The Demise (17 page)

“It was hard at first. Working so closely together like we did. But I bolstered my courage every day I went to work, determined to prove to him I could still maintain a priffess . . . a proft . . . a proffiss-shnul relationship with him. Then each night I’d come home and cry myself to sleep.”

“That must have been so hard for you.”

“It was. For a long time, it was. Then . . .” She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Then he started seeing other women. Some worked here. Some he met, God only knows where. A steady parade of them through the years, all much, much younger and much prettier than me.”

“But how could he be so heartless? He had to know how much that hurt you, watching them come and go?”

“I thought so too, at first. Then—and I know this pro’lly sounds crazy—I realized he was doing it partially because that’s his nature, but also because he knew it would stop me from hurting so deeply. He gave me anger to replace my sorrow.”

“Wait, you mean to tell me you thought he was doing it to help you get over him? What a bizarre way of showing he cared.”

“You want to hear what’s really bizzz-arre?”

Julie nodded.

Donella took one last swipe under each eye then sat up perfectly straight. She looked Julie in the eye. “I never stopped loving him, Julie. In fact, even though he’s gone now, I love him still.”

Chapter 18

Hours rolled by as Donella continued her long, emotional purge about life, the office, Peter Lanham, and his manipulative, despicable wife. At one point, Donella fell asleep mid-sentence. Julie covered her with a lightweight throw and hoped she’d sleep off the rest of the alcohol in her system. She took the opportunity to rummage around the kitchen to find something hearty to make for a late dinner. In the freezer compartment, she found a stack of Marie Callendar’s Chicken Pot Pies—the supreme comfort food if ever there was one. She popped a couple of them in the oven, opting not to look at the caloric value of the flaky pies. Sometimes things like that are best not known.

While they cooked, she prepared a salad of fresh greens, sliced strawberries, a handful of pecans, and some red onion drizzled with poppyseed salad dressing. Last, she brewed a pot of coffee, assuming that’s what one drinks after one has consumed vast quantities of adult beverages.

As she waited for the oven timer to go off, she checked her cell phone and found two missed calls and another text message from Matt:
I’m starting to worry. Everything okay?

Julie hesitated. Memories of their previous scuffles flashed through her mind. On the one hand, she couldn’t wait to tell him everything she’d learned. On the other hand, she realized she’d risk losing whatever chance there’d been for a relationship with him.

Still, he needs to know, right? To keep such valuable information to myself would be, in essence, the same as withholding information, wouldn’t it?

Maybe she should ask Donella if she’d be willing to talk to Matt. That way, he’d get the information firsthand.
Then again, what are the chances of Donella letting down her guard like that, especially in front of a stranger?
Maybe she should whip up another batch of margaritas to keep her talking and invite Matt to stop by.
No, she could never do such a heartless thing, taking advantage of Donella’s drunken stupor.
Especially since Donella considers me her only friend.

Julie was still debating the subject when the timer went off. She put a steaming pie on each plate alongside a serving of salad, then set the plates on the table. “Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” she mused as she headed back down the hall.

Tapping her on the shoulder, Donella startled, looking around until she noticed Julie sitting before her. Her eyes rolled as she fought to keep them open. “She told me once she wished he would die.”

An alarm went off somewhere inside Julie’s head. “What? Who told you—”

Her heavy eyelids closed again, but she continued. “Patricia.”

“When did she say that?”

“Huh?”

“Donella, when did Patricia say that? Was she talking about Peter?”

“Yes.” Her head rolled to the other side. “When she came here.”

“But when? When was that?”

“When she brought the checkbook . . . when she came that night, she was so . . . angry at him . . . pitiful.”

“Pitiful? What do you mean?”

Her head rolled back to face Julie. “She never got over it, not being able to have children.” Donella shook her head as she licked her dry, pale lips. “If she wasn’t so hateful, I might’ve felt sorry for her . . . finding out he’d made a baby with that girl when Patricia couldn’t have one. Hard to take.”

Julie gnawed at the side of her lip. The debate in her mind was settled. If Patricia had wished her husband dead, was it possible she made that wish a reality? Matt needed to know.

“Donella, I’ve made dinner for us. Let’s get you into the kitchen, okay?

She balked at first, but finally agreed. Moments later they were seated at the small kitchen table.

“Oh . . . my.” She stared at the plate before her. “I’ll never be able to eat all this.”

“No problem. Eat what you want, then we’ll save the rest.”

Donella broke the crust open with her fork allowing the fragrant steam to rise. She trolled her fork back and forth through the salad, then set it down. She glanced sheepishly across the table, her shoulders slumped. Julie couldn’t believe this crushed soul sitting across from her was the same cold and steely executive secretary she worked with. It was like staring at a mathematical equation that simply would not, could not, compute.

“What am I going to do, Julie?” She lifted her shoulders then let them drop again. “I’ve never worked anywhere else but Lanham’s.”

Julie sipped her coffee. “Don’t even think about that right now. You’re still in shock. Let’s get you back on your feet emotionally before worrying about that.”

Donella picked a piece of crust from the pie and nibbled on it. “All those years. I gave everything I had to Lanham’s. Everything. And this is how they reward me? With not so much as a thank-you or—”

“I still say you should fight them. And who are ‘they’ anyway? If you ask me, Mr. Smithe is behind all of this.”

“Mr. Smithe . . . oh, how Peter hated that little twerp.”

“He did? Then why didn’t he fire him? Why did he hire him in the first place?”

Donella leaned back in her chair and rolled her neck from side to side as her eyes closed. “Peter didn’t. The board of trustees hired him. They assured Peter he was some kind of financial ‘miracle man’ who could help take Lanham’s to a whole new level of success.”

“Christopher Smithe? A miracle man? I’ve never met anyone so obnoxious in my entire life.”

“A bigger kiss-up has never walked the earth. I never trusted him, and I told Peter he shouldn’t trust him either.”

“Do you think Smithe was hoping to be Mr. Lanham’s successor at some point?”

“Of course he was. He was convinced he could run the company far better than Peter. Oh, the fights those two had. Nasty ones. And don’t think Peter didn’t try to get rid of him. But the board wouldn’t have it.”

Julie shook her head. “I don’t get it. If Mr. Lanham was CEO, why couldn’t he—”

The doorbell rang. Julie wiped her mouth. “I’ll get it.”

“No!” Donella said, waving her hands. “I don’t want to see anyone right now. Especially if it’s Patricia.”

“Okay, then I’ll just tell her or whoever it is you’re not available.”

Julie peeked through the peephole then opened the door. “Matt? What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry, but I was really worried. When you didn’t take my calls or answer my text messages, I thought maybe . . . well, I just thought I should drop by and make sure nothing was wrong.”

Julie stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door behind her without closing it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. She’s had a rough night, and I didn’t think I should leave her alone, y’know?”

Matt curled his index finger around one of hers. “That’s really kind of you. Especially since she isn’t exactly easy to get along with.”

“That’s just it, Matt. When I got here, she was on her third pitcher of margaritas—”

“Her
third
?!”

“—and let me tell you, that tequila brought down all her defenses. It’s as if all her inhibitions and any trace of restraint had just crumbled around her. She’s talked for hours. I had no idea she was capable of yammering like that. I kept thinking the alcohol would wear off and she’d close up, but she never did.”

“What was she talking about? Anything about Lanham?”

“Yes, and most of it about things I’d never heard before. Which I think . . .” She paused, careful to choose her words.

“You think?”

Julie straightened her shoulders and huffed. “Well, I think you need to know about some of the stuff she talked about, because there are some implications about certain people that would be important for you to know in light of the investigation, but I’m so afraid of telling you because I don’t want to lose you, and I hate that we’re in this stupid place where we can’t just say what needs to be said without always worrying if it will—”

His sudden kiss silenced her.

A moment later, “Julie?” he whispered.

“Yes?”

“Breathe. Just breathe. I kind of love it when you get on a roll like that, but I’m always afraid you’ll pass out from lack of oxygen.”

She dropped her head on his shoulder. “Sorry. My dad used to call it my
verbal steamroller.
”

Matt chuckled. “That’s good. I’ll have to remember that one.”

“He said my face would turn purple before I got anywhere close to finishing.”

“That’s about right.” He lifted her chin with his finger. “Now, let me ask you something. Do you think Donella would talk to me?”

“Now? I don’t know. She said she didn’t want to see anyone.”

“Is she still drunk?”

“Well, yes. I guess? But nowhere near as sloshed as she was earlier.”

“Is she coherent?”

“Kind of, which is strange, don’t you think? But instead, it’s like she can’t stop herself.”

“Where is she right now?”

“In the kitchen. I made dinner for her.”

“
You
made dinner?”

“Very funny.”

“Just kidding.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “Will you trust me to talk to her? I’d like to at least try. With your help, that is.”

She turned around, wondering how Donella would react. Turning back toward him, she said, “I guess it won’t hurt. But if she gets upset, I want you to promise you won’t push her.”

“You have my word.”

Julie led the way down the hall toward the kitchen. “Donella, there’s someone here you need to talk to.”

“I told you, I don’t want to see anyone.”

Matt followed her into the kitchen where they found Donella standing at the counter pouring the last of the green concoction from the near-empty blender. Julie chided herself for not pouring it out earlier.

“Hello, Miss Willet. I’m Matt Bryson. Do you remember me?”

She set the drink down and huddled toward the back of the room. “For heaven’s sake, Julie, I’m a mess here. I don’t want anyone seeing me like this!” Her hands worked at taming her wayward hair, then she swiped her fingers beneath her eyes.

Julie hurried to her side. “It’s okay. He was worried about us. That’s why he stopped by. But I think you need to tell him some of the things you told me tonight.”

“What? I have nothing to say. Really, Julie, how
could
you?”

“Miss Willet, please don’t blame Julie. I know she’s just looking out for you. And I certainly didn’t intend to intrude. You see, we were supposed to have dinner tonight, but she insisted on coming here first because she was so worried about you after what happened today.”

“How do you know about what happened to me today?”

“I’m still involved in the investigation into Mr. Lanham’s death. Which means I’m still interested in everything that’s going on in your office.”

“Donella, it’s important for Matt to understand some of the things you shared with me. He needs to find out what happened, and he needs all the pieces of the puzzle if he’s going to do his job right.”

She turned toward Julie, still fussing over her appearance. “But I’m not . . . I just don’t want him seeing me like this.”

“Miss Willet, don’t you want to help me find out who was behind Mr. Lanham’s death?”

She finger-combed her hair, then turned to face him with a loud sigh. “Yes. Yes, of course. What is it you want to know?”