Raspberry Crush (34 page)

"Yes, I can type."

"How fast?"

"Eighty words per minute," Billy said, adding an extra five words to the truth.

"Mmm, that's pretty good," Mrs. Cross replied with a brief nod. "And what about your communication skills? How do you feel about calling important people, greeting high-profile, powerful clients, presenting a professional and inviting image that represents the company?"

What was the right answer to that? That she felt fucking
thrilled
about it? As it was, she'd thought she was interviewing for a position in marketing, and only after she'd gotten there had she discovered that Bevlin Financial worked as an adjunct to Tuck Hospital—securing patronage and soliciting donations. At this point it was embarrassingly clear that without Tuck Hospital, Kip Belding would starve.

"The image you present reflects on me, of course," Mrs. Cross went on, glancing dubiously at Billy's hair.

Meanwhile Billy's head was swimming. The cacophony of printers whirring, fax machines beeping, and ten phones trilling at once was chaotic—maddening. She missed the serene work environment of the Churchill Art Gallery; she missed being in her own world, creating something, oblivious to everything else except the colors and images swirling in her mind.

"Now, as with all front-desk personnel, we'd provide you with a uniform of sorts so as to present a cohesive image for the company," Mrs. Cross went on. "It's a lovely melon-colored blazer with matching slacks." In other words, an orange suit. "In fact, I'd need you to try it on now, so I can see if I'll need to order a new one—assuming I decide to hire you, of course."

Okay, that was it. She wasn't going to take this job anyway, and she wasn't about to try on a used orange suit to spare Mrs. Cross's feelings. "You know what?" Billy said, struggling to be heard over fifty ringing phones clamoring and ricocheting off each other. "I don't think this is the right fit for me." She stood up and reached out to shake hands with Mrs. Cross, who just leaned back, eyes wide, stunned, as if she'd been slapped across the face.

Actually that image brought a smile to Billy's lips. She set her hand down and said, "Thank you for your time," and turned and walked out.

Once outside on the sidewalk, she felt an incredibly liberating sense of relief. Kip had done something very important for her today. He'd helped confirm all the little ideas and doubts swimming in the back of her brain; he'd helped her see that life was too short to be trapped in a job because she was afraid to take a chance.

He'd helped her realize that what she really wanted to do—no, what she
intended to
do—was to make a living as an artist. She had no clue how she would make that happen, but she was determined to figure it out.

* * *

"Thanks for the ride," Billy said as she and her dad walked toward the art gallery. David had given her a lift, deciding to do some fishing while he was in Churchill.

"Well, let's see what you've been working on," he said jovially.

"Okay, keep in mind it's only two-thirds done," Billy said.

"All right, I know; now let's see it."

Billy went to the far left corner, picked up the rock that secured the heavy green tarp over the mural, and gingerly pulled it back.

Across the stone was a luminous water scene with a pinky-crimson sunset and translucent, phantom images that looked almost superimposed, giving the mural a touch of the surreal.

"Billy, this is beautiful," he said, smiling warmly. Giving her a one-armed hug, he added, "I am so proud of you."

Her chest swelled with pride and satisfaction at the simple words, which meant so much, especially in light of her new resolve to work full-time at her painting.

"It's beautiful," her dad said again.

"And who's this?" Greg Dappaport called from the open entrance of the gallery. Today he had on a blue-and-white, diamond-patterned neckerchief, a houndstooth jacket, and red linen pants. His shiny loafers clicked as he descended the front steps.

"Oh, hi," Billy said brightly. "Mr. Dappaport, this is my dad, David Cabot."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said, shaking David's hand. "Billy, I suppose this is a perfect occasion then to tell you some exciting news."

"What?" she asked curiously.

"Well, as you know, I've been so pleased and enthralled by your work so far that I've dropped your name to some of the gentlemen in my yacht club. In fact, I've told my polo club, wine club, and skeet club, too." He looked from her to David, letting a ripple of laughter erupt. "You'll never believe how many of them want to commission you for portraits!"

"Really?" Billy said, breaking into a laugh herself, because it was just too fabulous.

"Now, I know landscape painting is your milieu of choice, but if you can create a mural like this"—he motioned to the street where her mural was—"I'm sure you can paint a few supercilious old codgers with one hand behind your back."

Billy laughed again, excitement swirling inside her, filling her up, making her almost giddy, and she turned to her dad. "Isn't this wonderful?" she said, smiling.

David smiled back. "I'm just so proud of you."

* * *

On her way to Seth's house that afternoon, Billy's cell phone rang. It was Corryn. "Hey," Billy said.

"Hi, I was calling to make sure you're still alive."

"How sweet."

"Seriously, have you given up this whole murder investigation thing yet?" Corryn said.

"Nope."

"Great."

"How did you know I was still investigating?" Billy asked.

"Because you were asking Mom those questions in cooking class. Anyway, at least Joe's been doing drive-bys on your street. So far nothing suspicious—that's good."

Tilting her head, Billy grinned into the phone. "And you know what Joe's doing how?"

"Oh, well..." Corryn faltered for a second. "We've been talking."

"And?"

"Okay, and we kissed."

"What! Corryn, that's awesome! When did this happen? And more important, how was it?"

"The other night, after we left Uno's. And... nice." She paused, then said, "But to tell you the truth, it was over before it got going, which was my fault."

"Well, have you guys hung out since?"

"No—"

"Oh."

"What about you? What's the deal with Seth—you guys are friends now?"

"Um, yeah." Technically they were friends—
now.
Of course, a couple days ago they were rutting animals, humping each other like sex-starved maniacs. God, it was almost inconceivable that Billy had been so wrapped up in the investigation she hadn't had a chance to catch Corryn up to speed.

As she turned the corner onto Seth's street, Billy gave her sister the abridged version, then said, "Listen, I've gotta go, but let's have a raspberry crush night soon. It's been so long."

After Corryn agreed, they said good-bye, and Billy walked up the cobblestone sidewalk to Seth's front door. She chucked her cell into her bag and knocked. No answer. She knocked again, and then she remembered the last time she'd come knocking, and went to the back. Sure enough, there were voices coming from the deck. She saw Seth sitting across from Sally, who sat adjacent to her niece, Pam.

She wanted to do an about-face, because she had no reason to be there in the first place; she'd just wanted to see him.

When Seth saw her his face broke into a smile. "Billy. Hey, come over."

Sally and Pam turned their heads, and Sally said, "Oh, hello, I remember we all met at the Dessert Jubilee."

"Yeah, hi," Billy said brightly, even though jealousy crept inside her heart. She couldn't help it; she had the distinct impression that she'd interrupted some serious matchmaking. That the tall, skinny girl with the pageboy haircut was available and interested, which didn't mean Seth was interested back, but still... just the thought of him kissing or touching anyone else made Billy's heart ache.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Billy said as she climbed onto the deck.

"You're not," Sally said. "Pam and I just brought over a gourmet lunch for Seth. Pam is responsible, actually, not me. I'm helpless in the kitchen, but Pam is a genius. Of course, there's only enough for three. Had I thought ahead, I would've brought more, but we just stopped over to talk about Pam's trip out west."

Billy swallowed uncomfortably, holding back irrational tears. So
Pam
was welcomed with open arms out west, but it never crossed Seth's mind to invite Billy. He pulled out the chair next to him for her, but Billy waved him off with her hand. "Oh, no, I can't stay. I was just working at the gallery, and I... Well, Seth, could I talk to you privately for just a second? I wanted to tell you something."

"Oh, sure," he said, and led her through the sliding glass door into the kitchen. "What's up?" he asked as soon as they were alone.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said again, now with annoyance clipping her tone.

"You're not. Sally just showed up."

"Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that everything's all set. Georgette's gonna come to Atlas after work tonight. You're still coming, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm coming. By the way, how did you convince Georgette to come?"

"Well, it wasn't that tough, because she loves to go dancing, but I had to ask Des, too, so it wouldn't look suspicious. So while you're probing Georgette for information, I'll keep Des busy."

"Okay," Seth said with a nod. "Now, you're sure you feel safe being with Georgette? I mean, in light of the fact that she is probably the one stalking you?"

"Yeah, because she has no idea I'm on to her. Anyway, there's a good chance that she doesn't really want to hurt me, just to scare me off the case."

Last night Billy had come up with their plan of attack and Seth had grudgingly agreed: It was no secret that Georgette found Seth attractive, so she was more likely to spill something incriminating to him, especially if she had a few drinks in her. Not that they expected her to confess to Ted's murder, but maybe she'd reveal a detail or two about her past that would at least give them something to take to the police.

"Seth!" Sally called from the deck. They could hear her through the glass and see her waving him back to the table. "Your lunch is getting cold!"

With a nod he held up his hand, then turned back to Billy. "What time do you want me to meet you at Atlas?"

She could barely make eye contact with him, because she was so filled with moodiness right now. Her chest tightened with jealousy and longing, and she hated that this girl was moving in on her man (who wasn't her man). Obviously Billy's possessiveness wasn't justified, but tell that to her churning gut and her thudding heart.

No, she had to get a grip here. Pam had every right to pursue Seth. Billy needed to grow up, to be the bigger person, and she didn't just mean her dress size. "Meet me at seven," she said as she turned on her heel. "I'll just leave you three to... you know... whatever," she added, and slid open the glass door.

Seth caught her arm before she could go. "Hey—is anything wrong?"

"No," Billy replied, her blood boiling, albeit unreasonably. "Nothing at all."

Chapter 27

"So, Seth, you married?"

Georgette leaned in closer and let her big breasts fall flat on the tabletop. She and Des were seated across from Billy and Seth in a dark booth at Atlas.

"No, I'm not married," he replied. Unfortunately he didn't elaborate (something along the lines of, "After Billy, I became celibate," would've been nice). "My company keeps me pretty busy."

"Ooh, you own your own company?" Georgette asked. "Pretty fancy."

"Not really. It's a consulting firm in Seattle. Basically we help start up small businesses." Shrugging, he added humbly, "It's a living."

"Ya know, I've always wanted to see Seattle," Georgette said. "Hey, if I ever come to town, could I stay at your place?"

Billy almost choked on her Diet Coke, while Seth floundered for an answer. "Uh... well, to tell you the truth, I travel a lot... so—"

Luckily, the waitress interrupted at that moment to bring Des a beer and Georgette a refill of tequila. Georgette threw her head back as she took the shot, while Billy struggled to understand her unreadable coworker. They'd been at Atlas for half an hour already, and so far Billy hadn't picked up any signs that Georgette had any other agenda besides getting into Seth's pants. She'd thought now that she was looking for signs, they'd be easier to find.

On the other hand, the night was still young, and Georgette was very preoccupied with Seth at the moment. Of course, Billy was counting on that, hoping Georgette would be distracted enough by her hormones to slip up and reveal something.

"So," Seth began, "how do you guys like your job at Bella Donna?"

Des shrugged and avoided eye contact. "It's great if you like bureaucratic bullshit," he replied flatly.

"It's fine," Georgette drawled. "Same shit, different day."

"I hear you," Seth said, smiling at her, and Billy could tell he was about to start fishing. "So, Georgette... what does your husband do?"

"Besides bone his new wife?" she said drunkenly. "How should I know?"

"Oh," Seth said, acting surprised, "you're divorced, then?"

"No—never married the guy. Just lived with him. Basically was his
slave."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Seth said diplomatically.

"I sure know how to pick 'em," Georgette said with a hint of a sneer, then tilted her head and winked through her big pink glasses. "Present company excepted."

Seth smiled again, and Billy twisted her napkin in her lap. She knew she should make small talk with Des so that Georgette would feel more comfortable spilling something to Seth—so Billy would look oblivious to their conversation—but she couldn't seem to tear herself away, and anyway, Des was being unusually withdrawn tonight.

"Well, at least you didn't have to go through an upsetting divorce," Seth said casually.

"Yeah, tried that once already, didn't care for it," Georgette remarked, then crept her hand further into the center of the table. With each moment that ticked by, Billy noticed pudgy, acrylic-tipped fingers walking slowly but greedily toward Seth.