Plum Girl (Romance) (5 page)

The apple of Twit's beady eye was collections, a small book room that held valuable history and law books, including several first editions. Three times a year, the books needed to be cleaned in order to preserve them against any dust-mite or paper-worm damage. A special cleaning service came in, spent an hour going through each book, thoroughly dusting it and wiping its binding with special solution. And this time, Lonnie got to watch them to make sure they didn't steal anything valuable.

Looking around the room, she accidentally caught the eye of one of the cleaners. He had dark gray hair, and appeared to be in his late forties. He held her gaze for a minute, and gave her a knowing smile. Knowing what, she had no idea. She gave a quick closed-mouth smile in return, and averted her eyes. Pretty soon, she heard soft footsteps on the carpet approaching her. "Hi, you bored?" he asked, wiping his hands on an already-dirty rag.

"Uh, no... No, it's not too bad. I'm just supposed to stay here to make sure you guys don't need anything," she fibbed.

"Well, you're an improvement from the last one they had watching us," he went on, his eyes scanning her navy tights, down to her navy heels, and back again. Then he winked, and she tried not to toss the Cheerios and jellybeans she'd had for breakfast. For some reason, winking was a significant pet peeve, right up there with Twit's corporate mantras and decrepit packets of Sanka.

"So, are you guys about done?" Lonnie asked, looking around.

"I didn't mean to make you nervous," he said, and winked again. Then he paused and added, "Actually, the little red head was a lot friendlier." He walked back to the bookshelf, and the significance of his words hit her. Little redhead. She thought for a moment. He had to be talking about Ann Lee, Lunther Bell's assistant. At four-eleven, Ann definitely qualified as little, and her frizzy, shoulder-length coif was the only red head of hair in the firm.

Now she was thinking about Ann's bizarre disappearance. Maybe disappearance was too strong a word, but no one from Twit & Bell had seen or heard from her in over two weeks. At least that was the official story. One day Ann hadn't shown up for work, which led to another, and then another, and nobody was saying much about it. That alone was Lonnie's first indication that someone had to know something.

She figured Lunther had to have some clue where Ann was—if for no other reason than he seemed completely unfazed by her absence. When people asked about Ann, Lunther would just smile and say, "A good secretary's hard to find."

Hmm...

* * *

"Okay, come on, Leeza! Staff meeting. Look alive!"

Beauregard Twit whizzed past Lonnie's desk, making only millisecond-long eye contact before waddling on to the large conference room. Lonnie jerked to attention. She had been typing up some of Twit's notes while simultaneously having an erotic fantasy, and she'd just unzipped Dominick's fly when Twit's voice broke in.

She had totally forgotten the Tuesday ten o'clock staff meeting.

Qualitatively speaking, however, it wasn't that implausible that Lonnie would forget, because the Tuesday meeting rarely amounted to more than an hour-long ego war. There would always be awkward attempts at chitchat first. Human resource specialist Bette Linsey would brag about her rich husband, Reginald, and their perfect little blond-haired daughters, Burberry and Skylar-Blaise. B.J. Flynn would tell a self-aggrandizing story about his life, while Matt Fetchug would snort in disbelief.

Then Twit would take over, which primarily entailed standing on his soapbox and trying to manifest his disingenuous image as the aloof embodiment of legal brilliance. And while he would try his best to grandstand, demoralize, and inspire awe all at the same time, Lunther would inevitably barge in late, loud, and blustery. He'd talk over everyone with some obnoxious blabbering, and audibly plop all two hundred eighty pounds of himself into a chair. Twit would act nonchalant, of course, but still get that tic under his eye that betrayed his anxiety.

In other words, just business as usual at Twit & Bell.

Lonnie shuffled into the conference room, behind B.J. and his so-called assistant, Delia Smucker. She could've sworn she noticed Delia slipping B.J. a dirty look behind his back as the young, pint-size associate swaggered over to the conference table.

Unintentionally, Lonnie took the seat directly across from Bette Linsey.
Shoot.
It was too late; she'd already made eye contact. "That's an interesting dress you've got on," Bette said in her nasal, supercilious, own special way. Lonnie knew it couldn't be a genuine compliment, since that would be very
un-
Bette, and glanced quickly down at her olive green dress with navy swirls defining its pattern. Like most of Lonnie's dresses, it was long-sleeved and went just past the knee, so Bette couldn't have been implying it was indecent in any way. Probably it just wasn't conventional enough for her. Bette Linsey's wardrobe, on the other hand, made two basic statements: there are three colors in the rainbow—white, black, and khaki—and Ann Taylor is God.

"Oh, thanks," Lonnie said.

"Yes, how unique," Bette said, touching a French-manicured hand to her cropped cut. She fingered a few of the sleek, pointed locks that framed her conservatively made-up, middle-aged face. "I swear, I have no patience when it comes to selecting clothes. That's why I have Juliet do all of my shopping for me. It's just not worth the trouble!"

Juliet Duveaux was Bette's au pair, and anybody who worked at Twit & Bell for more than ten minutes would know it. Nearly every day Bette talked on her cell phone to Juliet, and at top volume the conversations were hard to miss. She would go from her office to the kitchen, refill her "I [heart] Saks" mug, circle the long way around, and go back to her office, the whole time loudly crooning things like: "Oh, Juliet, did Burberry really get the highest scores in class again?" Or: "Now, Juliet, I don't know how they do things in
Pahrlhee,
but you just tell Skylar-Blaise no crème brûlée until she finishes her dejeuner."

Lonnie wouldn't have believed it herself if she hadn't witnessed it so many times. Bette pulled in a nice salary at the firm, but certainly nothing that would explain her lavish lifestyle. The only thing that did explain it was her marriage to "fabulously successful" Reginald Linsey, who sold mutual funds.

"I mean, I feel just terrible about it," Bette was saying, and Lonnie broke out of her distracted trance, feeling almost embarrassed that she had missed whatever led up to it.
Almost.
"But what can I do? Reggie just insists on taking the girls to Cabo this coming week, and I simply have too much work to get through. But I told him he can make it up to me with a cruise of my choosing." Lonnie forced herself to nod with feigned interest as her head bobbed up and down and her teeth felt cemented in a Cheshire grin.

"Okay, everyone, let's get started," Beauregard said as he gave his papers one final shuffle. "We're going to have to make this meeting fairly quick because Lunther and I have to be in Chicago for a business litigation conference by late this afternoon."

"Where is Lunther anyway?" Bette asked, glancing around the airy conference room.

Beauregard looked uncomfortable, and his words betrayed a certain defensiveness when he replied, "Uh, Lunther had certain vital matters to attend to this morning, as did I, of course. However, I think it's important to touch base at these weekly meetings and—"

" 'Scuse me, 'scuse me, folks!" Lunther's voice boomed as his beefy body surged through the doorway. "Don't mind me, everyone, just let Beau keep inspiring the troops, and I'll just plop myself down here in a nice chair, and I won't say another word. Go on, Beau. Don't pay me no never mind." Then he chuckled in his own consciously folksy way, and pounced down on a comfy, leather-backed chair.

Beauregard's eye started twitching. "Ahem, yes, now as I was saying—"

"Where's Macey?" Bette asked.

"Macey?" Beauregard repeated. "Yes, well, I believe she had some briefs to tend to... and, as I said, this is going to be a quick meeting." Undoubtedly, Lonnie was the only one palpably disappointed by Macey's absence. In general, the staff didn't seem to like Macey very much. It wasn't that they disliked her, either, but they always appeared uncomfortably intimidated around her. But for some reason, Lonnie had a particularly good rapport with her. And even though she was temping as Beauregard Twit's assistant, she offered Macey help whenever she could.

Now Lonnie's attention drifted back to the meeting in progress, realizing that Beauregard was addressing the conference table, and doing his best impression of a leader. "Now, as I mentioned, Lunther and I will be in Chicago until Thursday—"

"Go, Bears!" Lunther blurted, and then chuckled.

"Uh, yes, anyway," Beauregard said, struggling to keep his tone even, while his eye tic danced wildly, "Clara and Mel aren't here right now, but I'm assuming their cases are progressing nicely and their caseload is being managed according to the normal, uh, administrative procedures." Lonnie sighed to herself. This meeting was getting more pointless with each absentee.

Beauregard turned his attention to Clara and Mel's assistant, June, and asked, "Do you have any updates or points of interest we should be made aware of at this juncture?"
Huh?

June must have wondered the same thing: she was visibly taken off guard by Twit's question. "Oh, uh, no," June said. "Everything's on schedule with Clara and Mel. In terms of their caseloads, that is."

Beauregard nodded dramatically. "Yes, very good. Now—"

"Bette, wasn't your assistant supposed to get bagels for this meeting?" Lunther interrupted.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too," B.J. added immediately. "I skipped breakfast thinking we were getting fed this morning. What's up with that?" Delia rolled her eyes.

"Where
is
your assistant?" Lunther asked.

"People—" Beauregard began.

"I had him courier some items over to the post office," Bette explained. "Although, I expected him back by now."

"Did he drive or take the T?" Matt asked, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. Lonnie wondered if anyone else noticed it. She knew Matt didn't care about Bette's assistant or his errands, or anything else at Twit & Bell except his own casework. If she had to guess, then, she'd say that Matt just liked prolonging Beauregard's tortured displacement as leader of the meeting.

"Ahem!" Twit nearly yelped. "Now, a final point of query: the status of the new stationary supplies we ordered from Paper Depot last week. Lisa?" His eyes went to Lonnie.

She pulled herself upright and answered, "Uh, they're scheduled to arrive by the end of the week."
I told you that three times already.

"Ah, well"—Beauregard paused, as if considering this—"that sounds acceptable." As
if you had a choice.
"Were you able to get the specifications that I wanted for my letterhead?"

"Well, they said at the standard price, they could only increase the size of your name to eighteen-point font. Any larger than that, you'd have to pay for graphics."

"Hmph." Twit was visibly disappointed; "Very well, I'll take the eighteen." He finished, "And, Linda, don't forget to water the plant on my desk while I'm in Chicago."

It's a cactus.
"Sure, no problem."

"And I just want to give everyone a reminder," B.J. announced. "Happy hour at Whiskey's this Friday night. I expect to see more people this week, especially my fellow twenty-somethings over here," he said, looking right at Lonnie and Matt. B.J. and Matt were both her age, but she didn't have the heart to tell them that she all but lived like a sixty-year-old anyway.

"Hey!" Delia squealed in mock-annoyance-that-was-really-real-annoyance. "Many of us are young
at heart,
you know." Lonnie noticed her slip a sly glance at Lunther. What was that about? Lunther and Twit had met in law school, and now were both in their late forties. Delia, on the other hand, just recently celebrated her thirty-fourth birthday. Lonnie knew that because Twit had put her in charge of getting Delia a cake with her favorite flavors. Of course, per Twit's instructions, the cake had to be a surprise, so she couldn't
ask
Delia what her favorite flavors were in the first place. In the end, all of Lonnie's sleuthing had landed her back at chocolate, and no one had saved her a piece.

B.J. went on, "I want to know why Lonnie never goes to happy hour. Lonnie, do you have a husband and five kids stashed somewhere we should know about?" He cracked up at his own suggestion.

Great, now everyone was looking at her for some kind of reaction. She knew B.J. didn't mean any harm, but still, she didn't love being put on the spot. He was beaming at her with his quintessential trying-too-hard smile, and her heart turned over. She wasn't made of stone, after all. So she just smiled and said, "I'm going to get there one of these days, I'm telling you."

"I don't know, Lonnie," Matt drawled. "You've said that before." His eyes were gleaming again, and his mouth quirked into a mischievous grin. He was just a troublemaker, that's all there was to it, but she couldn't help finding him entertaining sometimes.

She returned Matt's smirk and announced to the room, "I'll go to happy hour this week, okay?"

"I'm going to hold you to it this time," B.J. pronounced, and shifted his short, skinny leg to cross perpendicularly over the other.

"I'd go, too," Bette offered with what Lonnie assessed as pseudo-regret. "But Reggie and I like to spend Friday nights having 'family time' with Skylar-Blaise and Burberry. It's just so utterly special, I couldn't miss a second of it."

"Well, in conclusion, then—" Beauregard started.

"Meeting adjourned!" Lunther exclaimed. Beauregard's mouth dropped into an awkward O... as if the words had literally been stolen right from him.

Lonnie quickened her pace back to her desk when she heard her phone ring. She sprawled over the expanse of the desk, with her stomach settling against the layers of scattered papers, and grabbed it on the third ring. "Twit and Bell; Beauregard Twit's office," she squeaked out, her voice strained by her position.