Raspberry Crush (18 page)

Besides, she couldn't prove anything. This morning she'd polled some of her neighbors across the street, but none of them had seen anything. That wasn't surprising, though, because of the large oak tree outside the brownstone, with thick, leafy branches that hung right in front of Billy's fire escape.

Still, the fact remained: She couldn't let Lady McAvit continue to fester in this bizarre pool of animosity. "Okay, I won't get the police involved yet, but what are my other options?"

Melissa shrugged. "Be nice to her. Kiss her ass." The advice sounded funny coming from a girl who rarely kissed ass and, if anything, inspired others to do so. Still, there was a certain logic to it.

"All right," Billy said after a moment of reflection. "I will try one more time to smooth things over." Although she'd already apologized twice, and sent a basket of fruit last week, but fine. A little more groveling and maybe the grudge-holding, psychotic battle-ax downstairs would see the light. Then they could settle this and finally move on.

"It seems like your best bet for now," Melissa agreed. "Be extra friendly when you see her; maybe hold the door for her, bring in her mail."

Okay, let's not go that far.
She wasn't her butler, for chrissake. But she understood the basic concept, and decided to put Lady McAvit out of her mind for the moment.

And instead she focused on Ted Schneider. What had happened to him? Who
was
that mysterious stranger? Curiosity stirred wildly inside her; she just couldn't let it drop. And maybe it sounded crazy, but Billy thought if she could find out who killed Ted, then maybe she'd have something to tell her aunt Penelope. If Billy could prove that Ted had been telling the truth—that someone really
had
been after him—then Aunt Penelope would know, once and for all, that he hadn't been lying to her. That he'd left because he
had
to.

Well, she was going to Churchill tomorrow to meet with Greg Dappaport anyway; maybe when she was there, she could do some snooping around.

Just then Des sauntered into the back. "Hey, what are you guys talking about in here?"

"Tomatoes," Melissa replied, then smiled sweetly. "You know, those little round things people throw at you and your band?"

"Ha-ha," he mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Billy grinned and turned her attention back to the Halloween cupcakes, starting to draw a witch on one, when Katie popped her head through the door to tell them there was a line of customers out front.

Billy set down her pastry bag to go, when Melissa stopped her. "No, Billy, you finish what you were doing. Des and I can handle it. C'mon," she said, giving her stepbrother a light shove toward the front. He grumbled something about the gluttony of "white-collar sellouts"—i.e., Bella Donna's clientele—and then they were gone.

Leaving Billy alone with her thoughts, and way too many cupcakes.

* * *

That afternoon was windy with the biting chill of autumn. After her shift at the bakery, Billy headed to Churchill to meet with Greg Dappaport. Now, as she turned the corner, she tossed out her café mocha to hug her arms across her chest and rub some heat into her bones.

The Churchill Art Gallery was a pristine stucco building about two hundred feet from the ocean, with a manicured side lawn and a giant weeping willow. There was a wide stone threshold in front. Was that where her mural would be?

Sucking in a nervous breath, Billy climbed the white steps that led to the entrance. Clutched to her chest she had her portfolio, which included some of her graphic designs as well as her own drawings. She'd even worn the tried-and-true interview suit, yet was much more nervous for this meeting than she'd been for the one with Kip Belding. Who, by the way, still hadn't called, apparently unable to tap into any open positions besides glorified orderly at Tuck Hospital in Dorchester.

The interior of the Churchill Art Gallery looked the way one would expect: pristine white carpet, pristine white walls, and splashy paintings all around. Freestanding sculptures filled each corner, and classical music played quietly overhead.

"Billy?"

Spinning around, she saw Dappaport shuffling toward her wearing a double-breasted burgundy suit with a blinding yellow neckerchief flapping in his wake. He extended his arms as he approached, and though she felt utterly ridiculous about it, Billy hugged him. "Greg Dappaport," he said by way of reintroduction. "It's lovely to see you again!"

"Hi," Billy said brightly. "I was so flattered by your call."

"I know Sally introduced us briefly at the jubilee, but did I meet you before that?"

Of course, she hadn't planned on mentioning the incident on the beach, but now that Dappaport had brought it up, she realized it might be a good way to get some information about Ted Schneider, so she pushed her pride aside. "Actually, I did see you on the beach before the jubilee began," she said tentatively, studying his reaction.

Quizzical for a moment, Dappaport said, "Oh, yes, that's right! How dreadful—I'm afraid you didn't see me at my best. I was having an unfortunate argument with that horrid fisherman who insisted on keeping his obscene eyesore of a boat docked in a prominently visible slip. I'm sorry—-I know it's tacky to speak ill of the dead—but the man seemed intent on ruining the decor of the jubilee, not to mention the
town
." She nodded with feeling, because he was a potential employer, but inside, she was suppressing a grin. If Dappaport had such a disdain for the tacky, then what was up with that blinding neckerchief? Although, in fairness, it looked somewhat more natural on him than on Fred from
Scooby-Doo.

"In fact, the boat's
still
docked in the Churchill marina, and I suppose it will be until the man's affairs are settled. The SS
Drifter,
if you can believe that name. It's just sitting there, silently mocking us all. Anyway, I've decided to give up the crusade." He ran a hand over his widow's peak and smiled genteelly at her. "Now back to our business."

He went on to explain what he had in mind for the smooth expanse of stone in the front of the gallery: namely, an evocative mural to capture Churchill's "essence." Billy showed him her portfolio, and he seemed impressed. "I notice you have a real affinity for landscape painting," he remarked, flipping through the drawings.

Smiling, she said, "I suppose it's my favorite." She was about to add that she was open to other approaches when Dappaport told her he liked that—or "fancied" that. (The accent kind of came and went.)

"Images of nature are timelessly gorgeous," he said with a touch of awe in his voice. "And what's so brilliant is that a picture of the ocean is so expected in a coastal town like ours, it's
un
expected. You know?"

"Yes, I see what you mean," she said, nodding and thinking
, This is really going to happen. I'm going to be commissioned for a mural.

Dappaport said, "Ever since I acquired the gallery this past spring, I've been looking for something that will just make it pop. But I was waiting to be hit with a bolt of inspiration, and then when I saw those cakes of yours—so ornate, so intricate, so
fresh—
I knew I'd found my artist."

Billy's face flushed with heat, and her chest swelled with pride. How could cakes have made such an impression? Even if Dappaport was a little quirky, there had to be something truly special about them... didn't there?

After they discussed details—like materials, hours, and, of course, money—Billy thanked him again for the opportunity, promised she wouldn't let him down, and prayed she could keep her promise. She agreed to start as soon as possible, and only as she was heading to the door did she remember the rest of her mission in Churchill today.

"Oh, Mr. Dappaport?"

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me where the sheriff's office is?"

"The sheriff's?" he echoed, looking surprised.

"I just want to say hi," she improvised. "Old friend of my family's." A lie of course; she wanted to stop by and see what she could find out about Ted Schneider's death. The sheriff probably wouldn't tell her anything, but hey, it wouldn't hurt to inquire.

"I see. Well, regrettably, Sheriff Mueller is still on vacation in Marblehead. His office is across town, near the library. I believe Deputy Trellis is filling in."

"Oh, okay. Well, thanks again," she said, and left the gallery. She practically floated up the street, elated by this new job, this new development in her life, and it was in this hazy state of fulfillment that she literally ran into Seth.

"Oh!" she said, jumping back. "I'm sorry, I—Seth!"

"Hey," he said, sounding very pleasantly surprised. "What's up? What are you doing here?" After she explained about the streetscape project, he congratulated her.

"That's great; you must be psyched. You're going to take the job, right?"

"Definitely."

"Good, then I guess I'll see you around town more often, huh?"

Nodding, Billy felt a golf ball take shape in her throat. "So... how are the home repairs going?" she asked.

"Not bad. I'm on my way to the hardware store now for some paint. Listen, if you get a chance, you should stop by and see how the place is coming along."

No, she should
not
stop by. After they'd almost kissed at the Dessert Jubilee, and after the simmering, erotic tension at lunch the other day, Billy knew that being around Seth was not a particularly sane idea.

Then again...

If she went over to Seth's, she might learn more about Ted Schneider. Living in such a small town, even temporarily, had to yield its fair share of information. Not to mention that Seth's friend Sally seemed acutely plugged in; surely she would know some local gossip that might be useful.

Once that comfortable rationalization was in place, Billy said, "Okay, I will."

"Great," Seth said. "Let me give you directions in case you forgot."

A few minutes later, after they said good-bye, Billy turned to watch Seth walking away. Biting her lip, she admired his sexy butt moving like the rest of him: with unassuming charm. She sighed, almost wistfully, thinking about how freaking
hot
Seth was, and then forced her mind to focus.

The case.
Her mission was to find out who killed Ted, and she didn't want to get distracted. No matter how potent Seth's presence was, no matter how good he smelled, and no matter what dirty thoughts ran through her less-than-Catholic mind.

Chapter 15

After an hour at Marie's Cafe, where Billy had jotted down ideas for the streetscape (and had a piece of lemon pie), she walked across town to the sheriff's office, where she found a
Gone Fishing
sign posted on the door. Deputy Trellis was obviously working hard.

Next she headed to Seth's, referring to the directions he'd given her. It was getting close to five—soon it would be dark out. As of now, the sky had a grayish-blue tint, almost like twilight.

As she approached the Lannigans' beach house, memories came skittering back, reminding her of the brief time she'd shared here with Seth. One weekend in particular stood out. They'd house-sat for Seth's mom, and spent three sultry, unforgettable nights together down by the water.

How they'd never consummated their relationship during one of their late-night swims Billy would never know. She could still remember Seth's steel-hard erection, the way it pulsed when she touched him underwater. She remembered the hungry, intense expression on his face, the restraint it had taken not to shove the crotch of her bathing suit to the side and let him slide inside her....

Now she dashed up the front steps and knocked on Seth's front door. She waited and knocked again. Still no answer. Suddenly she heard banging coming from the back, so she wound around the side of the house, hearing leaves crackle beneath her feet. And then she saw him. He was down on one knee, hammering the floor of the gazebo that sat above a stone wall in the enclosed backyard.

God... he was beautiful without his shirt on. Biting her lip, Billy watched him work—watched the muscles in his sleek, smooth back flex. Heat seeped into her bones and thrummed between her legs, and she let out a breathy sigh of frustration.

He must've felt her burning gaze, because he turned around and caught her staring. In that moment she wished more than anything that she could simply go to him—climb onto him, press her mouth to his hot, smooth skin. Wished that she could feel his warm hands under her sweater, beneath her bra, stroking her bare breasts.

Now, instead of waving hello, Seth let his eyes bore into her, then quickly scanned her body. Even though she wasn't wearing anything alluring, the intensity of his scrutiny made her feel exposed, nearly naked, and only vaguely aware of the chill in the air. Which reminded her... if Seth had his shirt off in this weather, he must've really been working up a sweat.
Wow...
The thought of Seth sweaty was
really
a turn-on.

Finally he came to his feet and walked closer to her. She met him halfway. "Hey," he said, in a low, almost husky voice. "I didn't expect you till later..." he added—explained, really, as if he were apologizing for being only half-dressed. What was he, crazy? Up close his body was the stuff of fantasies. His chest was strong and powerful, with light brown hair that trailed sexily down to the waist of his jeans. His arms had subtle but mouthwatering curves of muscle, and there was no doubt: The yum factor was in full, screaming effect.

"I'm sorry," Billy mumbled absently. "Is now a bad time?"

"No, no," he said quickly, coming right in front of her, towering over her, close enough to reach out and touch, and Billy swallowed hard, averting her eyes to clear her head. Not her brightest move, considering that her eyes fell to his stomach, which was thrillingly close to a six-pack. Smooth, soft flesh covering solid strength—she wet her lips as her mouth ran dry and heavy arousal pooled between her legs.

"I'm glad you're here," he added as he led her onto the deck and through the sliding glass doors to the kitchen. Suddenly Billy was hit by a memory: cooking dinner for Seth on their house-sitting weekend. She'd accidentally undercooked the fish, and joked that her special was "baked sushi."