The Demise

by Diane Moody

  Julie studied the photograph closely. “This is beautiful, Gevin. The clouds look like waves of cotton all drenched in pinks and blues.”

  “I know. I’ve taken hundreds of sunset and sunrise shots, but this one was absolutely breathtaking.”

  “It is. I hate that I missed it, but I’m glad you shared it with me.” She slid the picture back toward her brother. “Hey, I’m thinking takeout from The Lotus Tree. Does that sound good to you?”

  Gevin slid another picture toward her. “Not now. Take a look at this one.”

  “It’s the same picture, only enlarged. It’s great, Gev, but what—”

  “Look closer.” He tapped on the photograph.

  “Why? What am I looking for?”

  “See the water tower in the background?”

  “Sure, but—oh my gosh!” She picked up the picture. “Someone’s up on the water tower!”

  “Not just one. There are two people up there. Look, this one’s facing my direction, the other with his or her back to me.”

  Julie’s skin prickled with goose bumps. “When did you take this?”

  Gevin looked up. “The night before Lanham was found at the base of the tower the next morning.”

  They stared at each other in silence as Julie connected the dots.

  She grabbed the loupe magnifier Gevin kept handy. “Then that’s got to be Peter Lanham!” She straightened. “You got a picture of him before he jumped!”

  “Before he jumped or was pushed. The problem is, we can’t tell who the other person is. Or for that matter, if that’s actually Peter with his back to the camera.”

  “Can’t you enlarge it again? Maybe sharpen the contrasts?”

  “I’ve tried. The problem is, I was focusing on the sky when I took the shot. Everything else was intentionally out of focus.”

  She leaned down, squinting into the loupe, hoping for a clearer image.

  Gevin scooted his stool back and stood. “Hey Jules, Matt’s here.”

  She looked up as her brother opened the studio’s front door. “Hi, Matt.”

  “Hi, Julie. Gevin. I was just on my way into town and thought I’d stop by for a minute.”

  “I’m glad you did. I was just about to call you.” Gevin waved him over. “You’ve got to see this.”

  As he neared the table, Gevin slid the photograph toward him.

  “Wow! Beautiful sunset. Nice shot, man.”

  Gevin tapped on the picture. “Look closer.”

  “What am I looking—wait.” He bent down for a closer look. “Is that someone up on the water tower?”

  “Actually, it’s two people.”

  Matt picked up the photograph and held it as close as he could, then at arm’s length. “Can you enlarge this?”

  “Doesn’t do any good. I’ve enlarged it as much as I can without making it pixelate badly.”

  “When did you take this?”

  “Monday night.”

  Matt finally looked up at them, his face flushed. “The night Lanham jumped.”

  “Or was pushed,” Julia said, pointing at the images. “Obviously, he wasn’t alone up there.”

  “Can I have this? I was just heading into Nashville to our lab.”

  “No problem. I’ll get a sleeve for it.”

  As Gevin opened his file cabinet, Julie smiled at Matt.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Okay, yes, Julie. This is good. Really good. But you can’t tell anyone about it. You too, Gevin.”

  “No problem.” Gevin slid the picture into the thin envelope. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks. This is great.” Matt paused then started to leave only to pause again.

  “Was there something else?” Julie asked.

  Matt turned around, still hesitant. “I wanted to ask . . .” He paused again.

  “Spit it out, Bryson,” Gevin teased. “What’s the problem?”

  Matt looked at Julie briefly then directed his attention to Gevin. “I was wondering, what do you know about Jim Underwood?”

  Gevin leaned back against the worktable. “He’s the Lanham’s driver, but a lot more than that, really. Does a lot of odds and ends for them; runs errands, that sort of thing.”

  “Do you trust the guy?”

  “Sure. But Julie knows him better than I do. Tell him, Jules.”

  She took a seat on one of the stools. “Jim’s great. Of course, he’s a dead ringer for Martin Sheen. Same good looks, same head of thick silver hair, same blue eyes, same knowing smile—”

  Matt snapped his fingers. “You’re right! I thought he looked familiar, but couldn’t put my finger on it. Definitely Martin Sheen, only with glasses. I used to watch him on West Wing all the time.”

  “I know. I used to call him Mr. President all the time. He’d always laugh and presume a presidential air. Jim’s a great guy and a lot of fun.”

  “So how long have you known Jim Underwood?”

  “Since I started working at Lanham’s. I got to know him when I was doing the commercials. He’d drive me into Nashville for the shoots. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I, uh . . .”

  “What’s going on with you?” Gevin asked. “What’s with all the stammering?”

  “Never mind him,” Julie said. “He’s trying to be careful not to say too much. At least, not in front of me. We have this arrangement, you see.”

  “What arrangement?”

  “Never mind,” Matt added, seeming relieved. “I guess there’s no harm in telling you. Underwood called and asked to speak to me later this evening.”

  “He’ll be a good resource,” Julie added, her mind already spinning.

  “Good. Glad to hear it. Hey, thanks again for the photograph.”

  Gevin clapped him on the shoulder. “Anytime. Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

  Julie rolled her eyes and pasted a smile on her face. “Or not.”

  He gave her a thumbs up, chuckling as he left.

  Gevin looped his arm around his sister’s neck. “Did you mention something about The Lotus Tree?”

  Chapter 15

  Matt spotted Underwood as he entered the small coffee shop on the western outskirts of Nashville. Julie’s right—he could be Martin Sheen’s brother. The thought made him smile as he stood to greet him.

  “Hello, Underwood. Thanks for coming.”

  “Thanks for seeing me so late.” Jim Underwood shook his hand then slid into the booth across from Matt. He dug a pair of wire-rimmed glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on. “I needed to stick around in case Mrs. Lanham wanted to go somewhere this evening.”

  “Must have been quite a day for her.”

  “Yes, it was. There’s been a steady stream of well-wishers in and out of the house all day. Still some there as we speak.”

  Matt took a sip of his coffee. “How’s she holding up?”

  Underwood stared at him for a moment before answering. “Mrs. Lanham is . . . it’s like she’s playing a role. She’s practically robotic. But that’s nothing new. She kicks into that mode whenever it suits her.”

  “Is that often?”

  The waitress stopped by with a cup of coffee for Underwood and a warm up for Matt.

  “More often than not.” Underwood thanked her, then stirred two creamers into his cup. “I’ve never met anyone quite like her. And truth be told, if I had only worked for her, I would have quit years ago.”

  “Does that mean you’ll quit now?”

  He set his spoon on the saucer and leaned back. “Probably. I’m sure I will once the worst of this has blown over. Peter made the job worthwhile. He was always good to me. I may be just a chauffeur in most folks’ eyes, but Peter Lanham always treated me with respect. Even confided in me now and then.” He blinked a couple of times and seemed to catch himself before his emotions took over.

  “I never met Mr. Lanham. Tell me about him.”

  “Where to start. The guy lov
ed life. He never met a stranger—literally. When Peter Lanham walked into a room, everybody knew it. Always smiling, always laughing, just a great guy. And smart? You’ve never met anyone as savvy as him. His mind never stopped, always thinking of new projects, new marketing concepts. Sure, he inherited the family business, but Peter was the first in the family to expand the company and take it national. He was the smartest. At least of the Lanhams that I knew.”

  “How long have you been with the family?”

  “Forty-nine years next month.”

  “Whoa, that’s a long time. You must have been a kid when you started.”

  “Can’t believe it’s been that long. I was twenty-one years old when old man Herschel Lanham hired me—Peter’s dad. At the time, I was a delivery driver for the stores. One day he walked into the warehouse where I was loading, and asked me if I’d be his driver. He said he hated to drive, didn’t have the patience for it. And since he was always on the go, he needed someone available to him around the clock.”

  “That was, what—1965?”

  “That’s right.”

  “If Lanham’s headquarters is in Braxton, where was he going all the time?”

  “Nashville, mostly.”

  Matt noticed a twinkle in the driver’s eye. “And?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Herschel was a nice enough guy. Nothing like his son, of course. But he was much more civic-minded. Kept in constant touch with the politicians at the Capitol. Good friends with the governor. Even thought about running for the Senate, but let’s just say someone convinced him otherwise.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “Ah. Herschel had a thing for women?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “What was his wife like?”

  “Celeste was an odd one, for sure. Very kind, very considerate, and she loved her kids. No question about that. But she loved her social standing even more. She was constantly on the go, to committee meetings and fundraisers, luncheons at the club, golf and bridge with her friends.”

  “Who took care of the kids?”

  “A nanny. Nice Korean woman named Su-Jin. She stayed longer than most of the others, and she was more of a mother to those kids than Celeste ever was. So naturally, they didn’t want Su-Jin to go, even though they were in their teens by then. And apparently, the Lanhams wanted her to stay so they didn’t have to be bothered with all those challenging teen years. At least that’s my take on it.

  “Eventually Celeste and Herschel led totally separate lives. She knew about his affairs, and I’m fairly certain she had a few of her own, though we never discussed it. She’d drive herself on those occasions.”

  “When did Peter take over the family business?”

  “When Herschel died. He was a chain smoker, so it was just a matter of time. Peter had graduated from Vanderbilt with his masters a few years earlier and had worked in the executive office with his father.”

  “Is Celeste still living?”

  “She died ten years ago. She’d moved to France with a young tennis instructor not long after Herschel died and rarely came back to visit Peter or his sister. But they hardly knew her, so it wasn’t like they missed her.”

  “Mrs. Lanham—Patricia—told me she and Peter married while they were both at Vanderbilt. Did they live on the family estate at that time?”

  “No, Peter had a house near the campus in Nashville. Patricia had lived with him for a year before they married. Those two were quite the couple.” Underwood smiled. “You’d never know it now, but back then they were inseparable. Crazy for each other. Peter was the happiest I’d ever seen him, practically walking on air. And Patricia was actually tolerable back then.”

  “How so?”

  “She came from a wealthy family down in Birmingham. Spoiled rotten. Used to getting whatever she wanted and whenever she wanted it. But she was beautiful and well-heeled, and everyone thought she was the perfect match for Peter. Once Herschel died, they moved into the estate there with Celeste. That’s when the cat fights began.”

  “Ugly, huh?”

  Underwood leaned back and hung his arm along the top of the booth. “You can’t even imagine. Peter spent half his time keeping the two of them from killing each other. Patricia wanted Celeste packed up and out of there. I suppose that’s why he wasn’t exactly heartbroken when his mother took up with that tennis player.”

  “Were things better between Patricia and Peter after she left?”

  “For a while. Then Patricia became obsessed with having children, and just about drove Peter nuts. A couple of years went by before she found out she could never have children. And just that fast, she changed. Peter looked into adoption, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Nothing could please her; even the smallest matter would throw her into a rage. And even though Peter quickly learned to walk on eggshells, nothing he did was ever enough.”

  “How come they didn’t just divorce?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve wondered that myself a thousand times, but I have no answer. Peter learned to find affection elsewhere, just like his father before him. Almost makes you think that sort of thing is genetic, y’know?”

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised.” Matt drained his cup and set it back down. “Did Peter ask you to drive him when—”

  “When he went out with other women?”

  “Yes.”

  Underwood scratched the close-cropped silver beard beneath his chin. “Sometimes, yes.”

  “So he wasn’t trying to hide his affairs?”

  “Well, let’s just say he was discreet at first. After a while, not so much.”

  “No offense, but it strikes me as a bit odd that someone in the Nashville area, in this day and age, still requires a driver. In New York or Los Angeles, Washington—I get it. But around here? Why didn’t he just drive himself?”

  Underwood smiled. “You have to remember that these folks live in a different stratosphere than folks like you and me. They’re used to having others wait on them, cook for them, clean their homes, drive their cars. They grew up having all those amenities, and quite frankly, they just took it all for granted. It might seem audacious or frivolous to us, but they don’t give it a second thought.”

  “I see your point. They definitely breathe different air than I do.”

  “You and me both.”

  Matt took his notepad out of his pocket. “You mentioned that Peter had a sister. What can you tell me about her?”

  Underwood held out his cup for a refill as the waitress stopped by. Matt took a pass, moving his cup and saucer out of the way.

  “Her name was Shannon. Things were different for her than they were for Peter.”

  “In what way?”

  “It’s hard to say, and this is only my opinion, of course. But I always felt like Shannon resented her mother for never being around. She adored Su-Jin, the nanny. But kids get to a certain age, they start to understand. Shannon developed a huge chip on her shoulder toward her mother.”

  “What about her dad? Did she resent him as well?”

  “No, she was Daddy’s little girl, and she knew it, too. He was gone a lot, even more than Celeste. But he lavished gifts on the kids, and they ate it up. Obviously, he was buying their affection, but it worked. Especially for Shannon. And don’t think she didn’t know how to manipulate him against her mother. That girl could be a pistol when she wanted to be.”

  “How did she and Peter get along?”

  “Shannon worshipped the ground Peter walked on. He was two years older, and I think he simply slid into the void left by his parents; whether by instinct or some deeper understanding that his kid sister needed him, I don’t know. He looked out for her, let her tag along with him, that sort of thing. And later, when she started getting into trouble, he was the one who bailed her out or made excuses for her.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Whereas Peter had a natural drive to excel, Shannon had similar i
nstincts, but hers were aimed in the opposite direction. She started smoking in middle school, drank by the time she got to high school, did drugs and slept around. But she knew she could always count on her big brother. And he was always there for her.”

  “Where’s Shannon now?”

  “She died back in 2000. She flunked out of college and moved out to California for a while. Came home when her father died, but took off once Herschel was buried. She didn’t even bother coming when her mother died. She married some guy for a few years, had a kid, then two or three years later, the guy split. She had a rough time of it, that’s for sure. Despite all her problems, I always felt sorry for her.”

  “The kid—is that Brad Sampson?”

  “Yes, he lives here in town. Works at corporate.”

  “I met the guy. Kind of an odd duck.”

  “A little. To be honest, I’ve never been around him much.”

  “Back up for a minute. How did Shannon get along with her sister-in-law, Patricia?”

  “Not at all, which is why Shannon rarely came home.”

  “Patricia’s a real peach of a gal.”

  Underwood rolled his eyes. “You’re being very kind. Not sure I’ve ever heard her described in such glowing terms. You know, I always thought Mr. Lanham should have dumped Patricia and married Donella.”

  “Donella Willet? His secretary?”

  Underwood nodded, but said nothing for a moment.

  “Were they ever—”

  “She’s been his secretary since he took over Lanham’s, and as far as I know, theirs has always been a professional relationship.”

  “Is it possible Donella has a jealous streak? Maybe she got tired of—”

  “No way. Not Donella.”

  Matt studied him for a moment. “You say that with certainty.”

  “I do. Donella is ten times the woman Patricia ever was. And she’s got more class than all the rest of those other women combined.”

  “Got it.” Matt flipped pages in his notepad then finally set it aside and placed his pen on top of it. “Jim, do you think Patricia had anything to do with Peter’s death?”

  Underwood paused for a long time, absently stirring what was left of his coffee. “Anything I might say would be mere speculation. But there is something I need to tell you.”