shot Lonnie an affected
how-could-you?
look of despair, and added, "And basically just continue touching the lives of all those who come in contact with me." She batted her eyelashes, and Lonnie made a retching gesture.

"You got greedy!" she said to her little sister.

"You're right," Peach admitted, smiling and pleased with herself.

"Dominick!" Margot interjected. "Have you seen pictures of Lonnie when she was younger?" Lonnie tried to muster up her usual irritation, but couldn't seem to. She didn't really mind if Dominick saw all her nerdy eighties photos. "Peach, where are the Cookie Monster ones?"
Not even those. Okay, still those.
Luckily Peach read her mind.

"I burned them," Peach said. "Freak accident. Sorry, Mom." She winked at Lonnie, who just looked at her, thinking,
I love you.

When everyone was engrossed in conversation—even Jack, who'd set his latest book aside—Dominick pressed a quick kiss to Lonnie's mouth. The kiss was all sweetness and romance and love, and this time she had no doubt she was looking directly at her future.

She looked around the room, and then back at him, thinking,
I love you all so much.
She sighed and smiled and suddenly she knew. Life was a bowl of... plums.

The End

Page forward for more from Jill Winters

Excerpt from

Raspberry Crush

by

Jill Winters

Chapter 1

Billy felt someone tug on her hair and whipped around. "Oh, you scared me," she said on a startled breath, pressing her hand to her heart.

"Sorry," Melissa said, smiling. Her cheeks were still pinkish from the brisk autumn wind, though her long, curly hair was unmussed, and she already had a black coffee in hand. "What were you looking at? You looked like a zombie in headlights."

Billy grinned at her coworker and what seemed like an exaggeration, then turned back to face Doubleday's. "Just that book," she replied, motioning through the metal gate to a new book about French Impressionism that was on display. She wondered what could be new to say about it, but being devoted to Renoir, books like this always caught her.

Now she turned and fell into step with Melissa as they headed toward the escalator. "Hey, where's Des?" Billy asked, looking over her shoulder, expecting to see him trailing behind. Des (short for Desmond) was Melissa's stepbrother, who worked with them at Bella Donna Bakery. They were all expected at today's early-morning meeting, which would focus mostly on last-minute details for the jubilee the bakery was catering that weekend.

Rolling her eyes, Melissa said, "We took the train in together, but when he stopped to bond with a homeless guy, I felt it was time to ditch him." Billy grinned and thought that sounded about right. From what she could tell, Melissa and Des Aggerdeen shared a T ride to work, a last name, and an address—now that Melissa had moved home to attend law school—but that was it. There didn't seem to be much love lost between them, probably because they were vastly different people. While Melissa was a smart, ambitious law student with somewhat elitist sensibilities, Des was a pseudophilosophical student in the proverbial school of life. A self-proclaimed poet, musician, and ar
teest,
he was obsessed with reaching out to the common man (even though he was one himself—and whether or not the common man liked it).

Des and Melissa didn't interact much at work, but when they did, it seemed clear that Des viewed his stepsister as vapid and co-opted, while Melissa viewed him, simply, as lame.

Now Billy stepped off the escalator and headed to the crowded enclosed bridge that stretched over Huntington Avenue. It connected the Prudential and Copley malls, and at this early hour it was clogged with professionals who were shortcutting their way to work. Billy ducked and swerved as best she could, but for the most part got squished. It was almost laughable the way men—especially those in their twenties—blatantly elbowed people to get ahead, showing no concept of even low-grade chivalry.

Just then Billy noticed that Melissa was no longer at her side. She'd flown several feet ahead, moving through the crowd with Darwinian determination. Occasionally Billy was struck by how confident and assertive Melissa had become since college.

They'd met freshman year at Boston College, where they'd both started out as business majors. By sophomore year, Billy had changed her major to art history, and Melissa had changed hers to poli-sci, but they'd often crossed paths on campus. Back then Melissa had been brooding, maybe a little antisocial—one of those girls who dressed in black and had a poster of Fox Mulder on her dorm room door.

Now she still wore black, but it was part of the sleek-chic look that she'd adopted during her postgraduation life in New York City.

Billy, on the other hand, hoped she looked pretty much the same since college, except for the twenty pounds she'd gained—seven of which she'd packed on since she'd started working at the bakery. She tried not to dwell on it, even though on a five-foot-two-inch body, it definitely showed.

And not counting her hair, which had gone from brown to dark cherry red. Technically it was an accident, but Billy had grown to like it. She'd used "Cinnamon Sunset," which was supposed to be subtle, but instead changed her hair to a pretty, crimsony color that never seemed to wash out.

"So did I tell you the news?" Melissa said, glancing over and abruptly realizing Billy had fallen behind. "Hey, where'd you go?"

"Wait," Billy called with a laugh, and hurried forward.

"Watch it," someone snapped when Billy accidentally stepped on his heel.

"Oh, sorry!" She ducked between two middle-aged men carrying briefcases, just as Melissa reached back to grab her hand and pull her up. A laugh slipped out of her as she was facilitated forward.

"You need better survival skills," Melissa said, smiling. "You'd never make it in New York."