The Demise (15 page)

“Matt!”

He looked up just as she hurried to the corner booth. He stood to greet her and was surprised when she gave him a casual hug.

“I’m sorry I’m so late! The traffic was crazy, and the mall was packed.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He motioned for her sit down. “Wow, you look really pretty tonight.”

She smiled as she scooted onto the booth seat across from him. “You say that like it’s a shock or something.”

“No, not at all. You always look nice, Julie. I just meant that you look
especially
pretty tonight. That’s all.”

“I’m just teasing. But thanks for the compliment. I was so relieved they still had this blouse and skirt in my size.”

“You look like you just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Not that I look at fashion magazines or anything.”

“I would guess not. But thank you for the compliment.”

She smiled, and he tried not to get lost in her dimples.

“How are you? How was your drama class today?”

“Good. Really good. We have a lot of fun, so I don’t mind giving up a Saturday now and then.”

“I bet. Next thing I know, you’ll be heading off to Broadway, and I’ll be nothing more than a faint memory of someone you once knew.”

Her smiled faded a bit. “Oh, I doubt that will happen anytime soon. And besides . . .”

He waited as she tilted her head, looking a little coy and much too adorable. “Besides?”

“Besides, I could never forget you.” She inched her fingers across the table and reached for his hand.

Matt couldn’t help smiling as she curled her fingers in his. “Well then, that’s good to know.”

The waiter interrupted the moment, taking their order, then quickly returned with Julie’s tea and another for Matt. When he left, Julie dumped a packet of Splenda in her glass.

“I’m not allowed to ask about
your
day, of course—”

“Of course.”

“—but can you at least tell me if you had a good day, a so-so day, or a washout?”

“How to answer. Let me think.” He looked away, carefully measuring his words. “I suppose I would choose the last option.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I know that must be frustrating.”

“It is. But tonight, I’m not going to think about it. Not when I’m having dinner with you.”

“Why, shucks, Mistah Bryson. Aren’t you just the sweetest little ol’ thing.”

“Let me guess. Scarlett O’Hara?”

“Why, yes indeed,” she drawled. “How very clever of you.”

“Well, I am an investigator, after all. Though, any moron would know that one.”

They laughed easily, then Matt found himself searching for something to say. He realized most of their conversations involved the investigation and his countless attempts to stop her meddling. Surely they had more to talk about?

“Well, here we are,” she said.

“Yes. Here we are.”

“How silly is this?” she said, rolling her eyes. “We’re acting like a couple of high schoolers out on their first date. Surely we can find something to talk about that doesn’t involve the investigation.”

“I was just thinking the same thing. So what will it be? Politics? Movies? Sports?”

She straightened, leaning back in the booth. “How about books? What do you like to read?”

“You would pick something I don’t do. I mean, I read—of course, I read. I just don’t read as much as I’d like to. At least, not for pleasure.”

“Why’s that? You’d rather watch TV?”

“No, it isn’t that. I guess it’s because I have to do so much reading in my work. Case files, mostly. By the end of the day, I’d rather veg.”

The waiter stopped by with their salads and refreshed their drinks. As he left, Julie reached for Matt’s hand across the table. “Mind if I pray?”

“Not at all. And you don’t have to ask, remember?”

She smiled then bowed her head and offered a brief prayer of thanks for their meal, their friendship, and their time together tonight. Afterward, as they started on their salads, Matt prodded himself to ask the question he’d been pondering since he first met her.

“Tell me something. Every time we eat when we’re together, you say the most meaningful prayers.”

She stabbed a crouton. “Meaningful? How do you mean?”

“I don’t know; it’s as if you and God are buddies or something. You talk to Him like He’s your best friend. Most of the prayers I’ve heard in church are much more formal, with lots of ‘thees’ and ‘thous’ and not at all chummy like yours.”

“Chummy, are they?” She smiled sheepishly. “I never thought of them like that.”

“But you know what I mean. It’s like you’re talking to a real person, up close and personal, instead of, well, God.”

She took a sip of tea and slowly set it back down. “Maybe that’s because I think of Him as my best friend. He’s still God, of course. But I guess it’s because I spend a lot of time with Him, reading my Bible, praying—that sort of thing. It’s how I was raised. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

Matt finished his salad and set the plate aside. “Have you ever doubted? Wondered if God is real?”

“Oh, sure. I think everyone does at some point in their lives. Haven’t you?”

He scratched his brow. “The thing is, I’m not quite sure what I believe. And to be honest, until I met you, I never even gave it much thought.”

Her eyes, though gentle, seemed to see right through him. “You mean there’s never been a time in your life when you felt drawn to find out more about Him? To check Him out?”

“No. Not really.”

She sat back, her face warming again. “And here I thought you were Mr. Investigator. Finder of truth. Seeker of evidence.”

He winced. “Why do I feel somehow chastised by that indictment?”

“Not chastised, but hopefully challenged. Curious to dig a little and examine what it all means.”

He processed the idea. “Yeah, I guess it’s a little weird. I wonder how I’ve lived my whole life without ever sensing the need for religion.”

Julie shook her head slowly. “Not religion, Matt. I’m not talking about the organized church or some man-made doctrine. I’m talking about a personal relationship with Christ. A one-on-one faith that gives meaning to your life because you trust Him. Because your hope is in Him. Because you recognize that you were created with unique gifts and talents so that you can honor Him in everything you do.”

Matt stared at her, confused, not understanding all of it. And yet, he knew she was genuinely sincere. She wasn’t spouting some memorized platitude; she was speaking from her heart. It startled him, how his own heart responded. Not with skepticism or cynicism, just an honest desire to know more.

Is it because I’m so attracted to her? Is that why it feels so legit? No, it’s not that.

He welcomed the interruption when the waiter returned with their food.

“Wow—that looks
amazing,
” she said, admiring the huge slab of prime rib on his plate. “And get a load of that tower of mashed potatoes. I hope you’re hungry.”

Matt reached for his knife and fork, slicing into the medium-rare cut. “No way I can finish this. You’ll have to help.”

“Sorry buddy, you’re on your own. This cedar-planked salmon is enough for me, thank you very much. And besides, we have to save room for dessert.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Oh, I never kid about dessert.”

They chatted easily through the rest of the meal. Matt enjoyed her animated stories and vivid descriptions about growing up in Braxton with the added bonus of living so close to Nashville. He shared more of his own background, growing up in Arlington, getting his criminal justice degree from Baylor University, then jumping at the chance to join the TBI after graduating.

The longer they talked, the more comfortable he felt with her. And the more he got to know her, the more he wondered how he could ever have doubted her sincerity about the investigation. Why had he blown up at her over it? Sure, she had overstepped her bounds, but she was just trying to help, right?

Surely there’s a way to make this work. To keep some kind of safe professional boundaries and pursue a personal relationship. Has to be a way.

The thoughts vanished from his mind as the waiter placed two forks on the plate with the biggest piece of carrot cake he’d ever seen.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Isn’t it crazy big? Here, take a bite.” She grabbed a fork and cut a small bit of the rich, moist cake smothered beneath a thick river of icing. “They warm it before serving so the cream cheese icing melts a little. Okay, open wide.”

Matt let her feed him the first bite, momentarily distracted by the expectant, funny look on her face. Then, as his taste buds got acquainted with the rich blend of cinnamon-flavored ingredients, he closed his eyes and moaned.

“See? What did I tell you?” he heard her say, his eyes still closed.

He shook his head, holding his hands up.

“What? You don’t like it?”

He swallowed then gradually opened his eyes. “No, it’s not that. I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

She took a tiny bite and licked the icing off her fork. “Told ya.”

“Oh my. It’s . . . it’s . . .”

“Give it up, Agent Bryson. There are no words to describe it. Just let yourself drown in it like I do.”

He pulled the plate closer for another bite.

“Hey!” She pulled it back.

“Talk about your religious experience. I think I just found Jesus.”

“Oh brother. I think He’d be highly offended to be likened to a piece of carrot cake.”

“Trust me. It was meant as the ultimate compliment.”

“Then maybe we can do this again some time.”

Matt stopped, his fork in midair with another luscious bite of heaven just inches from his lips. He noted the invitation still written on her face along with the smile he was growing to love.

“I think that can be arranged.” He waggled his brows then devoured another bite.

Chapter 17

“Georgia! What’s wrong?”

The tears were already tracking lines down her rouge-covered cheeks. She started to say something, then covered her mouth with a handkerchief, waving Julie closer.

“Georgia, please. Tell me what’s wrong?”

She grabbed Julie’s hand and pulled her into her cubicle where they both took a seat. “The world has gone mad!” she whispered. “I’m so afraid I’ll be next!” She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders heaving.

Julie pulled her hands away and held them. “Be the next what?”

Georgia took a deep breath then whispered, “The next to get fired. Mr. Smithe told Donella to pack her things. She’s been terminated, Julie!”

“What? Surely you’re mistaken. Why would—”

“No, it’s true! She’s in her office packing up her things as we speak. When I heard the news, I saw her slip into the bathroom, so I followed her. Julie, she was crying. At least, the closest I’ve ever seen her to tears. She straightened right up and tried to act like nothing was wrong. I was weeping and tried to tell her how sorry I was. But when I reached out and touched her arm, she pulled it back and snapped at me. Told me to ‘get a grip and stop that blubbering.’ Oh, that poor, poor soul. Can’t even let herself cry at a time like this!”

Julie squeezed Georgia’s hand then dashed from the cubicle, rushing toward Donella’s office. She stopped cold at the threshold.

“I don’t believe it! He
fired
you?”

Donella looked up, her eyes steely cold and unflinching. “No, Miss Parker, he didn’t fire me. I’ve been given early retirement.”

A gush of air huffed from Julie’s lungs. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Now? With everything in turmoil? Why would he—”

“It’s just as well. I’m no longer needed here, and the board apparently wants to take the company in a new direction.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” Julie closed the gap between them. “I doubt the board even knows anything about this.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Donella placed a stack of books in a cardboard box. I’d rather leave than watch them destroy what Peter—what Mr. Lanham worked so hard to build. Would you hand me those framed pictures?”

Julie did as she was asked, noting the one that had hung proudly on Donella’s wall; a smiling Peter Lanham shaking Donella’s hand as he awarded her an engraved plaque for being
Employee of the Year
. The plaque was already tucked inside the box.

“Donella, you have to fight this! Have you talked to Mr. Street? He knows how valuable you are to this company and how much Mr. Lanham depended on you and admired you. I can’t believe he would ever approve—”

“It isn’t up to him. He’s not on the board at the present time and has no say in the matter. But no, I haven’t spoken to him or anyone else. I just found out this morning when I arrived. Mr. Smithe told me—”

“So this is strictly Mr. Smithe’s decision?” Julie put her hands on her hips. “No way. You can’t let him bulldoze you like this, Donella! You have to fight him!” She reached for the telephone. “What’s Donovan Street’s number? He needs to know what’s happening.”

Donella took the receiver from Julie’s hand and set it back on its base. “Stop. You will not call him. Is that understood? When the time is right, I’ll speak to him and—”

“When the time is
right
? NOW is the right time! You can’t just—”

“Don’t TELL me what I can or cannot do!” Donella shouted, her eyes blazing. “Stay out of this, Julie. Do you understand?”

Julie stared at her, dumbfounded. She started to say something, then stopped. Tears prickled her eyes. She looked around the room as she searched for something to say.

Finally, she gave up with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Donella. I didn’t mean to make matters worse.”

Donella turned her back, reaching for a potted ivy off her credenza. “You should probably get back to your desk.”

“But wouldn’t you like some help—”

“I’ll call you if I need help. I suggest you get back to work and try to maintain some semblance of normalcy with the other employees. And for goodness sake, tell Georgia to get a hold of herself or make her go home.”

Julie stood there, wondering how this office would function with both Peter Lanham and Donella Willet gone. The thought made her stomach roll. She turned and slowly made her way back to the reception desk.

Thankfully, the lines were busy with calls that morning, so Julie didn’t have time to think. She was well aware that Christopher Smithe was staying under the radar, for which she was grateful. When it was time for her break, she offered to help Donella carry her boxes down to her car. Waiting at the elevator with their first load, Julie tensed when the doors opened and Smithe emerged. He glanced at the boxes, then at Julie, never once making eye contact with Donella.

“Miss Parker, I’m sure we can find someone else to assist Miss Willet.”

Julie moved past him stepping into the elevator. “I’m on my lunch break.”

“Of course you are. Take those down then come to my office.”

She glared at him. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said I’m on my break.”

“Oh, I heard you. You’ve got five minutes to be in my office.”

As the doors closed, Julie seethed. “Donella, this isn’t going to end well. Nobody can stand him.” She glanced at Donella whose eyes were locked on the flashing numbers above the door.

“Just do your job. You’ll be fine.”

“No, I won’t. This isn’t right! It’s not fair!”

The doors opened and Donella stepped into the lobby. “Then find another job.”

She followed her out the back entrance into the employee parking lot. But as they loaded the boxes into Donella’s trunk, Julie heard a muffled sob. She turned to find Donella’s eyes closed as tears began to fall.

Julie took the box out of her hands. “Oh Donella, I’m so sorry.” She gave her a hug, not surprised to feel her stiffen in response.

“No, please—” She pulled back, trying to regain her composure, dashing tears from her eyes. “I don’t want to . . . I can’t . . . I have to go.” With that, she slammed the trunk door then dug the keys back out of her pocket. “I’ll send for the rest of my things later.”

“Don’t give it another thought. I’ll bring them by on my way home this afternoon.”

Donella stopped with the door ajar. She finally looked into Julie’s eyes, nodded once, then slid into the driver’s seat.

As she drove off, Julie headed back to the office wondering how in the world Donella Willet would handle “retirement.” Once back in the office, she braced herself as she made her way to Smithe’s office and knocked on his open door.

“Miss Parker, come in and close the door.”

Oh brother.

After one of the longest work days of her life, Julie left the office and headed over to Donella’s. Brad had offered to help her with the rest of Donella’s things, and anxious to go, she agreed to let him carry the rest of the boxes. As she drove out of the parking lot, her cell rang.

“Hi, Matt.”

“Whoa. You sound awful. Rough day at the office, dear?” he teased.

“You could say that.”

“Hey, I’m sorry, Julie. I was just kidding. What happened?”

“Smithe fired Donella.”

“What? Can he do that?”

“Evidently. Then he called
me
on the carpet because I helped her carry some of her things to her car.”

“Is there some kind of company policy against that? What’s his problem?”

“I don’t know, Matt. And I’m too tired to think about it right now.”

“Can you meet me somewhere for dinner? Or how about I pick up something and bring it to your place?”

“Maybe later. Right now, I’m on my way to Donella’s house to take the rest of her belongings.”

“Okay. Well, call me as you’re leaving her place, and we can decide then.”

Julie turned into Donella’s driveway. “Sounds good. Thanks, Matt.”

“No problem. And take your time if she needs to talk.”

“Got it.”

Julie stacked two boxes in her arms and made her way up the path to the front porch. She tried to press the doorbell with her elbow, but couldn’t, so she set the boxes on the ground and tried again.

“It’s me, Donella. I’ve got the rest of your things.”

Nothing. She could hear music blaring from somewhere inside—Tony Bennett singing “How Do You Keep the Music Playing,” if she wasn’t mistaken.

Julie rang the doorbell, then knocked on the door. “Donella? It’s Julie,” she called, louder this time. A thought flashed through her mind.
Donella wouldn’t do anything crazy, would she?

The door suddenly opened, startling her. “Donella! You scared me half to death!”

“Well, ain’t that just a ding dong shame.”

Julie froze, staring at the office matriarch wearing a flowing pair of navy satin pajamas, her hair in disarray, her make-up smudged, and what looked like a frozen margarita in her hand. That Donella would know how to make the island drink was one thing; that she had the appropriate salt-rimmed glass for it was another. She took a generous sip of the slushy concoction, then opened the door wider. “Come in, come in. Tony and I were just dancing.”

“Donella, are you all right?” Julie asked as she leaned over to get the boxes.

“Me? Couldn’t be better. Just put those inside the door here. I’ll get them later.”

Julie set the boxes by a large potted ficus tree. When she stood back up, Donella was already halfway down the hall. “Come join me. Tequila or wine? What’s your poison?”

Before she could answer, the blender roared to life. She’d never seen this side of Donella, so chatty and relaxed. As she entered the kitchen, half of Donella was hidden behind an open refrigerator door. “I’VE GOT CHARDONNAY HERE, SOME MALBEC IN THE WINE RACK, AND—”

“NO THANKS, I’M—” Julie turned off the blender, its silence enabling them to talk. “—I’m not much of a drinker.”

She blanched, looking at Julie like she’d sprouted a third eye. “What do you mean, you’re not much of a drinker? Everyone
drinks
. If you must know, this is my third pitcher.” She smiled as though she’d won a Pulitzer then broke into laughter.

No kidding.
“Okay, then. Well . . . how about soft drink? A Diet Coke maybe?”

Donella calmed then stared at her with glazed eyes, her head listing to one side. She shrugged and stooped down out of sight. “Suit yourself.” She grabbed a can of Diet Coke, closed the refrigerator, filled a glass with ice, then tried unsuccessfully to pry open the can’s pull tab.

“Stupid tabs. Whose idea were these anyway? No doubt some weasel-eyed tyrant whose sole purpose in life is to annoy and irritate. Remind you of anyone?” She snorted and giggled, still trying to make the tab work.

Julie reached for the can as it tottered near the edge of the counter. “How about you have a seat and I’ll do this?”

“Whatever.” Donella poured herself more margarita from the blender. “You don’t know what you’re missing. There’s nothin’ better than a frosthy glass of . . . I mean, a
frossy
 . . . oh, whatever. A glass of GREEN to turn around a rotten day.” With that, she held her glass out toward Julie. “Cheers?”

“Ah. Okay.” Julie raised her glass.

Donella blinked a couple of times. “Aren’t you going to make a toast?”

“Me? Oh sure. I’m just not . . . okay, well. Here’s to my friend Donella and a new chapter in her life.” She plastered a smile on her face and touched her glass to Donella’s. Julia took a sip, surprised when her host didn’t. “Did I say it wrong?”

Donella didn’t move a muscle. Then, after a long moment, with her glass still raised and her moist eyes still locked on Julie’s, she slowly shook her head. “No. You said it right.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

The glass slipped from Donella’s hand, crashing on the floor beneath her. Donella folded herself into Julie’s arms like so much cooked linguine.

“Whoa, girl, I think you might have had enough. Here, watch your step. I’ll clean this up later. Let’s get you back in the den.”