The Demise

by Diane Moody

  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?”

  Chapter 19

  Matt’s head was spinning by the time he left Donella’s. Julie insisted on staying until she got Donella tucked in bed, which gave him a chance to go back to the motel and organize his notes while they were still fresh. She’d refused to let him use his recording device, but allowed him to jot down some notes. He hoped he’d be able to read them after scribbling so furiously, trying to get down all the details. Like Julie, he’d been stunned at Donella’s open, running commentary; this, from the same tight-lipped woman he’d interviewed a week ago. She had supplied him with more pieces to the growing puzzle. If only he could put them all together and find out what actually happened to Peter Lanham.

  When Julie walked him to the car, she’d told him there was more to the story, primarily involving Donella’s long-ago affair with Peter. He wasn’t surprised, given the way she spoke so lovingly about her deceased boss. What he couldn’t understand was her willingness to help Patricia keep the “love child” situation a secret. If she still loved Peter, wouldn’t the
news of a child hurt her just as deeply? Why didn’t she refuse to get involved?

  Matt sorted his notes. He added Jenny Gresham and her son Pierre to his file on Patricia. Could she have been the second person on the water tower? He couldn’t imagine the pristine Mrs. Lanham climbing up all those rungs in her designer suit and three-inch heels. Even if she owned a pair of Reeboks, the size would be wrong. Then again, maybe she hired someone to do the deed. A professional or some willing acquaintance?

  He wasn’t surprised to learn that Peter despised Christopher Smithe. Matt couldn’t imagine that Donovan Street would have allowed the board to hire Smithe, no matter what the financial situation of Lanham’s might be. Most likely, Lanham’s board of directors had hired Smithe after Donovan resigned to care for his wife. But surely Peter had asked his best friend to return to the board and get rid of the vice president. And if not, why not?

  His thoughts shifted direction as he recalled the look on Julie’s face when Donella mentioned Pierre’s name. It confused him momentarily until he remembered Julie had read his notes in the break room after the coffee mishap with Smithe. She obviously recognized the password. Did she wonder like I did if Peter somehow knew about the kid? I sure hope she keeps her promise not to botch the investigation. Who am I kidding? Of course she’ll start snooping around again.

  Of course . . .

  He raked his fingers through his hair and tried to refocus. He needed to track down Jenny Gresham, the mother of the child, and have a talk with her. By now, she was surely aware of Peter’s death. Would she finally come forward? Go public about her son’s father? Or would she disappear? She had to know Patricia would pull the plug on the monthly payments. He hoped he could find her before Patricia got to her, but he had a feeling he was already too late.

  He stood up and stretched, his mind a jumble of mismatched facts. In addition to everything Donella had told him, he was still anxious to follow up on Underwood’s brief revelation about an alleged new will. According to Underwood, Peter had told him about a sealed packet which the chauffeur was to find at a specific location. He was instructed to retrieve the packet precisely six days after Peter’s death in the event that something happened to him, then personally hand it over to Lanham’s attorney. Underwood wasn’t willing to divulge the location of the packet, nor would he say anything more about it until he gave it to the attorney.

  When Underwood first told him about the second will, Matt couldn’t help wondering if it might hold all the answers he’d been searching for. If Lanham had set up an elaborate procedure “in the event of his passing,” did he suspect someone was trying to kill him? Or was he planning his own suicide? Matt tried not to jump to conclusions, acutely aware of the skewed approach it would lend his investigation.

  Later, as he drifted off to sleep, he dreamt of shoe prints, cigarettes, and Donella Willet sitting on Peter’s lap sharing a drink from a frosty blender.

  After another tense morning in the office, Julie was thankful for an afternoon off. She’d requested the time off more than a month ago so she could be in Nashville for the Romeo & Juliet audition. Butterflies danced in her stomach as they always did before auditions. The difference this time was her preoccupation with the ongoing stress at work and her growing fondness for Matt Bryson. Both left her slightly off-balance—never a good thing with an audition looming. Especially one holding this much potential.

  By the time she arrived at the theater, her blouse was sticking to her clammy skin, her stomach growled since she’d forgotten to eat lunch, and the incessant negative self-talk was driving her crazy. She stopped just outside the door and uttered a quick prayer. Without it, she would have bolted.

  Julie knew almost everyone auditioning for the part of Juliet. She also knew her chances were slim to none, especially in her present state of angst. It was infuriating at this point in her acting career—if you could even call it that—to be so lacking in confidence that she was reduced to near panic.

  What is wrong with me?

  Her name would be called any minute. She had to get rid of the surging anxiety or blow her chances completely.

  Think! Find your motivation. Find your confidence.

  Nothing.

  Okay, then, think of something—

  And suddenly, out of nowhere, the scene from Moonstruck popped into her mind. Loretta, played by Cher, smacks her palm against the cheek of Ronny Cammareri, played by Nicholas Cage. “Snap out of it!” she yells in frustration at his untimely adoration.

  Snap out of it!

  The mental slap brought Julie back to the real world, slowing her breath and helping her refocus. She could do this. Heck, she could do this in her sleep. Enough of the wimpy attitude. Just do this!

  She’d barely taken a breath when her name was called. She stood, shoulders back, chin up, and marched up on the stage like the seasoned professional she was.

  Twenty minutes later, she climbed back in her car, keyed the ignition, turned the AC on high, then slumped over the steering wheel.

  Worst. Audition. Ever.

  She let out a long, disparaging sigh as the miserable thing played over and over in her mind.

  Marty said her audition was “gritty.” Really? Juliet’s character was never gritty. And the tears—good grief, all the tears. It felt like someone turned on a fire hose somewhere inside her. As if Juliet’s lament required the ugly cry? Nose dripping, face pinched, mascara running? Where did that come from?

  She bounced her forehead against the steering wheel, trying to make sense of what just happened. She knew every word, every pause, every facial expression. She understood Juliet’s full range of emotions and the sorrow that overwhelmed her. So how did Julie turn all that into grit and slobber?

  Then, finally resigned to her failure, she sat up and blew out a long raspberry.

  “Well, that’s that. And nothing to be done for it.”

  Ten minutes later she pulled away from the Starbucks drive-through with a venti nonfat Cinnamon Dolce Crème Frappuccino sitting in her console cup holder. As she waited for traffic to clear, she surprised herself by turning the opposite direction, then taking the entrance ramp to I65 North. It had been a while since she’d driven with no particular destination in mind. But today, she simply needed the open road to clear her mind, to accept the failure of her abysmal audition, and to search her heart about all the distractions that kept derailing her from her dream. With the help of her sweet coffee indulgence, she let her mind wander and untangle from all the bizarre stress of late.

  That’s when she realized the train had started coming off the tracks the day Peter Lanham died. The same day she met the shy young TBI agent. The same day she’d visited Donella at home, setting in motion a most peculiar friendship she never saw coming. And where had it all taken her? Farther than ever from her dream of acting on a stage bigger than Braxton’s.

  Julie noisily sipped the last of her frappuccino through her straw then placed the empty cup back on the console. Even with nonfat milk, her favorite-though-rare treat rocked her world with a whopping 390 calories. But today, that was okay. Comfort food in a 24-ounce cup.

  She looked up just in time to see a road sign: Bowling Green - next exit 1 mile.

  “Oh my gosh.” She put on her blinker and quickly veered into the right-hand lane. “Has to be divine intervention. Has to be! What are the chances?”

  In the angst since leaving the office earlier and the disappointment of her audition, Julie had forgotten about last night’s research after leaving Donella’s. She’d arrived home late, then took a quick shower and went to bed with Juliet’s lines tap dancing through her mind as she tried to go to sleep. An hour later, she gave up and reached for her laptop, curious to see what she could find out about Jenny Gresham. A Google search using her name along with “Kentucky” listed several Jenny and Jennifer Greshams, including one in Bowling Green, home of Western Kentucky University, just an hour north of Nashville. Several of her friends had gone to WKU, so she’d often vis
ited and knew her way around the college town. Convinced it was more than a coincidence that she’d randomly taken a drive in this direction, she was eager to find out if the Jenny Gresham she’d located online was the former mistress of Peter Lanham and mother of his child. She knew the odds were against her, but figured she had nothing to lose.

  Julie stopped near the campus and used the same search on her cell phone to find the address. Within seconds, she had directions and a map to show her the way. Julie felt a twinge of apprehension when she realized what she was about to do. Matt would kill her if he knew. Still, she didn’t believe in coincidences, which meant her pity-drive had led her here for a reason.

  Moments later, she pulled into the driveway of modest brick home in a quaint, older neighborhood. It was a simple house with a huge oak tree shading most of the small front lawn, a white picket fence, and a cobbled brick pathway leading to the front porch steps.

  Julie turned off her ignition and breathed a quick prayer before getting out. Okay, Lord, I have to believe You led me here for a reason. Help me do the right thing. And if it’s the wrong Jenny Gresham, I’m okay with it. Just so You know.

  She slowly walked the path then took the steps to a cozy porch decorated with three large ferns hanging above the porch rail. A couple of wicker chairs sporting colorful paisley seat pads graced the front of a large window. A healthy red geranium in a clay pot sat between them on a small wicker table with a trio of Hot Wheels surrounding them.

  She started to ring the bell then stopped, wondering if she was about to cross some forbidden line. Shaking off her doubt, she knocked on the door frame and waited. She smiled in case someone was looking through the small peephole, then rolled her eyes. Who poses for a peephole? I must be losing it.

  The door opened slowly. An attractive young woman, not much older than she, offered a weak smile beneath tired, bloodshot eyes. Her hair was a mass of dark auburn curls framing a fair complexion with a light sprinkling of freckles over her perfect nose.