by Diane Moody
“Are you okay?” she croaked.
“As okay as I can possibly be under the circumstances,” he said in quiet, measured tones.
She raised her hands again. “Matt, I know you’ll think I’m crazy, but this truly was a divine appointment.”
He raised his brows, blinked several times, then blew out a barely-controlled breath. “Divine? Explain to me how this appointment was divine. Please. I’m all ears.”
Her lower lip protruded as a frightened pout took shape. He closed his eyes, unwilling to let her disrupt his line of questioning.
“Okay. Here’s what happened.”
He forced himself to be patient and tried to focus on what she was saying. She told him about her lousy audition in Nashville, a stop by Starbucks, an “unintended” road trip—“I don’t even remember getting on the interstate!”—and the Bowling Green road sign, which she interpreted as divine intervention, prompting her to find Jenny Gresham.
“I mean, face it, Matt. Of all the Jenny Greshams in Kentucky, she was the closest in proximity. And even though I hadn’t given much thought to actually finding her since I’ve been so consumed with the audition, I suddenly found myself going north on I-65—and there it was! In big white letters on a big green sign: BOWLING GREEN. How else would you explain that?”
“But—”
“But even aside from that, what are the chances that this Jenny Gresham was the Jenny Gresham involved with Peter? She was the first one on my list, and she’s the one! It’s flabbergasting, if you stop and think about it. Absolutely flabbergasting.” She looked at him like she was expecting a round of applause or a pat on the back for her brilliant sleuthing.
“Do you even . . . wait, what list?”
She froze.
“What list, Julie? Did you make a list of all the Jennifer Greshams in Kentucky? Is that how you found her name in the first place?”
One side of her lame smile hitched a little higher than the other.
He couldn’t find the words. Not a single syllable. He dropped his head in his hands and growled like a roaring lion.
“Matt, stop that! You’re scaring me!”
“Is everything okay?”
They both looked toward the house. A young woman walking toward them shielded her eyes from the late-afternoon sun.
“Jenny, I’m so sorry,” Julie began, walking toward her. “I was just leaving when—” She stopped, glanced back at Matt then back at Jenny. “When Matt was about to pull in your driveway. Matt Bryson. He’s with the TBI—that’s the Tennessee version of the FBI—and he’s in charge of the investigation into Mr. Lanham’s death.”
Jenny walked toward Matt with her hand extended. “Nice to meet you.”
Matt shook her hand, cracking a sterile smile. “The pleasure’s mine.”
She tilted her head to one side. “You sure about that?”
“About what?”
“You said the pleasure was yours, but you look upset. That was quite an outburst just now.”
He looked to Julie for help, but she tossed her head in the opposite direction and pressed her lips together.
“I’m sorry; it’s just that Miss Parker seems to think she’s in charge of this investigation, which is obviously not the case.”
Her brows drew together. Then she turned toward Julie and whispered, “This is the ‘they’?”
“Yep.”
Matt looked back and forth between them. “Am I missing something here?”
“Look, Mr. Bryson—”
“Please, call me Matt.”
“Okay, Matt. I’m sorry if there’s a problem here, but I’m really glad Julie stopped by.”
“You are?”
“I am. I’ve kept too many secrets for too many years. I want to make things right. I want my life back again. And talking with Julie this afternoon was the first time in a long, long time I felt like I could talk about . . . everything. To someone who finally understood why I did what I did. I can’t tell you what a relief that is. So before you handcuff my new friend—”
“You heard that?” he blanched.
She laughed. “Yes, I heard that. Why don’t you both come in and we’ll talk. I’ll order some pizza if you’ll stay for dinner.”
Julie looked at Matt, her face filled with hope. “What do you say?”
He threw up his hands in surrender. “Fine. I give up. Just one thing.”
“What’s that?” Jenny and Julie asked in unison.
“A stuffed-crust supreme with double cheese. And Julie buys.”
Chapter 21
All things considered, the evening at Jenny Gresham’s had gone fairly well. That afternoon, when Julie first saw Matt’s car pulling into the driveway, and noticed the anger contorting his normally handsome face, she was convinced whatever future she might have had with him was in ashes. Thankfully, Jenny’s timely interruption had dispelled Matt’s tirade, and the three of them spent the next three hours in long discussions about the strange triangle which involved Peter Lanham, Patricia, and Jenny.
Julie was surprised how much she admired Jenny. She wasn’t at all like the preconceived image of an adulterer or home wrecker that normally comes to mind. But after spending time with her, Julie had to admit she felt sorry for the girl. What she did was wrong; adultery was always wrong, regardless of the circumstances. Still, she could see how vulnerable the young woman had been to the charming advances of an experienced womanizer like Peter.
Julie also recognized the hypocrisy of “looking the other way” when men like Peter cheated on their wives. Hadn’t they all inadvertently excused his behavior by pointing blame on Patricia? Even by dubbing her the Ice Queen, weren’t they indirectly sympathizing with Peter and dismissing his many infidelities simply because Patricia wasn’t friendly? How could any of them have known the underlying causes for her unkind demeanor? They didn’t know her.
And while Peter obviously knew better, once he set his sights on the pretty girl he rescued on the side of the road that day, he had to have her. It didn’t make it right; such blatant, adulterous romancing never does. But it helped Julie understand why Jenny fell so hard for a married man.
No matter how calm Matt seemed on the outside during the visit, Julie knew he was still furious with her. That’s why she kept her mouth shut for the most part, allowing Matt to handle the questioning. Jenny seemed as much at ease with him as she had been with her earlier. But Julie had to give it to him; Matt was good at his job. He knew how to ask the probing questions that drew out all kinds of information.
And he was also great with Pierre. The five-year-old took to him immediately, climbing up on his lap whenever he could, and chatting like a magpie with an endless list of questions of his own. Do you like frogs? Why do dogs poop in the yard? I saw a rainbow yesterday—have you ever seen a rainbow? My mommy likes red grapes—do you like red grapes or green grapes? And on and on until he scampered off and curled up in front of the TV to watch a Disney movie.
Julie found it sad, how starved the little guy was for male attention. Jenny was obviously a good and loving mother, and he clearly adored her. But it must have been hard to raise him on her own, unable to let him know his father.
They’d thanked Jenny, Matt had promised he’d be in touch, then left around seven-thirty. As they walked to the car, Julie tried to grab Matt’s hand. Instead, he slipped both hands into his pants pockets. She decided to let it go, hoping the walls he’d rebuilt weren’t too high this time. He opened the car door for her, his eyes focused elsewhere. When she invited him to follow her back to the loft and come in for a while, he simply said no.
As she drove to the office the next morning, Julie gave herself a pep talk, acknowledging the fact that Matt was only doing his job, he’d eventually come around again as he had before, and how urgent it was for her to stay on the trail of her own investigation—with or without his approval. Whether he’d admit it or not, she’d given him access to invaluable information both from Donella and now with J
enny, which in her mind put Patricia, the non-grieving widow, at the top of her list of suspects. Whether Patricia gave her philandering husband a push off that tower or drove him to do it himself remained unknown.
Still, there were others to consider.
When she passed Brad’s cubicle that morning, a sudden idea popped into her head.
“Morning, Brad.”
He was hunched over his keyboard as usual, but hearing her voice, he spun his chair around to face her. “Hey.”
“You play tennis, don’t you?”
“Sure. Played varsity in high school. We won state. Why?”
Julie worked her best Kate Hudson How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days flirt. “See, I’ve been wanting to learn the game, so I was thinking maybe you could give me some lessons. Or even just some pointers so I can find out if I have a knack for the game. I’d make it worth your while, of course.”
His eyebrows spiked. “Yeah? How so?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe we could grab a bite afterward. My treat.”
He shrugged, twisting his chair side to side like a nervous kindergartner. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“What’s to think about? C’mon, it’ll be fun.”
“Why should I? Only time you ever talk to me is if you need a favor or somethin’. And every time I ask you out, you say no.”
“I know it’s been kind of awkward between us. If you’d rather not, that’s okay. I’ll find someone else.” She plastered another Kate Hudson smile on her face then turned, making her way to her desk. One, two, three—
“Oh, what the heck. I’ll do it.”
Score!
She spun around. “Really? That’s great, Brad. Thanks.”
“When do you wanna play?”
“How about this evening when we get off work? I’ll go home and change and meet you at the courts at Braxton Park, say 5:30?”
“Works for me.”
“Got an extra racket?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Good. Then it’s settled. And thanks, Brad. I’ll look forward to it.”
He shrugged again as his usual weird smile loped across his face.
He may not be Matthew McConaughey, but obviously, I’ve still got the magic. Now if he’ll just show up in a pair of Reeboks, I can make some progress.
She had no idea if he even owned a pair of Reeboks, but it was worth a try. And if that didn’t pan out, maybe she could coax some family secrets out of him over the dinner she’d promised him. The possibilities were endless.
Later that morning, Matt stepped out of the elevator. She brightened as he neared her desk, then deflated when she noticed the all-business countenance on his face.
“Morning, Matt.”
“Good morning, Julie,” he said, his tone formal and detached. “Is Mr. Smithe in?”
“Wow. Not even a hey, how-are-you, or how’s-your-morning?”
His eyes stayed on her. “No, not today, I’m afraid.”
“Okay, then. Is Mr. Smithe expecting you?”
“I seriously doubt it.”
“Got it. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thank you.”
She dialed Smithe’s office since his secretary was away from her desk. “Matt Bryson is here to see you. Shall I send him in?”
“No, you will not send him in. Tell Barney Fife I have nothing further to say to him.”
“Tell him I’ll only take a moment,” Matt added when she shook her head.
“Mr. Smithe, he says he only needs a moment of your time.”
She held her earpiece away from her ear, allowing Matt to hear Smithe’s response.
“You tell that Boy Scout to leave me alone. If he hasn’t found what he’s looking for by now, he’s not going to find anything. Tell him to stop interfering with—”
Julie watched as Matt rolled his eyes and headed toward Smithe’s office. With Smithe still ranting in her headset, she stood up and leaned over to watch Matt walk in Smithe’s door without knocking.
“Who do you think you are? You have no right to come busting into my office like this!”
Hearing the door shut, Julie sat down, surprised to hear the conversation continuing in her headset. Apparently, Smithe forgot to disconnect the call after Matt’s abrupt entrance. With his phone still on speaker, Julie heard every word.
“Mr. Smithe, it’s come to my attention that you were hired by the board of trustees against the wishes of Peter Lanham. Is that correct?”
“That’s none of your business, and if you don’t leave the premises at once, I’ll have security—”
“You’ll have them what? Arrest me? I’m TBI. I have jurisdiction over this investigation. Now sit down and answer my questions.”
“I’ll do no such thing. This is a private corporation—”
“I said sit down!”
Way to go, Matt! Julie covered her mouth, stifling her laughter. A loud huff sounded from the other end as she heard Smithe drop noisily into his leather chair.
“This is a private corporation,” he continued, as if speaking to a three-year-old. “I will not open our procedures or reveal what is considered confidential just because you can’t find someone to blame for Peter’s death.”
“And that is your prerogative,” Matt continued, sounding cool as a cucumber. “However, I will be forced to slap you with a contempt order, and don’t for one minute think I won’t. As long as this investigation remains open, you are obligated to give me complete access to any and every nook and cranny of this company until I am satisfied. Now, let’s try this again. Is it true you were hired against the wishes of the company’s CEO, Peter Lanham?”
Julie heard only silence, though she imagined Smithe’s head twitching as his nervous tic belied all his bravado.
“Yes, the board hired me against Peter’s wishes.”
“And why would they do that?”
Again, silence.
“I asked you a question.”
“Because they needed someone on the inside to look into the company’s finances. Lanham’s Fine Foods has been in deep financial trouble for some time now. I’m an expert in resurrecting such crises, and the board planted me as a mole, as you law enforcement types call it. I was hired specifically to uncover any improprieties in the financial operation of the company, then detail a plan to put Lanham’s back on its feet and on its way.”
“Why was Peter Lanham kept out of the loop? Did the board suspect him of tampering with the books or—”
“Oh, please. Don’t be ridiculous. Peter would never do anything intentionally to hurt his own company.”
“Intentionally? Implying what, exactly?”
Julie could hear tapping and assumed Smithe was drumming his fingers on his desk.
“Peter took a family-owned grocery store and turned it into a multi-million dollar empire. He was smart in a way his father and grandfather could never have imagined. But over the last year or so, he’s been . . . distracted, if you will. He began to let things slide. He seemed preoccupied a good deal of the time.”
“It’s no secret he’s had a long succession of indiscretions where women are concerned. Was that part of the problem?”
“You really are wet behind the ears, aren’t you? Women were never a distraction for Peter. They were more like a hobby with him. Something everyone knew about—including that witch he’s married to. Why he stayed with her—or she with him—I have no clue. But it’s obvious to me and everyone else, those other women meant nothing to him.”
“So if it wasn’t the women who were distracting him, what was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“After all this time, you have no idea?”
“No, Agent Bryson, I don’t.”
“Any other conclusions as to why the company was losing money?”
“Nothing that would interest you.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of what might or might not interest me?”
“Why don’t you ask t
he board? They’re the ones who hired me.”
“Mr. Smithe, are you trying to impede this investigation?”
“I’ve told you everything you need to know. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”
“One more question, then I’ll leave.”
“Yes?”
“Do you know of anyone who would have reason to blackmail Peter Lanham?”
Smithe burst out laughing. “Wow. I was wrong about you. You’re not just wet behind the ears, you’re desperate. Ah, that’s a good one. Blackmail. Really? I think you’ve watched too many detective shows, Bryson. But we’re done here.”
“Fine, but I’ll be back. That I can promise you.”
“Whatever. Oh, and by the way. Tell your girlfriend out front to stop snooping around the office.”
Uh oh.
Julie heard the door to Smithe’s office open. She yanked off her headset and tossed it on her desk, then rounded the far corner of the reception desk, hoping to be out of sight by the time Matt or Smithe got to her desk. She slipped into the ladies’ restroom just in the nick of time.
“Whoa.” Julie looked in the mirror. “That was close.” She washed her hands, giving herself time to think. Outside the door, she heard Smithe calling her name. She quickly dried her hands then dove into one of the stalls. Smithe’s voice neared then passed, then neared again.
Julie jumped when he pounded on the bathroom door. “Miss Parker, I know you’re in there. Come out here, please.”
Oh brother.
She flushed the toilet for effect, then stepped out of the stall and took her time washing her hands again.
“MISS PARKER! Do NOT make me come in there.”
She rolled her eyes, dried her hands, then slowly opened the door and faced him with innocence. “Mr. Smithe? Is there a problem?”
“I need to see you in my office. Now.”
She followed him, taking her time, then took a seat as he slammed his door.
He positioned himself directly in front of her, leaning back against his desk. “What did you hear?”
