The Demise (9 page)

Now it was Donella who leaned back in her chair, and for the first time, looked at her with kinder eyes. “I’m sorry, Julie. For thinking that way about you, and as a result, being so unfriendly to you all these years.”

Julie waved her off. “Oh, don’t lose sleep over it. Okay? I’m just glad we’ve had a chance to clear the air. I’ve always admired you, you know. How you always protected Mr. Lanham. Always kept his confidences. Looked out for him. And after hearing about all those other girls, it’s obvious he
needed
someone to look out for him. I’m sure he appreciated you for that.”

“Peter—I mean, Mr. Lanham had his faults. We all do, I suppose. But I believed him to be a good man, and I was honored to work for him all these years. I can’t imagine how we’ll . . .”

Julie waited as Donella stared out the window, her face lined with sadness. After a moment, she caught herself, sat up straighter, and blinked away tears.

“We’ll all miss him, Donella. But we’ll get through this.” Julie stood, then rounded the desk as Donella got to her feet, her hands clasped together at her waist. Julie reached out and placed her hand over Donella’s. “I’m so glad we talked. And I hope you’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. Or if you just need someone to talk to. You know—like a friend.”

Donella’s smiles never came naturally, but it was obvious she was making the effort. “Thank you, Julie.”

As Julie left Donella’s office, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for the strange woman.
How sad to live such a solitary life.
But if she were honest, she also couldn’t help feeling she’d just made a new alliance in her search for the truth behind Peter Lanham’s death. Who knew what secrets Donella Willet might have kept all these years?

Wild, random possibilities skittered through her mind as she made her way back to the reception area. But as she rounded the corner, she stopped in her tracks.

“Well, well, well. At long last. Enjoy your extended break, Miss Parker?”

Seated at her desk, Tom Smithe pushed his glasses up on his nearly-bald head and folded his arms across his chest. Just behind him and to one side, she noticed Georgia’s face stretched wide with fright as she made wild hand gestures, trying to convey some kind of message. Failing, she scratched her brow, and mouthed, “I’m sorry!”

“I wasn’t on a break, Mr. Smithe. As I’m sure Georgia told you, Donella asked to see me in her office.”

“See? Just like I told you, Mr. Smithe,” Georgia added, her voice shaky. “Julie, I had just stepped over to the copy room and when I came back, he was—”

“Run along, Miss Schwimmer. You’re done here.” Smithe turned his head in her direction, but stopped short of facing her. “And for future reference, when I want your ‘help’ I’ll ask for it. Now be a good girl and go back to your office.”

Georgia huffed, making no attempt to hide her disdain. “Whatever you say, Mr. Smithe. Though if you ask me—”

“But there you have it,” he said, lifting his hands. “I didn’t.”

Georgia pursed her frosted pink lips. Julie could tell she was fighting the same temptation they all did—to tell Thomas Smithe what he could do with his piety and arrogance.

“Thanks, Georgia.”

“You are most welcome, Julie.” And with a final neck-snapping flourish, she swished down the hall.

Smithe stood, then carefully pushed the chair back under Julie’s desk, making no effort to step out of the way. He narrowed his eyes and kept his voice to a near whisper. “Do you have any idea how much I’d like to fire you, Miss Parker? Right here, right now?”

“Fire me?! What for?”

“Oh, I think you know.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

He glared at her a second longer, then slowly turned and pushed a file folder across the desk toward her; the same folder she had attempted to hide. It lay open, her handwritten list copied from Matt’s notebook exposed for all the world to see. She fought the urge to gasp or even swallow, instead lifting her eyes to face him again.

“This company cannot operate successfully if its employees can’t be trusted. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“What are you accusing me of, Mr. Smithe?”

“I think you and your new boyfriend have joined ranks to undermine this company’s privacy.”

“My boyfriend?”

“Please. Don’t insult me. That wet-behind-the-ears TBI agent—what’s his name? Clark Kent?”

“His name is Matt Bryson, and he’s not my boyfriend. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Whatever.” He lifted the handwritten list. “Obviously you’ve received this information from Bryson—or did you sneak in Mr. Lanham’s office and browse around his computer files? Either way, you’re in big trouble. I’d suggest you explain what you’re doing with these notes and what your intention is concerning them, or I’ll call security before you can blink those pretty lashes of yours.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide. I’m concerned about what happened to Mr. Lanham, just like everyone else in this office. I’ve overheard things, questioned things myself, and that’s why I started jotting down some notes. I’m analytical. It’s just the way I’m wired.”

“Is that so? I see here you’re questioning the propriety of Mr. Lanham’s relationship with Miss Willet—a notion I find preposterous, by the way. Was that what you were talking about in her office just now?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. She was thanking me for bringing over some cookies last night. That’s all.”

He chuckled, taking his glasses off his head and tapping them against his chin. “Not buying it, though I’ll give you credit for the quick ad-lib. So I’ll ask again.”

Something in Julie’s gut rearranged itself at the steely tone of Smithe’s slow, affected tone. She pictured Wiley Coyote’s head growing bigger and bigger, steam spewing out of his ears as he tried desperately not to explode over the Roadrunner’s latest vexing. She squeezed her eyes shut and curled her shoulders in, bracing herself.

“MISS PARKER!”

Her eyes flew open. “What!?” She gasped for air. “Don’t yell at me!”

“Then stop that—that—scrunching!”

“Scrunching? What are you talking about?”

He pointed at her, drawing circles in the air with his index finger. “You were—oh, never mind. I want some answers, and I want them now.” He grabbed the file folder, aiming it at her like a weapon to punctuate his threat. “Unless I get some viable answers, and I mean right
now
, then I will have no other choice but to call security and have you escorted from the building. Permanently!”

Chapter 10

“Hey, Matt. I’m Gevin, Julie’s brother. But you probably already knew that.”

Matt shook his hand as he entered the loft apartment. “Nice to meet you, Gevin. Nice place you have here. From downstairs you’d never know how big it is.”

“Hi, Matt.” Julie hopped off the loveseat and joined them. “I’m glad you decided to take me up on my dinner invitation.”

“Well, it was either Denton’s, Sonic, or here. So I figured a good home cooked meal trumps either of those any way you cut it.”

Gevin snorted a laugh as he draped himself back on the sofa. “She told you she was cooking?”

“Gevin, stop. I never said I was cooking. Did I, Matt?”

“Well, now that you mention it—”

Gevin smiled. “Pizza should be here any minute. Much safer, if you catch my drift.”

“Got it. Pizza is always good.”

“Never mind him.” Julie motioned for Matt to join them in the living area. “Just so you know, my brother’s sole purpose in life is to give me constant grief. I’ve often thought if they gave out Oscars for sibling rivalry, he’d be a shoo-in.”

Matt took a seat on the other end of the sofa from Gevin, though his eyes were glued on the television screen above the fireplace.  “You’re watching
Rear Window
?
That’s one of my all-time favorites.”

Gevin reached for the remote and started a slow rewind. “We were just arguing about it when you got here. Jules thinks the scene where Jimmy Stewart keeps blinding Raymond Burr by popping his camera’s flashbulbs is lame. She doesn’t think that would blind Raymond enough to prevent him from rushing forward to attack Stewart.”

Julie tucked her legs beneath her. “I just think it’s unlikely it would be
that
blinding, you know? Besides, after the first couple of flashes, wouldn’t you think ol’ Raymond would be smart enough to shield his eyes or look away? I mean, this is a man who chopped his dead wife into pieces and stuffed them in a suitcase. He’s not stupid.”

“And as I reminded my dear sister, as a professional photographer, it’s altogether possible that I might actually know what I’m talking about when I
enlightened
her—”

“Oooh, good one,” Matt said, pumping knuckles with him.

“Thank you, Matt. When I
enlightened
her of the powerful capacity of those flashbulbs, even back in the day. Oh wait, here’s the scene . . . watch for yourself.”

Gevin pressed the remote, starting where Raymond Burr broke into Stewart’s darkened apartment. They watched the scene unfold until Jimmy Stewart fell from his window to the ground below.

“Sorry, Julie, but I have to agree with Gevin.”

“Thank you, my man.” Gevin laughed offering his hand for another fist pump. “I knew I liked you.”

Just then the doorbell rang, and Julie went to answer it. “Yeah, go ahead, you two. Have your fun. Since I’m paying, no pizza for either one of you.”

“Really?” Matt said. “Because I thought actresses—”

“Actors,” she chimed over her shoulder.

“Apologies. I thought
actors
of the female variety have to watch what they eat.”

Gevin snickered as he neared the kitchen table. “She told you that?”

“She did, actually,” Matt said, joining him at the table. “In fact, she even ditched the bun on her grilled chicken sandwich at Sonic today.”

“That’s just so she can pig out on pizza,” Gevin faux-whispered as Julie slung the pizza box on the table.

“You guys are just hilarious,” she deadpanned. “Really. I can hardly contain myself.”

A few minutes later, while eating their way through the extra-large supreme pizza, they kept the conversation light, moving from movies to television to sports and politics. Julie wasn’t at all surprised how easily Matt and her brother got along, as if they’d been friends for years. She caught herself studying Matt as he and Gevin chatted. She liked the natural curl in his thick black hair and wondered if he’d worn it long and bushy and wild when he was younger. She noticed the subtle line of his mouth; not really a smirk, just the hint of a smile. Yet, at the same time there was a seriousness in his eyes that seemed beyond his years. Tracks of two small parallel lines stood between his brows. She was gazing at his eyes, trying to decide if they were brown or more of a golden amber, when she realized they were both looking at her.

“What?”

“Where did you go this time, little sister?”

Busted.
“Who, me? I didn’t go anywhere. I’m right here.” She picked a round of pepperoni off her pizza and nibbled on it while trying to dismiss the quickened beating of her heart. “Why?”

“Bryson, a word of advice. Whenever you see that faraway look in her eyes, or when she’s staring at you but you know she’s not really
seeing
you? It means she hasn’t heard a word you’ve said because she’s off in Neverland or replaying scenes from a play she’s been in.” He raised his brows with a knowing nod. “Just so you know.”

“Oh—wait, Gev, is this where I’m supposed to laugh?” Julie stood, gathering their empty plates. “Don’t you have some work to do down in the studio?”

“And that would be my cue to leave
you two
alone.”

“Gevin!” Julie scoffed, flicking his shoulder as the heat warmed her face.

“Easy, Jules. I was just kidding.” He stood up and grabbed the empty pizza box. “But you’re right. I’ve got to process some pictures, so I’m outta here. You two kids behave yourselves, okay?”

Julie pinned him with a glare.

Matt chuckled. “See you later, Gevin.”

Gevin folded the delivery box and stuffed it into the trash can. “Take care, Bryson.”

When the door shut, Julie sighed. “Honestly, sometimes it’s like he hasn’t changed a bit since we were kids in grade school. You wouldn’t believe the fights we got into.”

He quirked a smile. “Actually, I would.”

“Yeah?”

“My brother Mitch is five years older than me, and he’s never let me forget it.”

Julie scooped some decaf coffee into the basket of her coffeemaker. “What’s he like, your brother?”

Matt leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs under the table. “Mitch is a good guy. He is.”

Julie smiled over her shoulder. “You don’t have to convince me. I believe you.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that Mitch always has to be the best, no matter what the situation. The best scholar. He graduated valedictorian in high school and was voted ‘Most Likely to Succeed.’ Of course.”

“Of course.”

“Then he graduated
summa cum laude
from Princeton. Naturally, he was the best athlete—in not one, but three different sports—”

“Of course.”

“Yes, of course. Best sense of humor. Great personality. Everyone loves Mitch.”

“Who wouldn’t?” she quipped.

Matt rubbed his face. “And I love him. I do. I’ve just lived in his shadow my entire life. It was tough at times, especially in high school. Nothing I could do was
ever
as good as how Mitch did it. But I learned to live with it. And now that we’re both adults and living our own lives, it’s a lot better.”

Julie poured coffee in two mugs. “What does he do?”

“Bides his time until there’s an opening in the Oval Office.”

“He’s in politics?” She set the mugs on the table and carefully slid one toward him.

“No, I’m just kidding. But everyone’s always told him he should run for president. And that dates all the way back to high school.”

“So he’s not in politics?”

“With Mitch, everything is political. But no, he’s actually a vice president at an international marketing company headquartered in New York.

Julie poured some cream in her coffee after offering some to Matt. “You said you all grew up in Texas. Arlington, was it?”

“That’s right. Ever been there?”

“No, but I’ve heard it’s a great place to live.”

“Well sure, but of course it’s no Braxton.”

“Of course.”

His genuine smile seemed to warm his whole face. Julie set her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand, content just to be with him.

Matt took a sip of coffee. “How was your day?”

“My day?”

“Yes, your day. Not a hard question.”

“Oh. Right.” She leaned back, wrapping her hands around the mug. “Actually, it was rather odd.”

“How so?”

Julie paused, wondering how much to say without upsetting him. Again. He was so paranoid about her intruding on his investigation.
Better to keep it to myself and outsmart him?
Then she looked into those eyes, filled with interest and concern . . . and possibly a hint of attraction? The thought pleased her more than she expected.

No. He needs to know. It’s too important.

“Well, let’s see. First, I had a rather unusual meeting with Donella this morning. She’d barely arrived at the office before asking Georgia to cover for me at the reception desk.”

“What was the meeting about?”

“I suppose it wasn’t really a meeting, per se; she just called me into her office to speak to me in private. And of all things, she wanted to apologize to me.”

“Apologize? What for?”

Oops.
She realized too late that she was taking the conversation back to the night she’d gone snooping at Donella’s. “Uh, well . . . okay, she wanted to thank me for the cookies I gave her the night after we’d all heard about Mr. Lanham’s death.”

“That would be the night you
stole
a deposit slip from her purse.”

Julie traced the edge of her mug in circles, her eyes locked on the motion. “Yeaaah. That would be the night.”

Matt said nothing, narrowing his eyes as he’d done before. Thankfully, she decided it was less of a glare this time and more of a subtle warning. Or so she hoped.

“Go on.”

“It was actually rather sad. She went on at length about how she didn’t like me when I was first hired because she thought I was just another one of Mr. Lanham’s bimbos . . . as if ?”

“Well, you do have that blonde thing going for you.”

“Hey!”

He smiled again. “I meant that as a compliment.”

“Sure you did.”

“Back up a minute. Donella thought you were just another one of Mr. Lanham’s bimbos. Inferring there had been many others before you?”

“Hey, don’t include me! I am not, nor have I ever been a bimbo.”

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to infer that you were. But tell me, did she expound on these other women? She didn’t tell me much about that in my interrogation with her. Did she mention any names? Or what relationship they had with Lanham?”

“No, not really. Though I’m pretty sure some of them might have been the girls he always invited on his yacht.”

Matt snapped his fingers. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about those girls. When we were on the water tower last night, you started to tell me about them before we . . . got distracted.”

Julie remembered the moment when Matt took her into his arms and kissed her. She couldn’t help grinning as the familiar blush crept across his face and warmed his cheeks. “Distracted, huh? Is that what you city boys call it?”

He scratched behind his ear. “Staying on topic here . . . by the pictures on Mr. Lanham’s office walls, I’d say most of these girls look like they might work at Hooters or somewhere like that?”

“Right. Or even your Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders.”

“Got it.”

“You know the type.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Though some would use the term ‘bimbos’ to describe them.”

“Well, there you go.”

“So when Mr. Lanham hired you, Donella thought you were one of his bimbos, and for that reason she didn’t like you?”

“Exactly.”

“Go on. What else did she say?”

“I assured her I was certainly
not
one of his bimbos, and let her know I had set him straight the first time he placed a hand on my knee.”

“When did he do that?”

“Oh, early on. I think it was after the first commercial I did as the Lanham’s Girl. He was really pleased with how the commercial came out, and wanted to thank me.”

“And he thought he could do that by placing his hand on your knee. Interesting fellow. How exactly did you set him straight?”

She leveled a gaze at him. “I’ll be honest. I was tempted to ad lib that scene in
Legally Blonde
when Reese Witherspoon’s professor-boss makes a move on her. When she realizes what he’s doing, she—” Julie caught herself.

“She what?”

“Um, let’s just say she tells him what she thinks of him in rather colorful language, if you will, then makes an exit.”

Matt smiled. “What did you say to Lanham?”