by Diane Moody
His brows knotted. “We dance, you and I?”
“Well no, not literally, though it’s a nice thought.” She couldn’t help the smile. “C’mon, you know what I mean. Obviously I annoy you, you push back, always scolding me somehow, then I push a little harder, and we—”
“We dance.” He laughed softly. “I see what you mean. I was never much of a dancer, which probably explains why I was slow on the draw on this one.”
“Who, you? Not a dancer? I thought you were all about the cavorting, Agent Bryson.”
“Evidently we’re talking about two different kinds of cavorting here.”
“It would seem so.” She gazed into his eyes again. “I like you, Matt.” The words seemed to slip out by themselves. “You seem like the real deal. Genuine. I don’t find that very often in the men I encounter. And I have to say it’s kind of refreshing.”
“Whoa . . . didn’t see that coming,” he said barely over a whisper.
“Yeah? I bet you say that to all the girls.”
He chuckled quietly. “Oh sure. All of them. Everywhere I go, girls, girls, girls. I’m constantly having to fight them off.”
They laughed together. He seemed to avoid eye contact, and that was okay. He was shy. She liked that about him. She could tell he liked to joke to cover his feelings. She liked that too.
Time for a subject change.
“Bet you didn’t know we once held a protest up here.”
“Really? What were you protesting?”
“There’s quite a rivalry between the Braxton Bears and the Ashland City Tigers. That’s our county seat about forty-five miles north of here. Every year, the pranks get a little more out of hand. It was homecoming of my senior year. The night before the big game, some of the Tigers’ more mischievous fans painted a huge tiger on our football field. Which, of course, ignited an endless number of fights and brawls. By game time, the crowds were so out of control and belligerent, the police called off the homecoming presentation, cancelled the game, and issued a ten o’clock curfew for anyone under nineteen years of age.
“It made sense for that evening, and continued for another couple of weeks. But once the whole thing blew over, the police continued to enforce the curfew. It was ridiculous. As senior class president, I led a contingency to talk with our chief of police, Bubba Carter. That was Jeff’s daddy. You met Jeff at the office yesterday, remember?”
He nodded. She continued. “Jeff’s nothing like his daddy. Bubba drove us all crazy when he was chief of police. So I memorized my speech to present to Chief Carter and delivered it with perfect elocution, I might add.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“As soon as I finished, he slammed his hands on his desk, told us to quit wasting his time, and threw us out of his office. We couldn’t believe it! That’s when we organized a protest. We squeezed as many kids as we could onto the walkway up here, then everyone else took a seat down below.”
“What did Bubba do?”
“He jumped out of his cruiser, which was lined up with the rest of Braxton’s Finest in their cruisers, all their red lights swirling around. Which only hyped us up more, of course. Then ol’ Bubba yelled into his bullhorn, ‘You kids go home! This is an illegal gathering, and you will be arrested if you don’t vacate these premises immediately!’”
“What did you do?”
“It was like a scene straight out of some epic Hollywood movie. We chanted, ‘Heck no! We won’t go! Heck no! We won’t go!’ Well, that’s the cleaned-up version, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Bubba kept yelling into that bullhorn, cussin’ up a blue streak. We kept chanting louder and louder. Course, there’re always a few who get carried away. This whole tower was covered with graffiti by the end of the night. Kids were throwing water balloons on the policemen below . . . it was so much fun.”
“I never would’ve figured you the kind to be involved in civil disobedience.”
“Oh, I have all kinds of secrets, Agent Bryson.”
“Apparently.” He smiled. “So who won?”
“Well, all of a sudden, the news trucks from Nashville started arriving with cameras rolling. The reporters crowded around Bubba, yelling questions at him, those bright lights blazing in his eyes—I think it was all he could take. He was a proud man, and I think we’d just pushed him too far. He held up his bullhorn until we all quieted down, and said, ‘Curfew’s lifted.’
“We all cheered like we’d won the state playoffs. We made front page of the Tennessean the next morning, plus all four local stations carried the story on the news that night.”
“Wait. You mean Bubba just caved? After all that?”
“He did.” Julie leaned back to stare up at the stars as the memories played through her mind. “He did, but he was never the same. He resigned from the force a few days later, and we didn’t see much of him after that. About a month later he had a heart attack and died. We all felt horrible.” She glanced over at Matt. “Well, most of us anyway.”
“That’s quite a story.”
“I felt so sorry for Jeff. He took it really hard. And I think that’s why he became a policeman when he graduated. To honor his dad. And Jeff has done a great job. Everyone here loves him.”
They stood back up to stand at the railing again, looking out across the lights dotting the town.
“In a way, I really envy you,” he said. “Living in a place where people care about each other. Most people don’t even know their next- door neighbors, let alone the people on their street or the tens of thousands in their cities.”
Julie turned to face him. “I know. Sometimes I get restless, wanting to move away from all this. But deep down I love it here. That said, I’ll eventually leave.”
“Why’s that?”
“To pursue my career. I’m just biding my time until I can save enough to move to New York or Los Angeles.”
He didn’t respond.
“Of course, those are my dreams. Who knows what will happen.”
“Of course.” He smiled then slowly moved his hand along the rail until it touched hers. “I think I had you all wrong, Miss Parker.”
The warmth of his hand on hers surprised her. “How’s that?”
“I think you’re the real deal. Genuine.” He looked into her eyes. “As someone once said, ‘I have to say it’s kind of refreshing.’”
Remembering her own words, Julie smiled as a warm summer breeze rustled through her hair. “Well, don’t be too sure of that. We actors are an unpredictable lot. You just never know when—”
Suddenly, he kissed her. She was so startled she could hardly breathe. Then she relaxed, closed her eyes, and felt his arms wrap around her. The breeze, the kiss, the embrace . . . He pulled back to face her, his arms loosening around her. “Well,” he whispered, “that was unexpected.”
“Yeah? I think I like unexpected.”
She heard his quiet, contented sigh as she leaned her head against his shoulder. For a moment, they just stood there. She couldn’t believe how perfectly she fit in his arms.
He stiffened. “Julie, don’t move.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Shh . . . someone’s watching us.”
“Where?” She started to turn but he held her tight.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. She fought the tingle it tried to relay, focusing on the situation. “Someone’s in the shadows of that metal building down below us. Behind you to your right. I can see the light reflecting off his glasses.”
“What do we do?”
“Act like nothing’s wrong. We’ll casually make our way down the ladder. I’ll go first. Ready?”
She trembled as he released her. “Ready.”
He held onto her hand until they reached the top of the ladder. “Allow me.” As he started his descent, they heard a car engine groan to life.
“Matt!”
“I see it! Can you get a make on the car?” He hurried down t
he steps.
“No, it’s too dark.”
He jumped the last few steps onto the pavement at the base of the tower then took off, running down the hill in the direction of the car. He was too late.
Julie caught up with him. “Could you see anything?”
He shook his head. “No, but watch where you step. Let’s see if he might have left something.”
She clung to the back of his shirt. “Such as?”
“Bingo.”
“What is it?”
“Stand still. Don’t move.”
“Okay. But what is it?”
“Our friend left us a couple of nice gifts. Two freshly-smoked Lucky Strikes.” Matt pulled a pair of tweezers and a small Ziploc bag from his pocket. He carefully lifted the cigarette butts with the tweezers, dropped them into the bag, and closed it, holding it up for Julie to see. “Looks like we’ve just made a couple of lucky strikes ourselves.”
Chapter 9
Julie arrived at work a few minutes early the next morning, anxious to begin her own stealth investigation of Lanham’s executive office. Last night she’d hardly slept, lying awake for hours, trying to analyze what she knew about her coworkers, what she didn’t know, and what she needed to know. Between what she already knew, along with the bits and pieces she’d picked up from Matt’s conversations and notes, she couldn’t help thinking the answer was right before her eyes. If only she could see it.
But the investigation wasn’t the only thing that kept her awake until the wee hours of the morning. She couldn’t stop thinking about Matt and the surprise kiss he’d given her on the water tower. He didn’t seem like the sort of guy who would do something so spontaneous, but she wasn’t complaining. She smiled remembering how startled he seemed to be that he’d kissed her. Startled maybe, but there was no mistaking how much he enjoyed the moment.
He wasn’t the only one.
A heavy waft of rose-scented cologne interrupted her thoughts as Georgia stepped out of the elevator.
“Oh Julie, Julie . . .”
Before she knew it, Georgia had rounded the reception desk and smothered her in a quivering hug. Smashed against her coworker’s soft rolls, Julie felt her headset fall off as Georgia uttered a warbling series of oh-dears, my-my-my’s and mercy-me’s while patting Julie’s back and hugging her harder.
“There now, Georgia. Let me take a look at you.”
The secretary pulled back, dabbing her eyes with a delicate handkerchief, her purse and smiley-face umbrella hanging at her elbow. “I’m so sorry, Julie. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry anymore, and just look at me. What am I going to do? How will we ever get beyond this?”
Julie patted Georgia’s hand then took her seat again. “You’re going to be just fine, Georgia. It’s still so hard to believe, but we’ll all manage somehow. Besides, having you here makes a big difference. It’s just not the same when you’re not here.”
“Oh sweetie, aren’t you just the kindest dear.” Georgia made a couple more quick dabs at her eyes, then took a deep breath. “I suppose you’re right. We’ll manage. Somehow.”
“Of course we will.” Julie untangled the cord on her headset and set it back in place. “Why don’t’ you go put your things away, and I’ll bring you a nice cup of coffee in a few minutes. It should be just about ready.”
“Thank you, Julie.” Off she went, the familiar swish-swish-swish of her pantyhose growing fainter as she made her way down the hall.
Julie made her way to the break room, suppressing a smile as she watched Georgia’s rear view. She had to admit the comic relief Georgia brought to the office was welcome after so much gloom the last couple of days.
“Julie. Wait up.”
She cringed before glancing over her shoulder, but kept walking. “Good morning, Brad.”
He followed her into the break room. “Um, I was wondering. Do you have lunch plans today?”
Right on schedule.
“Actually, no, but I—”
“Because I thought maybe we could grab a bite and go to the park.”
“Why would we go to the park? It’ll be a hundred degrees by lunchtime.” She shook her head. “But that’s beside the point. No. Thank you, but no.” Julie reached for two coffee mugs in the cabinet then started filling one of them from the urn.
He leaned against the counter beside her, his overbearing aftershave picking up where Georgia’s cologne left off. “Aw, c’mon, Julie. What’s it gonna take to get you to go out with me?”
As she finished filling the second mug of coffee, Brad grabbed the first one and helped himself. She stared in disbelief as he took a sip.
“I mean, what have you got to lose?”
Nothing she did or said ever seemed to faze him. As she reached for another mug, she chose her words carefully. “Look, Brad, I’ve told you before, office relationships must be kept strictly professional. That means I won’t go out with you or anyone else I work with. It’s not personal. And I would appreciate it if you would stop asking me all the time.” She picked up the two coffee mugs. “It makes it very uncomfortable for us to work together.”
She turned and left the room. At Georgia’s cubicle, she handed her the coffee and patted her on the back. “If you need me, all you have to do is call, okay?”
“Thanks, dear. I’m trying hard to keep my emotions in check.”
Julie gave her a wink then made her way back toward the receptionist area. She passed Brad’s cubicle just as he entered it. She kept her eyes down as they passed, then suddenly stopped cold.
Athletic shoes. He’s wearing athletic shoes. Reeboks?
She slowly backed up. With his back turned, he couldn’t see her, but she had a clear shot of his feet tucked beneath his office chair. White with black trim. Could be any brand.
“Yeah?”
Brad suddenly turned, catching her eyes glued to his feet.
“Oh—sorry, Brad. Silly me. I just noticed your shoes. I need to get some new running shoes, and I’ve been trying to decide what kind to get. What kind are those?”
“They’re Converse, as you can plainly see by the Converse logo.”
“Oh. Right. Now I see it. Right there on the heel. Converse. Do you like them? Would you recommend them?”
He stared at her with the faintest trace of a smirk, then shrugged and turned back to his computer.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, save it for someone who cares.”
She walked away, berating herself for being so careless. The last thing she needed was to arouse suspicion. Back at her desk, her mind kicked into gear. She accomplished her daily tasks as quickly as possible so she could study the information she’d gleaned off Matt’s notepad. She’d jotted down a copy of the list shortly after seeing it the day before, thankful for the near-photographic memory that had served her so well on stage. Who knew it would be such an asset in her newfound role as a sleuth?
The one word she hadn’t written down was Peter’s password, Pierre. It was easy enough to remember, plus she didn’t dare risk someone finding out she had it—especially the one from whose list she’d lifted it. “Lifted?” Listen to me. I’m starting to sound like a criminal. And that’s probably not a good thing.
Around ten-thirty, she typed in Pierre to open Lanham’s files on her computer. Thankfully, with only the wall behind her, her monitor was out of sight to anyone else. Still, she was well aware of the trouble she could get into if anyone knew what she was doing. She hurriedly copied several hundred of Peter’s emails onto a flash drive. After snooping for several more minutes, she noticed Donella approaching her desk. Julie quickly exited Lanham’s files, placed the flash drive in her pocket, and slipped her handwritten list into a file folder on her desk.
“Julie, I’ve asked Georgia to cover the phone for a while. I’d like to talk to you. Get her settled then come to my office.”
This was a first. “Oh . . . okay.”
She slid the folder with the list inside under a stac
k of office manuals as Georgia came around her desk. Julie stood and handed over her headset. “Thanks for covering for me, Georgia.”
“No problem, honey. I can’t seem to concentrate on much anyway. Anything I should know about?”
Julie stared at her for a moment before answering. “No. Well, actually, yes. If anyone calls about Mr. Lanham’s passing, use this.” She clicked on a document, opening a page on her monitor. “It’s the company response until further notice. If someone calls and insists on talking to an administrator, put them through to Danielle in Mr. Smithe’s office. She’ll take it from there.”
“All right. You go ahead. I’ll be just fine.”
“I won’t be long. I hope?”
“Not to worry, honey. Take as long as you like.”
Julie grabbed her Day-timer and headed toward Donella’s office.
Greg Johnson joined her walking in the same direction. “Hi, Julie. How’s it going?”
“Fine, Greg. How about yourself?”
“Good. Hey, have you heard anything from those TBI fruitcakes who were here Monday? I mean, about the investigation?”
She caught the faintest whiff of cigarette smoke and wondered if it was possible to detect which brand of cigarettes someone smoked by the secondhand smoke. She started to ask Greg then thought better of it. “Not really. One of the agents is here, but other than that, I—”
“Y’know, it takes a lot of nerve to grill us all like that. As if we’re all suspects. I told my wife, none of us should have said a word without first talking to our own personal lawyers.”
“Really? Seemed to me they were just doing their job. And if we have nothing to hide, what’s the problem?” She stopped, grabbing his arm. “Unless . . .”
“Unless?”
She danced her brows playfully. “Unless you have something to hide?”
He blew a raspberry. “Yeah, right. Me—a killer. I’m probably the least likely of everyone here. I live the dullest life on the planet. Just ask my wife.”
“Oh yeah?” Julie teased, turning toward Donella’s office. “Well, you know what they say.”
