Raspberry Crush

by Jill Winters

  Billy reserved comment, because she didn't want to say anything against Melissa, even though she was thinking that if what Des said was true, it was a really bitchy move on her part.

  "So, Billy... what do you say?" Des said, ducking his head down almost shyly and looking up at her with hooded eyes.

  "About what?" she asked.

  "You and me," he replied.

  Gulp—where did that come from?

  "I dig you, Billy," he said (punching his heart on the word "dig"), "and I don't wanna dance around it anymore, you know?"

  Oh, Lord, what the hell was Des saying? And why did he have to pick the least convenient time to say it? Georgette and Seth were heading back this way.

  "So what about it?" Des said, and ran his finger along the back of Billy's hand. She involuntarily jerked at the contact, and then felt guilty when a hurt look crossed Des's face.

  "Um, well... Des, I like you a lot; you know that. But as I mentioned, Mark and I still have something going, and..." She looked off to the side for the words. "You know, we're friends."

  She regretted the words, though they were necessary, because the "friends" routine never made anyone feel better. Ryan had called her his friend right before he'd dumped her.

  Now Des slammed his beer down on the bar. "Whatever," he said.

  "Wait, Des... I'm sorry, I—"

  "Just forget it," he snapped, turning from her. "I thought you were different, but you're just like all the rest." He walked away, disappearing out of Atlas, leaving Billy in a vague state of shock. As she headed back to the booth, she met up with Georgette and Seth by the table.

  "I'm goin' to the can!" Georgette shouted over the music.

  Seth dropped into the booth next to Billy. Letting out a sigh, he ran his hand through his hair. "Okay, so I take it Georgette just got out of prison?"

  Billy laughed and buried her head in her hands. So far this night bordered on the absurd. "How are you holding up?" she asked, grinning, and touching his arm.

  "Jesus, she was all over me," he said, and not as though he was bragging about it, but as if he were disoriented and mildly concerned. "Anyway, I didn't find out too much—the music was too loud. I kept trying to ask her about the jubilee, and she kept having to lean in closer to hear me. At one point my lips almost touched her ear—a little too intimate for me."

  "I'm sorry," Billy said, "but let's give it a little longer. Try again when she comes back." She ignored Seth's grimace. "Also, I was thinking about the tomatoes smeared on my window. It makes sense. Georgette must've heard me telling Melissa about my feud with my neighbor, and that's how she got that idea."

  Just then Georgette came bounding back. "Move over, hot stuff," she said, winking at Seth. When she slid into the booth, she blatantly hip-checked him. He winced with slight annoyance, but she didn't seem to notice. Then Georgette drunkenly took out her wallet and dumped its contents on the table. As she was sorting through dollar bills, presumably to pay for her three tequilas, Billy noticed some wallet-size photos strewn across the table. She nudged Seth, who picked them up.

  "Oh, who's this?" he asked, sounding interested—solicitous.

  "That's Gary, the asshole," Georgette replied, grimacing like she was just barely holding down the puke.

  "And what about this guy?" Seth asked, now holding up a photo of a black man, around thirty.

  "That was Leroy," Georgette said, her mouth drooping into a lopsided frown. "My ex-husband."

  What?

  "This is your ex-husband?" Billy asked, shocked. Just then she spotted a worn-looking social security card on the table. Almost savagely Billy snatched it up and read the name printed across it: Georgette Walters.

  Grabbing Leroy's photo out of Seth's hand, Georgette tried to spit on it, but her spittle missed its target. "Damn bastard, I loved you," she said, and then she started bawling. And Billy sat there, absorbing the fact that her whole brilliant airtight theory had just deflated.

  * * *

  "Now what?" Seth asked as he and Billy sat in his car with the heat running. "Does that scrap the whole Bella Donna theory?"

  Billy had been mulling exactly that since they'd dismissed Georgette as a suspect, and then she suddenly remembered something Des had said. A thought occurred to her; it was a crazy thought. Turning to Seth, she pushed her scarf down to uncover her mouth and said, "What about Melissa?"

  "You don't think... Melissa? But you know her; you went to school with her. She's your friend."

  "Well, I went to school with her, but to be honest, I don't think I'd really call her my friend." It was the truth. Melissa was good to chat with at work, and for some occasional laughs, but they really didn't spend time together outside of work. Billy supposed it was because, at the heart of it, besides a degree from Boston College, they had very little in common. Melissa was stylish, a little snobby, and sometimes passive-aggressive—while Billy wore a battered old coat and wasn't particularly passive or aggressive. Unless she really wanted something, she supposed. Like now.

  "Let's go," she said, suddenly realizing what they had to do.

  "Where are we going?" Seth asked, revving up the engine, poising his hand on the gearshift.

  "Law school," she replied. He shot her a skeptical look but she urged him on, and he pulled out of the parking lot and headed back onto Lansdowne Street. "I want to talk to Melissa. I just remembered she has a seminar tonight." Billy glanced at the clock in Seth's car. "Oh, my God, it gets out at ten, and it's already nine forty-five!"

  They sped down Comm. Ave., and Seth asked, "So you really think Melissa killed Ted?"

  "I don't know, but I'd forgotten that Melissa had left the jubilee early. Said she had a headache. But what if she didn't leave Churchill at all?"

  "Where are you getting that?" he asked curiously. She explained about Melissa's car being wet from the rain, and the possibility that Melissa had only pretended to leave the jubilee early so she would have an alibi in case anyone suspected foul play in Ted Schneider's death. "But what was her motive?" Seth said.

  Billy related what Des had said about Melissa's finally locating her long-lost father. "Her real dad was a drifter—just like Ted Schneider was. If Ted was Melissa's father, maybe she killed him to get back at him for abandoning her and never being a part of her life."

  She looked at the clock again. Damn it! Nine fifty-five.

  "Seth, can't you go any faster?" Billy asked frantically.

  "Yeah, I could go a lot faster if there weren't cars on the road," he said.

  "Okay, okay," she said, anxiously twisting her hands in her lap as she watched the city lights blitz past her window, feeling that they were on the verge of a major confrontation. If only they could make it to Melissa on time.

  Chapter 27

  "She has to be coming out anytime now," Billy whispered to Seth as they hunkered down behind a thick cloud of bushes outside the law building. There was a stone quad with a fountain in the middle, and students were drifting out the double doors. They were waiting to see Melissa—looking for telltale signs in the darkness: her long, curly hair, her stick-skinny body, her trademark cup of coffee in hand.

  "There she is!" Billy said.

  "Come on; let's go," Seth said, starting to come out of the bushes.

  "No, wait!" she said, tugging on the arm of his coat to pull him back. "You stay here."

  "Why?"

  "Trust me; she'll never open up if you're there. The best chance I have of getting her to admit anything is if I talk to her myself."

  "New twist," Seth said dryly—obviously still somewhat put off by Georgette's advances. "But what's your plan?"

  "To bluff," was all she said. Brushing some leaves off the front of her sweater, she whispered, "But wait here in case I need you."

  "Billy, I don't like this. I want to be there to make sure nothing happens to you."

  "Please, just do it my way," she said, squeezing his arm with affection, and he relented with a frustrated sigh. Good enough.


  Bursting onto the quad, Billy scurried over to Melissa just as she was tossing her coffee cup into a nearby trash bin.

  "Melissa!" she called, coming closer.

  Melissa's eyes shot wide open. "Billy? What are you doing here?"

  "I'm here to talk to you about some threats I've received."

  "What, more from your neighbor?"

  "No, more from you," Billy replied. Her tone was deliberately calm—confident—as pulse-pounding adrenaline rattled through her.

  Bluff.

  "What are you talking about?" Melissa said waspishly.

  "It took me a while to figure it out," Billy said, walking right up to her. "The way I'd tell you about the threats, and you'd always convince me not to go to the police, not to confront my neighbor. Because it was you."

  Melissa scoffed. "You're crazy. I'm out of here."

  "If you go now, I will go to the police," Billy called after her.

  Melissa turned around, her mass of curly hair flying. "And tell them what? You have no proof of anything."

  "No? What if I could prove that you didn't really leave early the night of the jubilee? That you were in Churchill the whole time?" Whipping around, Melissa bit her lip, looking anxious, almost tremulous. She was panicking! "You never went home," Billy continued, deliberately sounding overconfident. "You were in Churchill. I know what you did."

  "Oh, why don't you just go back to your perfect life and leave me alone!" Melissa snapped, clutching her forehead as though she were literally browbeaten. Meanwhile, Billy wondered, Perfect life? Where had that come from?

  "Is that what you were hoping for?" Billy asked. "That by threatening me with phone messages and creepy notes and the tomatoes that I'd just stop asking questions about Ted Schneider's murder?"

  Melissa shut her eyes, obviously not fully listening, but willing Billy to disappear. "Why did you have to come work at Bella Donna?" she muttered. "Everything was so much better before you came."

  "You mean better before I started asking questions about Ted Schneider?" Billy challenged.

  "Huh?" Melissa said, looking genuinely baffled. "Who's that?"

  "Nice try. Ted Schneider—as in the man who died at the jubilee. As in the man you killed. As in your father!"

  "What?" Melissa yelled, and manically shook her head. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "I... um... wait—what are you talking about?" Billy said. "I mean, Ted Schneider was your father—" •

  "No, he wasn't. I didn't even know the guy!"

  "But... Des said you found your father."

  "I did; he was a truck driver from Belmont, left-handed like me. What does that have to do with anything?"

  "But if you didn't kill Ted, why did you do all those things? The notes, the calls? The tomatoes, for chrissake?"

  Melissa sighed, looking drained and tired. Sinking down onto a bench, she buried her face in her hands.

  "Melissa?" Billy pressed. "You did do those things, didn't you?"

  Finally she mumbled, "I'm sorry." Billy waited for her to elaborate—forgetting for a moment that Seth was in the bushes watching all of this unfold. "I did those things because I just wanted you to go away," Melissa explained. Well, Billy had to admit, the phone messages and notes that said, quote, "Go away," definitely made the point. "I also threw out Des's manifesto so he'd see it and think that you'd done it—so he'd hate you."

  "But why?" Billy asked, confused. If this wasn't about Ted Schneider, then what? Melissa was the one who'd gotten Billy the job at Bella Donna in the first place. Now all of a sudden she hated her?

  "I was jealous," Melissa said. "Damn, I need coffee. I knew the tomatoes would be a good idea because I remembered what you'd told me once about your neighbor being pissed about her tomatoes. I thought I'd mess with your head, make you feel paranoid in your own home. Hopefully even get you to make a fool of yourself by accusing your neighbor." Mission accomplished, Billy thought, remembering her now-ludicrous confrontation with Lady McAvit.

  Billy sat down next to her on the bench. "You said you were jealous. But, Melissa, jealous of what?" Futilely, she tried to keep the incredulity out of her voice, the disbelief that someone would be so jealous of her.

  "Of Mark," Melissa replied, looking up at Billy. "I liked him before you ever worked at the bakery. He used to come in, and I really, really liked him. And then you showed up and he immediately falls for you. I couldn't believe it! It wasn't fair," she went on. "I'm skinny, I wear nice clothes, I'm in law school—I'm the one he should've gone for." The implication was clear: Billy was dumpy, frumpy, and headed nowhere. Way to add insult to injury.

  But when tears welled in Melissa's eyes, Billy felt an irrational stab of pity. "Melissa, I had no idea you liked Mark," she said. "I never would've gone out with him if I'd known." As immature as it was, it was true. She would've backed off if Melissa had called dibs.

  "Mark was bad enough," Melissa went on, starting to sob, "but then when your hot-as-hell ex-boyfriend shows up, and he's all into you, too, I just couldn't take it anymore! I don't get it—how do these guys all like you? You're not even thin." True, but she still hoped Seth hadn't heard that part. In fact, she'd hoped that Seth and Mark hadn't noticed the soft, gushy conglomeration of curves and jiggles she liked to call her body.

  "I couldn't believe it," Melissa said again. "It's like everything just comes so easily to you. You start working at the bakery, and boom, after two months you're Donna's favorite with all your stupid little cake designs," Melissa said snidely. And suddenly Billy remembered....

  "My original cakes for the jubilee—you ruined them?" she asked, just guessing.

  With a dry laugh, Melissa barked, "A lot of good it did me! You just made even better ones. Life is so unfair!" Her sobs became heavier, louder, until her shoulders shook and her face completely crumpled. Then, burying her head in her hands, Melissa began to howl.

  Billy looked around to see if anyone was looking, but the quad was deserted. She shrugged at Seth in the bushes, whom she couldn't see, but knew was there. What was this, nervous breakdown night? First Georgette, now Melissa. Two people who seemed the most in control of their own destinies. "Seemed" being the key word. (But then, wasn't it always?)

  Billy let the howling go on for a couple moments before patting Melissa's shoulder. "Melissa? Um... are you okay?" Brilliant question. Obviously "okay" was the last thing she was. Melissa sniffled a response, but it was unintelligible, so Billy went on, "Look, don't worry about what's happened, all right?" She couldn't believe she was saying that, but she was just trying to pacify Melissa, who was obviously a closet mess. "I mean, as long as you don't do it again, maybe we can just forget the whole thing."

  "Aaaahhhh!"

  Okay, did that mean she was in favor of forgetting? Had she even heard anything Billy had just said?

  "Calm down, calm down," Billy said trying to coax her ex-friend off the proverbial ledge. Jeez, did Melissa really like Mark Warner that much? How could Billy not have seen it?

  "The last thing I need is for you to be n-nice about it," she choked out through heavy sobs. "One time I even watched you and Mark outside your building. I know it was wrong, but I just felt obsessed with it." Suddenly Billy remembered the night she'd heard sounds coming from the bushes outside her brownstone. Melissa had been lurking—spying on her.

  "I'm so lonely," Melissa said now, followed by another burst of aaaabhhh.

  "Lonely? You? But you've got such a busy, full life." Of course, taking out the stalker part might leave a slight void.

  "But I want a b-boyfriend," she said as she wiped her nose on her sleeve. Well, sure, who didn't? Providing the boyfriend was sweet, caring, sexy, and perfect.

  "Hey, I'm sure you'll find one; it just takes time," Billy said soothingly, and in the back of her mind she knew it was vaguely ridiculous that after everything that'd happened, she was trying to comfort this girl.

  Also, she felt a pang of guilt that Seth was still crouched down in the bushes, but she
knew bringing him out of hiding now would only make things worse.

  Finally Melissa's internal well ran dry. She quieted her racking sobs, sniffled up all her mucus, and turned to face Billy. "Can you keep a secret?" she asked, eyes wide and reddened.

  "Uh, sure... of course," Billy said, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. Oh, come on, she didn't want to know Melissa Aggerdeen's secrets. Or anyone else's that didn't pertain to Ted Schneider's murder. She just wanted an uncomplicated existence, a paycheck, her health, and some nonrisky excitement. "But, um, don't feel pressured to tell me," she added.

  Melissa seemed terribly anxious to unburden herself, though. Inhaling a deep, shuddering breath, she said, "The truth is, for the past few months I've been kind of addicted to Match-dot-com—you know, the computer dating service?"

  "Why would I know it?" Billy said, immediately defensive, then came to her senses. "I mean, uh, sure, I've heard of it. So what's wrong with that?"

  "I can't seem to stop. That's why I sneaked out of the jubilee. I went to the library to use the Internet. And I'm late to work all the time because I lose all track of time. Every day it's the same thing. I wake up at around four, go online, and before I know it it's twelve in the afternoon and I'm still in my pajamas!"

  Billy didn't know whether to drop her jaw in shock or burst out laughing. So that was Melissa Aggerdeen's "secret." Interesting. Lame. And she supposed only mildly deviant. Suddenly she remembered what Claudia Dibbs had said about a girl using the computers the night of the jubilee. It had been Melissa.

  "Only one time did I actually get the courage to meet one of the men in person," she went on. "That night at the Rack, remember?" So that had been Melissa! "I shouldn't have just run off," she said, sniffling again. "But I knew you saw me, and I panicked. I just felt so self-conscious about the whole thing. Why can't my life just come together like yours? Why don't men like me? I can't even meet a guy in cyberspace who really likes me—nobody likes me!"