The Demise Page 6

  Matt stopped beside Lanham’s office door. “Any idea what they were arguing about?”

  “No, but it wasn’t the first time I heard Mr. Smithe raise his voice at Mr. Lanham. From where I sit there in the reception area? Trust me, I’ve seen and heard it all.”

  “I’ll bet you have. And I’d like to ask more about that. Any chance we could have lunch together?”

  Julie noticed a slight blush across his cheeks. “I’d like that. That will give me a chance to tell you about last night. I get an hour for lunch starting at eleven.”

  “Good. How about Denton’s? I think I saw a sign that said they serve chicken and dumplings on Wednesdays.”

  She peeked down the hall, then turned back to face him. “Too many ears at Denton’s, if you know what I mean. How about a burger at Sonic? That way we can talk without worrying about someone listening in on our conversation. And no one will mind that your clothes are all stained.”

  He looked down. “Right. I think I’ll head down to my car shortly and save the embarrassment.”

  “Good idea. Later, gator.”

  “After while, crocodile.”

  Chapter 7

  “One double cheeseburger with no onions, a grilled chicken sandwich with no condiments, an order of tater tots, and two medium Diet Cokes.” The garbled female voice repeated their order through the car-side intercom. “Will there be anything else?”

  “No, that’s all,” Matt answered, digging his wallet out of his pocket.

  “That’ll be $12.78. Your server will be right out.”

  “Thanks.” Matt switched the air conditioner to high as the power window closed. “Must be 110 degrees out there today. Is this normal for Tennessee?”

  Julie unfastened her seat belt so she could lean against the passenger door. “It is for this time of year. August is the worst, but it won’t last forever. We get all four seasons. I’ll take fall or winter or spring any day over the heat. How about you?”

  “Call me crazy, but I love winter. Probably because I grew up in Texas and never saw much snow.”

  “Where in Texas?”

  “Arlington, between Fort Worth and Dallas.”

  “Ah, big Cowboys fan?”

  “I cannot lie. It’s in my DNA.”

  “You might want to keep that to yourself around here. We’re die-hard Titans’ fans.”

  “I figured as much. But I won’t hold it against you.”

  A redhead on roller blades arrived with their order. Matt handed Julie the bag and drinks, then paid the attendant. They poked straws in their drinks and unwrapped their sandwiches. Julie placed her hand over his and spoke a quick prayer, thanking God for their food and asking Him to guide them through the rest of the day.

  “Amen,” she finished, then looked over at him. Seeing the awkward expression on his face made her smile. “Sorry. Guess I should have asked first.”

  “No, it’s okay. Really.”

  “You’ll get used to it.” She grabbed a tater tot. “At least I hope you will.”

  “Sure. I mean, yeah. I will.”

  “Good. I’m glad.” She snatched another tater tot.

  He cleared his throat and took a sip of his drink. “So tell me again why we couldn’t meet at Denton’s where it’s nice and cool inside?”

  “I keep telling you, Matt. This is a small town. People talk. And if anyone had seen me there with you, I guarantee by the time I got back to work, the whole town would know who you are and what you’re doing here. And by association, they’d assume that I’m involved in the investigation, which I’m trying to hide so that I can actually work undercover, thereby contributing more to the investigation.”

  She took a bite of her sandwich then looked back at him. He stopped chewing and stared at her.

  “What?”

  He put down his burger then stretched his neck from side to side. He started to say something then stopped.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Matt nodded his head in an awkward pattern as he tried to speak. “There are so many problems with what you said . . . on so many different levels, I don’t even know where to begin. I thought I asked you to let me handle this investigation. What part of that didn’t you understand?”

  “Oh, that.” Julie chuckled, waving him off. “After you hear what I tell you, I think you’ll change your tune. That’s because last night . . .” she paused for effect, “I decided to make a visit to Donella’s.”

  “I trust this so-called visit was simply a gesture of your good will and nothing more?”

  “Well, sure. I guess you could say that.” She smiled, enjoying his discomfort. “I took her some cookies, and she welcomed me inside. I tried to console her as best I could—”

  “Oh, I’m sure you did.”

  “Then she offered to make us some tea. So while she was out of the room, I hurried over to search her desk.”

  “You WHAT!?”

  “Oh, c’mon, Matt. Just hear me out.” Julie noticed he was clenching his jaw again. “That’s when I spotted a checkbook. Not just any checkbook, mind you. It was Mr. and Mrs. Lanham’s personal checkbook.”

  He closed his eyes. “Just please tell me you didn’t take it.”

  “Of course not!” she answered, indignant.

  “Well, thank the Lord for small wonders and—”

  “I just ripped out a deposit slip from the back of it.”

  “You WHAT?! Are you out of your—”

  “Oh, give it a rest, will you? She’ll never miss it.” She popped another tater tot in her mouth.

  He stuffed the remainder of his burger into the bag and turned toward her. He raised a trembling hand, palm toward her face. “Now you listen to me, Julie Parker.” A slow burn seemed to singe his voice. “I will not allow you to tamper with evidence or . . . or sabotage this case. Do you understand me? I want your word that you’ll stay out of this investigation.”

  She shrugged then took a slow sip from her drink. “Then I guess you don’t want to hear about the strange appearance of the not-so-grieving widow of the deceased, do you?”

  He closed his eyes again and slowly shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

  “Patricia Lanham.” Julie measured her words, acutely aware of the fine line she was walking. “Peter Lanham’s widow, who showed up wearing a scarf and sunglasses—like a perfect reincarnation of Audrey Hepburn playing Regina Lambert in the 1963 version of Charade—even though it was already dark outside, thus no need for the sunglasses. Plus she was acting even more peculiar than usual.”

  He blinked rapidly as though trying to digest her summary. “Forget Audrey Hepburn; you said Mrs. Lanham was acting more peculiar than usual. How so?”

  “Surely some of those you questioned yesterday told you about Patricia?”

  “Of course they did. They told us she’s aloof. Often unfriendly. But lots of boss’s wives keep a distance. It’s hardly enough to make her a suspect.”

  “She’s more than just aloof and unfriendly, Matt. She’s driven. She’s mean. She’s condescending and calculating, even to those closest to her. And for the record, her behavior toward Donella is reprehensible.”

  “Why is that? Is she jealous?”

  Julie noticed his tone had changed. The overt anger seemed to be ebbing away as curiosity slipped into its place. “Jealous? Of Donella?” She barked a laugh. “Patricia jealous of Donella? Oh no, no, no. My guess is Patricia thinks Donella knows more about Peter Lanham than she does. I’ll even take it a step further. I think she’s desperately afraid her husband’s alleged suicide could prevent her from inheriting his fortune and control of the Lanham corporate empire.”

  “So what are you saying? You think Patricia could have had something to do with Peter’s death?”

  Julie leaned back against the door and folded her hands on her lap. “Those are your words, not mine. Though it’s common knowledge that the spouse of someone who’s died under suspicious circumstances is usually the first suspect.”


  He toyed with a tater tot, staring at nothing in particular. Julie could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind.

  “If she’s as calculating as you say she is, I’ll bet there’s a prenup. Folks that wealthy don’t do anything without a prenup these days. Though, they’ve been married so long, it might not have seemed to be an issue way back then.”

  “It’s possible, I suppose. And definitely worth looking into, wouldn’t you agree?”

  He nodded. “Yes.” Then, turning toward her, “So what did she do at Donella’s? Don’t tell me she joined your little tea party.”

  “Hardly. I told her how sorry I was about the loss of Mr. Lanham, then I tried to hug her. There’s a reason everyone calls her the Ice Queen. She completely ignored my attempts at sympathy and insisted on talking to Donella privately. So they took off down the hall, and that’s when I—”

  “That’s when you committed burglary by ripping out a deposit slip from the Lanham’s personal checkbook.”

  She scoffed with an attempt at laughter. “Oh now, let’s not get too formal with the implied threats here. Yes, that’s when I took a little ol’ innocent deposit slip, but there’s something even more curious that I discovered.”

  “Oh, do tell.” Matt leaned his head back against the headrest.

  “As I leafed through the pages of the checkbook, I noticed a number of identical entries. Month after month. Same date each month. Same amount.”

  “So? People pay their bills monthly. Sometimes the exact amount every month. That’s hardly suspicious.”

  “I suppose. But $5000? To someone named Jenny Gresham? Sounds a little suspicious, if you ask me.”

  “That’s just the point, Miss Parker. I did not ask you. What I have asked is for you to stay out of this investigation before you blow it completely. Now hand over the deposit slip.”

  She stared at him, frustrated but undeterred. “Very well. Have it your way.” Julie reached into her purse and pulled the folded deposit slip from her billfold.

  Matt wiped his hands on his napkin then carefully took the slip from her. He tucked it into his shirt pocket then gathered the trash from their meal. “I should take you back to the office.”

  “Look, Matt. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. But I promise, all I want to do is help.”

  He took a deep breath then let it out slowly. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.” He looked up at her. “But this case is important to me. I need to solve it quickly, but strictly by the book. I can’t afford even the slightest slip-up or mishandling of evidence or witnesses. You have to promise me you’ll stay out of it. Understood?”

  Julie searched his eyes. They’d mellowed considerably. She rolled her eyes playfully. “I’ll try.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “I said I’ll try! But I still have to work at Lanham’s. And I see things. I hear things. What am I supposed to do, blindfold myself and wear earplugs?”

  “Of course not. If you see anything or hear anything I should know about, then tell me. But under no circumstances are you to go poking around for any more clues or evidence. “Got that, Miss Marple?”

  Julie watched a slow smile creep across his face. She smiled back, holding out her hand. “Got it. Shall we shake on it?”

  He took her hand in a mock attempt at solidarity. When she didn’t let go, he held it a moment longer. “Well, then.”

  “Well, then, indeed.” She laughed. “And this would be your cue to . . .”

  His eyebrows arched. “To—?”

  “—take me back to the office.”

  “Oh. Sure. Gotta get you back.” He started the car.

  As they pulled out of the lot, Julie tried to sound nonchalant. “So what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

  “I’ve got a few folks I need to talk to, then tonight I thought I’d—” He stopped abruptly.

  “You thought you’d what?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “Oh Matt, don’t be silly. I said I’d stay out of the investigation. That doesn’t mean you can’t tell me what you’re doing.”

  He drove in silence for a brief moment. “I thought I’d check out the water tower. I want to go up there when it’s dark. To see how it looked when Lanham took his last breath.”

  “That’s a great idea.”

  He tossed a quick glance. “Yeah?”

  “Sure. It makes perfect sense. You trace his steps, try to zone in on what he might have been thinking . . . or if there was someone else up there with him. Get a feel of what happened.”

  “Exactly,” he answered.

  “Matt?”

  “What?”

  “Please let me come with you.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I won’t get in your way. I won’t bother you at all! But I can point out things you don’t know. Give you an idea of the territory. Plus, I can tell you about all the pranks kids pull up there. I would be invaluable to you up there. Please?”

  They rode in silence again. She fought the urge to beg.

  Matt pulled into the back lot at Lanham’s headquarters, then came to a stop. “Are you always this persistent, Miss Parker?”

  “Always. It’s one of my defining characteristics. So what time will you pick me up tonight?”

  “I must be out of my mind.” He sighed and let his head fall back. “Ten o’clock.”

  “Good. I’ll see you then.” She opened the door and got out of the car.

  “Oh, and Miss Parker?”

  “It’s Julie.”

  “Fine, then. Julie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be sure to bring a strait-jacket. I feel quite certain I’m going to need one in the near future.”

  Chapter 8

  Julie remained silent as Matt rounded the walkway high atop Braxton’s water tower. She’d been observant but quiet for almost half an hour as he examined the large concrete area around the base of the tower and the surrounding patches of grass and dirt. Forensics had completed their work, though the yellow crime-scene tape still sequestered the area.

  He’d spent a great deal of time studying partial footprints in that taped-off area. She watched from close behind him but said nothing; not even when she noted the distinctive, partial Reebok prints in the dusty Tennessee dirt. Her mind kicked into gear. Reeboks. Belonging to a man—or a woman with unusually big feet? Note to self: observe the footwear of Lanham’s employees and other citizens of Braxton.

  After studying the footprints, Matt stood up. He looked back at her, his eyes darting down at her shoes then back up again. She returned the gesture, checking out his footwear as well. Their eyes met again.

  Now atop the tower, Matt moved toward the railing, resting his elbows on it as he looked out over the lights of Braxton. “What happened here, Peter Lanham?” he asked quietly. “Why would a multi-millionaire like you take a jump off this tower?”

  Julie joined him at the railing, then eased herself down to sit on the edge of the narrow walkway, her feet dangling below her. “Or perhaps the better question—who could have hated you enough to push you, Mr. Lanham?”

  Matt slid down, joining her. “You really think he was pushed?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “From all I’ve heard, he was quite a character.”

  “That would be an understatement. Mr. Lanham was . . . stereotypical of most corporate CEOs in many ways.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He was definitely the man in charge; no question about that. But he also traveled constantly. He loved the good life and wasn’t afraid to live it. He played golf and tennis, but his real love was his yacht.”

  “Which is strange, because I don’t think of people in Tennessee owning yachts. There aren’t any large bodies of water around here, are there?”

  “There are lots of lakes, but he often docked his boat in other ports.”

  “Where’s the boat now?”

  Her imaginatio
n took off, as she pictured herself sneaking onto the yacht at the marina west of town. What might she find there? I need to get there before Matt does. But how would I—

  “Julie?”

  “Uh, yeah. I guess it’s still docked in Nashville. It’s on the west side of town.” She scratched her chin and looked away.

  “Julie?” He gently took hold of her face and turned it toward him. “Why do I get the feeling you’re hiding something from me?”

  “Hiding something? No. It’s just that . . . well, he used to entertain onboard his yacht. Let me tell you, those parties were legendary.”

  “Legendary. How so?”

  “The parties were wild. Really, really wild. Lots of booze. Lots of bikinis. Lots of . . . wild.” She felt his eyes on her as she gazed back on the town below.

  “Did you go to many of these parties?”

  “Who, me? Heavens, no!” Then she paused. “Well, I mean, I went once but just for a little while. It was shortly after Mr. Lanham hired me. He insisted I come, so I did. But I’m not comfortable around drunks and all that . . . cavorting.”

  Matt wasn’t smiling, necessarily, but his eyes were. “Ah. So, there was cavorting.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re not familiar with the term.”

  “Oh, I know all about cavorting. I assure you.”

  She studied him. “I suppose you cavort on a regular basis. Is that it?”

  He laughed out loud. “I’ve had a cavort here and there.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Well, Julie, I don’t know. You seem to know all about cavorting, so you tell me.”

  What a kind face. He still reminds me of a young Tom Hanks. Turner and Hooch-era Tom Hanks. Only not so much hair. And more naïve. She stared into his eyes until the silence grew heavy. “Don’t mind me. I’m just giving you a hard time.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you feel the need to give me a hard time?”

  Julie pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Good question. Why do I always feel the need to get into a sparring match with you? It’s like we have this strange dance we do.”