The Demise

by Diane Moody

  Just as Jim reached the main dock, the stranger leaped through the air tackling him.

  “OH MY GOSH!” Julie screamed. She lurched sideways to get out, but the seatbelt restrained her. The pain of it almost took her breath away, but she quickly reached down to unclasp her seatbelt. She climbed over the console and slammed her hand on the steering wheel, honking the SUV’s horn. The stranger stopped punching Jim’s face for a split-second, looking straight up at the SUV. One hand still on the horn, she groped around with the other trying to find the headlights. When she finally flashed them on, the hooded stranger tucked his head down and dashed toward the gate.

  Julie flipped on the brights, trying to get a better look at him. But the runner kept his head down as he slipped through the unlocked gate and took off out of sight.

  That’s what he was doing before. He must have propped it open when he went in.

  Adrenaline propelled her, overriding the protests of her injuries. “JIM!” she cried as she rushed toward him. “Jim! Are you all right?”

  He groaned as he tried to sit up then fell back. “Ba . . .”

  Kneeling beside him, she cupped her hand against his cheek. “Don’t try to sit up. I’m here, Jim. Just hold still.”

  “Julie . . . bag . . .”

  “What?”

  “Duffel . . .”

  “Don’t worry about the duffel. I’ve got to get—”

  He reached up and grabbed her forearm. She yelped in pain as he growled, “Get. That. Bag.”

  “Okay, okay! I’m sorry! I’ll see if I can find it.”

  Biting her lip against the pain stretching across her abdomen, she stood back up and looked around. “I don’t see anything, Jim. What am I—”

  “Water . . . splashed.”

  “It fell in the water? Okay, I’m looking. Where did you—wait! I see it!”

  “What’s going on here?” a voice called out behind the blinding glare of a flashlight.

  “Julie . . . get the bag!” Jim shouted breathlessly.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” another voice yelled as more flashlights bobbed along the dock.

  “Please help us! My friend was attacked!” Julie cried, torn between helping Jim and his urgent pleas to retrieve the bag from the water. “Call 911!”

  “Julie!” he rasped before the gathering crowd closed in on them. She looked for something to extend in the water, and noticed a boat hook hanging from a peg on the side of a dock unit. She grabbed it, got down on her knees, then lay flat on the dock, reaching as far as she could toward the bag.

  “What are you doing, young lady?” someone asked, shining a light into the water.

  “Oh thank you! Hold it right there so I can see what I’m doing.”

  “Which is?”

  “It belongs to my friend there. It’s there just out of my—wait, I got it!” She pulled it close enough to reach, then plopped the dripping bag onto the dock.

  “Thank you so much. I was so afraid I’d lost it.”

  “May I?” the man said, giving her a hand to help her up.

  Julie cried out in pain.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, threading his arm beneath hers. “Let me help—Julie?”

  She looked up and found the familiar face of Peter’s marina neighbor, Sam Olsen.

  “Oh, Sam, thank God it’s you!”

  Distant sirens wailed louder as flashing lights and squad cars began to fill the parking lot.

  He helped her to a wooden bench. “What happened?”

  “It’s a long story, but someone jumped Peter’s chauffeur, Jim Underwood.” She kept her eyes glued to Jim and the help he was receiving from other residents. “It all happened so fast—”

  “Julie?”

  Her heart stopped at the sound of Matt’s voice.

  I knew it. I knew it!

  The minute Matt had gone back to the loft to check on Julie and found her gone, he knew exactly where to find her. Gevin had no idea she’d left; even more perplexed when he found his car out back. But something had told Matt she would find a way here tonight, and he’d learned long ago to trust his instincts. Bruised and bandaged, no doubt still buzzed on pain meds, she’d deliberately defied him—again—and coerced Underwood to be her accomplice.

  And here she was. Caught in the act.

  Hands raised, she tried to plead with him. “I can explain, Matt. Just let me explain, okay?”

  “Oh, sure. Like a simple explanation will make it all just fine. Well, save your breath. I’m in no mood to hear it. What happened to Underwood?”

  She glanced at the paramedics attending him as she launched into one of her infamous verbal steamrollers.

  “I was just telling Sam here that it all happened so fast, when someone attacked Jim, and I was in the car and saw it all unfolding in front of me, and the guy was just pummeling Jim, like he was a punching bag or something, but I knew I couldn’t get to him fast enough, so I laid on the horn and flashed the car’s lights, and that’s when the guy ran off and left poor Jim. So I ran to his side, and he kept begging me, ‘Get the bag! Get the bag!’ so I grabbed this pole and fished around in the water ‘til I could pull it in. So, see? I saved it. It would be lost at sea if not for me.” She feigned an awkward smile, but it didn’t come even close to fazing him.

  Matt palmed a hand toward her. “Enough! Not another word. Stay right where you are.”

  It would be lost at sea if not for me. Under normal circumstances, he might have laughed at her clever poetic declaration, but he’d come to realize that with Julie, nothing was ever ‘normal.’

  Her eyes wide, she swallowed hard as she handed him the bag.

  “What’s this?”

  “Jim got it off Peter’s yacht.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “And I don’t know what’s in it because I only just now plucked it from the water. I wouldn’t dream of looking inside without first showing it to you.”

  “Yeah, I bet.” He grabbed it from her. “You stay right here.” He looked at Sam. “Do you know Miss Parker?”

  “Yes, he’s a friend of—”

  “I didn’t ask you, Julie! I asked him.”

  She jumped. “Sorry! Stop yelling at me!”

  He closed his eyes and counted to five. Then he turned toward the man standing beside her. “And you are?”

  “Sam Olsen. My boat’s tied up next to Peter’s.”

  “I’d like to talk to you in a minute. But for now, make sure she doesn’t move a muscle, got it?”

  “Got it,” Sam answered.

  Matt turned, anxious to talk to Underwood before the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance. They’d cuffed a neck brace on him and were just about to lift him onto the gurney when Matt approached. “Are you okay, Underwood?”

  Jim waved at the paramedics. “Guys, give us a minute?”

  “Make it fast,” one of them said as they both stepped away.

  Underwood beckoned him closer. “Hold on to that bag, Matt. It’s got the new will, but there’s more. Much more. Can you follow us to the hospital?”

  “Absolutely. Are you going to be all right?”

  “Yeah, tomorrow I’m handing in my resignation. Life’s too short for this, y’know?”

  Matt patted his arm. “Take care. I’ll see you in a little while.” He motioned the paramedics back over. “Which hospital?”

  “St. Thomas.”

  “Good. Thanks.”

  Matt watched them load Underwood into the ambulance, then took a minute to chat with the Davidson County police. Afterward, Matt approached Sam and Julie again.

  “All right, Mr. Olsen, I’d like to get a statement from you if that’s okay?”

  “Sure. Glad to help.”

  Sam said he lived on his yacht and had been reading when he heard a commotion outside. As he stepped out onto the deck of his craft, he looked back toward the main dock. That’s when he saw two men fighting at the other end of the dock.

  “You sure it was a guy—the one
doing the punching?”

  “Can’t say for sure, but I’ve never seen a woman hit like that.”

  “Could you see what he was wearing?”

  “That end of the dock, closest to the gate, is fairly well lit, but all I could see were his dark pants and a dark hoodie that covered most of his face. That’s when I heard a car horn blaring and a second later, he took off.”

  Julie beamed. He ignored her.

  “Tall? Short? Caucasian? Black?”

  “Honestly, I couldn’t tell. Like she said, it all happened so fast.”

  “Anything else?”

  He added that he and several other marina residents hurried to see what happened. That’s when he found Julie sprawled on the edge of the dock trying to reach the duffel bag in the water. A few more questions, then Matt took down his cell number, left a card, and said he’d be in touch.

  The police wanted statements from Julie. After flashing his ID, Matt monitored the conversation, interrupting when their questions broached the reason she and Underwood had come to the marina. Thankfully, they assumed the duffel in his hand was his, so they didn’t confiscate it as evidence. He gave them one of his cards as well, then escorted Julie to his Jeep. He opened the door for her, steeling himself when she grimaced as she climbed in, but said nothing until he slipped behind the wheel.

  It took every ounce of control to keep his anger in check. “I should’ve asked those cops to arrest you and book you for interfering with an investigation.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Julie stared at him. “Would you?”

  “Oh, but I would. And if I weren’t in such a rush to get to the hospital, I’d take you home right this minute and lock you up for the rest of your life.”

  “Matt, I was only trying to—”

  “Don’t. Don’t even go there. I’ve heard all your excuses so many times, I’ve lost count. But you know what? I’m the one who’s an idiot. I’m the one who should be punished because I keep forgiving you and falling for you over and over and over. In fact, that makes me quite insane, because one of the key definitions of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results. So there you have it—Matt Bryson is insane.”

  She was quiet, but he resisted the urge to glance at her. They rode in silence for a few minutes. Matt concentrated on the roads, uncertain how to get to the hospital from this part of town. He was about to check his GPS when she interrupted his thoughts.

  “Just stay on River Road through the next intersection.”

  “I was—”

  “That’ll put you on Charlotte, then it’s a straight shot toward town. We’ll cut over on Hillwood to Harding Pike. It’s not far.”

  He followed her directions, but said nothing for a few miles. The war battling inside his head finally nudged him to ask. “Are you okay? I mean, physically?”

  She looked over at him for a long time before answering. “Pretty sore, actually, but thanks for asking.”

  “Do you need medical attention?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m just really tired.”

  “Imagine that.”

  “Yeah. Imagine that.”

  Chapter 27

  Three hours and twelve stitches later, a very sore and shaken Jim Underwood was released from the hospital. As Matt helped Underwood into the wheelchair, he made sure Julie was out of hearing range, then quietly asked Jim not to discuss the contents of the duffel bag in front of her. He agreed. Moments later they loaded Underwood into the back seat of Matt’s car and were soon on their way back to Braxton.

  Julie turned to see Jim. “Are you sure you’re okay? Where are your glasses?”

  “I have no idea. They must’ve flown off with the first punch.”

  “You look like you’ve been the punching bag for the WWF, Jim. They should have kept you overnight.”

  “No need. I can’t stand being cooped up like that. I would’ve bolted first chance I got.”

  Matt caught Underwood’s eye in the rearview mirror. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Should we tell Mrs. Lanham about what happened tonight?”

  “No way.”

  “But the police will surely connect the dots and notify her that you entered the yacht without her knowledge.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “What’s in that bag?” Julie asked. “I thought Peter said the new will was in a packet. Was the duffel in the safe too?”

  “No, I found it—”

  “Julie, we’re not going to talk about what is or isn’t in the bag,” Matt said.

  “Why not? You don’t have to read the will to me or anything like that, but I’m just curious why Jim needed a bag to carry out one manila packet.”

  “You’ll just have to wait and find out later. Let’s not forget this whole episode never would have happened if you’d stayed out of it.” He noticed his knuckles were pinched white on the steering wheel. “I don’t even want to think about the repercussions if that will had sunk and been damaged beyond repair. Which is why the subject is off limits.”

  She saluted. “Yes, SIR, Agent Bryson.”

  “You’re a laugh a minute.”

  “Sarcasm does not become you, Matt.”

  “Is it always like this between the two of you?” Underwood’s playful question silenced them momentarily.

  “Actually, it is,” Matt answered. “And much worse.”

  Julie slouched down in the seat. “Go ahead, guys. Have your fun.”

  Back in Braxton, their first stop was the loft. Matt helped Julie up the stairs. As she unlocked the door, she paused.

  “I hate this, Matt. I really do.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “There’s no point in apologizing again, so I won’t. But I’m sad that we keep ending up in this same place, always at each other’s throats and constantly arguing.” She turned the key and let herself in through the open door.

  “I agree. For two people who say they care about each other, it’s a dangerous place to be.” He turned and slowly started down the stairs. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure there’s much hope for us.”

  He continued down the stairs without looking back. As he opened the door to the sidewalk, he heard the gentle click of her door close. For some reason, it sounded like a nail in a coffin.

  Matt drove Underwood to the Lanham’s estate, then helped him up the stairs to his apartment over the garage. He couldn’t believe how spacious the place was until he realized it rested above a five-car garage. The décor was high-end but masculine, like something you’d find at an exclusive hunting lodge or golf resort.

  “Nice place.”

  “I can’t complain. Mrs. Lanham had it redecorated a few years ago. The designer was a bit over the top for me, but I appreciate that he asked what I liked or didn’t like. It was the first time it felt like there was a bit of me in this place.” He paused for a minute, then, “Do you have time to stay? I’d like to see what else is in that bag.”

  “You sure you’re up to it?” Matt asked.

  “I’m fine. Really. I’ll put on a pot of coffee—unless you’d like a beer?”

  “Coffee’s fine, but you go stretch out on your sofa and let me make the coffee. I just need a minute to run down to the car and get the bag out of my trunk.”

  Ten minutes later, after toweling off the dampness of the bag, Matt snapped on latex gloves before pulling out the contents. On top, he found the packet labeled “My Will.”

  “Is this where you found the will? In the bag?”

  “No, I got it out of the safe that’s behind a false door in his closet. I grabbed the packet, closed the safe door and locked it, then turned to go. That’s when I noticed the duffel hidden almost out of sight on the floor of his closet. I’d never seen it before, and I know pretty much all of Peter’s bags and luggage. So I knelt down and unzipped it.”

  “I don’t suppose you had any of these on you?” He wiggled his latex-covered fingers.

  “No, I didn’t even think about it, to be honest. I found a large manila folder�
��much like the one with the will—and browsed through the contents. That’s when I saw the letters. Go ahead. You’ll see.”

  Matt could feel his pulse rising as he carefully pulled everything from the bag and spread it out on the coffee table.

  “Peter was being blackmailed.”

  Matt stopped and stared at him. “What?”

  “That’s why I knew this was important. That’s why I tossed the bag in the water when that guy was about to jump me. I couldn’t risk him taking off with it.”

  “Who? Who was blackmailing Lanham?”

  “I didn’t get that far. You tell me.”

  Matt started organizing the materials on the table. He noticed the envelopes were all in chronological order, all postmarked in the Nashville area, or so he assumed. Peter’s name and address were printed, not handwritten.

  “Looks like this was the first letter, so let’s start here. It’s dated the fifth of January of last year. Postmarked in Nashville, zip 37211.”

  “That’s over in the Antioch area east of town. So what’s it say?”

  “‘I know your secret.’ That’s it.” Matt turned the paper over. Nothing. “That’s all it says.” He opened the enclosed newspaper clipping. “Obviously a photocopy of the original newsprint. It’s dated Monday, June 9, 1969. Headline reads, ‘Franklin Teen Found Dead.’”

  “Is there a name?”

  “Yeah. Here’s what it says:

  Franklin resident Billy Wendell, age 14, was found dead a few miles south of Leiper’s Fork on Sunday. Wendell disappeared two months ago, reported missing by his mother, Patsy Jo Wendell on Easter Sunday, April 6th. The body was discovered by two Leiper’s Fork residents who wish to remain anonymous. The two were searching for a missing pet when they found Wendell’s remains tangled in a marshy cove six miles south of Leiper’s Fork. The Williamson County Coroner’s Office was able to identify Billy Wendell by matching dental records provided by his mother. The coroners will perform an autopsy this week, though authorities are skeptical of finding evidence as the body was badly decomposed.”

  Matt showed the picture of Billy Wendell to Underwood.

  “Can’t read without my glasses. There’s another pair on the bedside table in my room. Would you mind?”