Raspberry Crush (17 page)

"Oh... yes. Ted," Pen said calmly, and just a bit plaintively. "We weren't involved long, just a couple months, but still I really cared about him."

Billy nodded, suddenly feeling furious with Ted for leaving, even though she had no idea
why
he'd left. "What happened?" she asked gently.

Pen shrugged. "Even now, I'm still not really sure what happened. We were happy. I mean, I thought we were." She reached for her china mug and sipped the tea she'd set down for them. "I never really wanted to talk about it—at least not at the time, because I was so upset, and..." Her voice trailed off momentarily, but Billy could guess why Pen hadn't wanted to talk about it: Venting was not her style. Very reserved by nature, Pen had always been more of a listener than a talker.

Except that now it seemed that she
wanted
to talk. And Billy couldn't help feeling flattered that she would be viewed as a confidante. "It was really strange. I cared about Ted so much, and in some ways I felt like I really knew him. But..." She sighed, sitting back against the armchair. "After he left I thought about it, and I realized there was so much I didn't know."

"What do you mean?" Billy asked.

"Well, he told me once that he'd grown up around here, but he didn't like to talk about it. I never pressed, because I figured he'd open up more in time. Then, after he was gone, I wished I had pressed, because it might've explained things more."

"Explained how?" Billy said, confused. She didn't want to tell her aunt about Ted's death yet—okay, in truth, she didn't want to tell her at all—because she didn't want Pen to get upset. Billy was hoping she would be able to gauge better what she should tell Pen once she learned a little more about how the relationship with Ted had ended.

"You see, Ted used to get these ominous phone calls at his apartment. I don't know if they were hang-ups or what, but at first he'd just make light of it, joke it off and try to distract me so I'd forget. Finally I told him I was getting concerned and I needed him to be honest with me. That's when he told me that he owed some people some money, but that he didn't want to get me involved."

"Who did he owe money to? A bookie or something?"

Pen shrugged. "Wish I knew. He said he didn't want to talk about it, and stupidly I didn't press. I figured he'd tell me the details when he was ready. But I did offer to loan him the money." She blushed then, shaking her head and putting a soft-looking hand to her cheek. "I know that must sound crazy, but at the time I cared about him, and..."

Billy swallowed, feeling a lump of indescribable emotion form in her throat. "Well... um... did you ever loan him the money?" she asked.

Pen shook her head. "No. He was very proud and old-fashioned; he felt strange taking the money from me, but he finally said he would think about it. The next thing I knew, he was gone." Billy waited for her to say more. "He left me a Dear John letter, telling me that he was sorry, but that he had to leave Massachusetts. He said someone from his past was after him and he couldn't bear to get me involved."

"Someone from his past," Billy echoed, as unsettling anxiousness frittered manically in her chest, making her breath come up short. "Is that who he'd owed money to?"

"I don't know; I suppose," Pen said with a sigh of resignation. "That's why I wish I had asked him more about his background. Where exactly he'd grown up, what his life was like before he met me. Maybe then I would've been able to make more sense of things."

She looked down at her hands folded on her lap for a moment, and when she looked back up her eyes were a little glassy. "Oh, look at me, will you?" she said, smiling wanly. "I'm just an old fool, still letting myself believe there was any truth in that Dear John letter. It was all a lie, I'm sure. Ted left me and gave me a ridiculous story, and to this day I still like to tell myself that maybe, just maybe, the story was the truth."

Billy's heart sank. Her gut tightened into a tense knot and churned with frustration. On the one hand she felt terrible for the hurt and rejection her aunt had suffered.
Been there, done that.
She and Seth had dated only a few months, too, but when he'd left Billy had been crushed. Almost unbearably sad. Not to mention in denial and a little desperate to rationalize.

Still... Billy wasn't so sure Pen
was
rationalizing. She wasn't so sure that Ted's Dear John letter had been the absolute truth.

God, was it crazy to think that...

Maybe Ted's death had not been an accident after all?

Her mind raced frantically with the disturbing but undeniable facts. Ted had grown up in Massachusetts. Nobody in Churchill seemed to like him, yet nobody seemed to
know
him, either. Or so they claimed. Sally Sugarton and her friends had joked loudly about Ted's nut allergy—an allergy that he'd obviously been careful about, yet he somehow managed to ingest a high enough dose of nuts to kill him in a matter of moments.

He'd told Penelope that he owed someone money. He'd said someone from his past had been after him. God, was it possible that that someone had finally caught up with him? Had someone from his past finally gotten him after all?

"Billy, what is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."

She wasn't even going to touch that. "No... it's nothing." Okay, she could not tell Pen about Ted's death. Not yet. Not when so much was left unexplained. Billy did not believe for one second that Ted had died by accident or because of pure carelessness. Not anymore, not after what Pen had told her.

Pen...

She still thought that Ted had dumped her cold. That he'd provided a bullshit excuse, abandoned her, made a fool of her. Billy didn't believe that, but she couldn't be absolutely positive unless she found out what had really happened to the elusive Ted Schneider—both then and now.

Stroking Pike Bishop's fur, Billy gazed into the fireplace, watching flames flicker and listening to wood crackle as Penelope sipped her tea. If Ted had been murdered, Billy was determined to find out why. Now, of course, her interest was personal.

* * *

When she got home that night, her machine was blinking. There was a message from Mark explaining that his cell was dead. He gave her another number to call, and when Billy dialed it, there were two rings before a woman answered.

"Oh, hi... is Mark there?" Billy asked.

"Hold on," the woman said. "Who's this, please?"

"This is Billy," she said, wanting to ask the same question, but the words didn't come quickly enough.

A few moments later Mark came on the line. "Billy?"

"Yeah, hi. Who was that woman? And what number is this?"

"Oh, that was my friend's girlfriend. They've been over here hanging out, and she let me borrow her cell phone to call you. She said I could give you the number to call me back."

"Oh, I see," Billy said, knowing the explanation was reasonable, but she couldn't help feeling irked. If Mark had time to hang out with his friends on a weeknight, why didn't he have time to hang out with
her?

"So how was your night, cutie?" His super-upbeat, thrilled-to-hear-from-her demeanor softened her annoyance. They talked for about fifteen minutes. She told him what happened at the jubilee, but didn't mention Aunt Penelope's connection to the man who'd died. She didn't feel like getting into it at the moment, but she'd do it in person—which reminded her... "So when can I see you?" she asked. "How about a sleepover one night this week?"

"Let me think...."

"C'mon it'll be fun," she said coaxingly, then joked, "I won't try anything, I swear."

Mark chuckled. "I'd definitely love to do that, Billy, but... well, let me check my work schedule and get back to you. I'm going to some pretty out-of-the-way stores this week, so I'll need to get an early start. Plus, I'll probably get a better night's sleep in my own bed."

"Well, I don't mind having a sleepover at your place...?" she offered, hoping he'd take the bait. Leaning against the wall, she inhaled a frustrated breath, realizing that inviting herself over was not exactly her idea of being swept off her feet, but it would have to do.

"You know, this week I honestly think it'll be tough," Mark said jovially. Meanwhile, Billy felt like disappointment had punched her in the stomach. She and Mark obviously liked each other, but if they didn't spend more time together, how were things ever going to advance to the next level? How were they ever going to grow closer—into a loving couple?

And putting love aside—what did this boy care more about: sleep or cheap thrills? She was honestly beginning to wonder... was it
her?

"Okay, I understand," she said, finally relenting on the sleepover idea.

"Great, thanks, Billy, you're the best!" Mark said merrily. "Listen, thanks a lot for being you." She had to roll her eyes at that one. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, he told her he couldn't wait to see her that coming weekend, and then they hung up. Billy threw off her coat, stripped out of her clothes on the way to bathroom, and then jumped into a hedonistically long, hot shower.

Afterward she rubbed some raspberry-scented body lotion on her legs and arms, slid into a cotton pajama pants and a faded sweatshirt, and curled up on the sofa. Once she was settled under an afghan, she realized that she was craving chocolate, so she flipped on the TV for Pike, who was on the sofa, too, and padded into the kitchen, pulling her wet hair up into a ponytail on the way. Instantly she went for the king-size Special Dark bar in the freezer, but, feeling guilty, she broke it in half. Grabbing an ice-cold Diet Coke from the fridge, she nudged the door closed with her hip and went back to the living room.

Once Billy was settled back on the sofa, she thought again about Ted Schneider's death. She couldn't get it out of her head that there had been foul play involved, and now that she was home and relaxed, she could really mull over her strategy. She was determined to do some investigating, but where would she even begin?

The sudden blasting whir of sirens shattered her calm. She put a hand to her heart, a little unnerved as the strident shrill of the siren, which was getting unbearably and unendingly closer. Then she felt a fleeting stab of panic: Maybe her building was the one on fire!

Quickly she threw back the afghan, climbed off the couch, and headed over to her bay window. With a crisp snap, the shade flew up.

"Aah!" she yelped, jumping away from the window, startled out of her wits. Her heart slammed hard and frantically against her ribs, and her chest tightened in acute, choking fear. "Oh, my God," she said softly, shaking her head. "Oh, my God."

Pike started barking like crazy. He must've sensed something was wrong, and, as always, he was right. Something red was smeared all over the outside of her window, and she could only shudder to guess what it was. Blood? Guts?

Whatever it was, it was chunky-style.

God, I'm gonna be sick,
Billy thought, clutching her roiling stomach and trying not to panic. Only after a few deep, ragged breaths was she able to take a closer look at the window.
Wait a minute... no... yes.

Fucking... crazy!

The red on her window wasn't blood, and it wasn't guts. The goddamn mess was tomatoes.

Chapter 14

"Tomatoes?"

"Uh-huh. Last night I was pretty sure, but today, with the sunlight, I could tell."

"What the
hell
?" Melissa said, gripping her black coffee and looking pissed on Billy's behalf as she leaned against the table. She'd come to the back to give Georgette a list of new menu ideas from the suggestion box—told her to "make them happen," because they'd already been cleared with Donna. Now there was a lot of cursing and pans slamming around in the kitchen, but Melissa just ignored it while Billy filled her in on last night's events.

"And you really think your neighbor did it?" Melissa asked.

With a sigh, Billy exchanged the tip of her pastry bag for a narrower one. "I never would've thought Lady McAvit was capable of something like that, but... I mean, who else? She's obviously still mad about Pike eating her tomatoes."

"Ah, so the tomatoes on the window is what—her psychotic, emblematic statement?"

"I guess," Billy mumbled, shaking her head and crouching down to draw a perfect orange jack-o'-lantern on the fudge frosting. She was in the process of decorating four dozen Halloween cupcakes for the front of the store. "I just can't deal anymore," she continued. "I knocked on her door this morning to try to reason with her, but there was no answer. Should I go to the police?"

"Hmm... that's a tough one," Melissa said, mulling it over. Billy hoped that, as a law student, Melissa might have some keen insight about these kinds of disputes. The only other person Billy had told so far was Corryn who'd been beyond livid. In fact, it had taken Billy an hour to convince her sister not to storm the brownstone, and to just let her handle it.

Now Melissa set her coffee down and crossed her arms over her chest. As always, her sleek all-black designer clothes contrasted loudly with Billy's attire—a lilac-colored sweater and bootleg khakis (that were tight on her boot). She told Billy about a case she'd learned about in a law seminar: Two petty neighbors brought every squabble they had to court, until they both ended up too broke to keep their apartments. "I mean, I just want you to keep in mind this is your
neighbor
we're talking about," Melissa said. "You've got to live with this person, so unless you have proof it was her, getting the police involved might only make things tenser and more unbearable. And you don't want to get into a situation where she sues you, claiming you made conditions in the brownstone 'unlivable.' "

"What! That's crazy. I—"

"I know, I know, it sucks," Melissa said sympathetically. "But it's just one of those sticky situations."

True... and Billy was torn. Last night, after she'd calmed down, she'd paced around her apartment—or maybe she'd paced first
to
calm down?—and then decided to sleep on it. Lady McAvit was the obvious culprit; who else would expect Billy to understand the significance of tomatoes smeared on her window? It made sense to confront her, but by the same token, if Lady McAvit
had
done it, could she be anything other than certifiably demented? And in that case, Billy didn't relish the prospect of exacerbating her dementia.