by Diane Moody
“What’s that?”
“It’s the ones you least expect who have something to hide.”
“Well, they’d be sorely wrong in my case.”
“Later, Greg.”
“Later, Julie.”
Julie tapped quietly on Donella’s door.
“Come in, Julie, and close the door behind you.”
She did as she was told then took a seat in one of the leather chairs facing Donella’s desk. “You said you needed to talk to me?”
“Yes.” Donella settled into her desk chair. She pulled off her glasses and slowly folded them. “I want to apologize about the other night when you came to see me. That was such a kind gesture to bring cookies. Which were delicious, by the way. And I—”
“Oh, that,” Julie dismissed with a wave. “It was no big deal. If you must know, they were those ready-to-bake cookies. But trust me, they were much better than anything I could ever bake. I’m not much of a . . .” She stopped when she noticed the familiar half-smile fixed on Donella’s face. Julie cleared her throat. “You’re welcome.”
Donella straightened her back, avoiding eye contact. “I was just going to say . . . well, you see, no one’s ever . . . that is to say, well—I appreciate the gesture, Julie. I do.”
Julie fought the urge to respond, instead pressing her lips into a grateful smile.
“And I realized sometime later, that most of the employees here are . . . well, what I mean to say is, I’m not one of them. I’ve always considered it my responsibility to stay above all the office camaraderie, if you will. Perhaps it was the way I was raised.” She glanced at Julie before shaking her head to dismiss the thought. “Which is neither here nor there. Regardless, I found it exceptionally kind of you, under the circumstances. Especially since I’ve never taken the time or opportunity to . . . to offer my friendship, as it were.”
Julie kept the smile plastered on her face and wondered where this was going.
“I suppose I’m trying to apologize for that. For remaining at arm’s length with you all these years.”
“It’s all right, Donella. I just assumed you didn’t like me.”
Donella looked up. “Well, I didn’t. At first, anyway.”
Julie blinked. “But why? Was it something I—”
“I thought you were like all those other young girls Mr. Lanham paraded through here.”
Julie uttered something between a laugh and a scoff. “Me? You thought I was one of his bimbos?”
Donella huffed a sigh. “Clearly I was wrong about you, but you have to understand the history of ‘pretty young things’ who’ve caught Mr. Lanham’s eye and snaked their way into his good graces. When he announced he’d found his ‘Lanham’s Girl,’ I just assumed you were like all the others—attractive, available, and all too willing to get your hands on Peter’s—I mean, Mr. Lanham’s wealth.”
Julie couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, Donella. I wish we could have been more open with each other back then. I can assure you, I was never after Mr. Lanham’s money. I’m an actor, and he hired me to be the face of Lanham’s for a while. Nothing more. I saw it as something to put on my resume, you know? But what I really needed was a full-time job to pay for my acting classes. So I asked Mr. Lanham if he had any openings, and he seemed delighted to hire me for the front desk. But that’s all there ever was.”
Donella folded her arms across her chest. “Do you mean to tell me you and he never . . . spent time together? You weren’t—”
“Sleeping with him?” Julie blanched, her eyes widening like saucers. “No! Never! Oh my gosh, Donella—do you mean to tell me that all these years, you thought I’d had an affair with Mr. Lanham?”
Donella’s face crimsoned. “Well, no. Not now. But at first. Of course, I did. I just assumed you were like all the others.”
“Whoa.” Julie leaned back in her chair, puffing out a long sigh. “No wonder you’ve—I mean, I can see where you might have assumed something like that, based on his track record with others, but I’m not that kind of girl, Donella. I know Mr. Lanham could be a flirt at times, but the first time he placed a hand on my knee, I told him he’d crossed a line. I set him straight in no uncertain terms. After that, he was a perfect gentleman to me. Always.”
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.”