The Demise by Diane Moody Page B

Smithe. No one should be treated like that. Least of all a guest.”
    Matt arched his brow. “Somehow I doubt Smithe considers me a guest. More of an intruder. He made that clear to me earlier this morning.”
    “Really?”
    “No big deal, but is he always such a pain?”
    “Always.” She filled a mug of coffee and handed it to him, then poured one for herself. “I’ve learned to keep a distance whenever possible. I refuse to engage him in his little tirades. He’s always reminded me of Stanley Tucci playing the part of Napoleon.
    He laughed. “Now that you mention it, I see a definite resemblance. Creepy, isn’t it?”
    “Creepy. Scary. Ridiculous. Frustrating—all that and more. Regardless, he had no right to accost you like that. He was the one who ran into you, not the other way around.”
    “Doesn’t really matter. At least not to me.” Matt moved to the counter beside her then leaned against it. “Tell me something. How did he and Lanham get along?”
    She started to answer then stopped, taking a sip of coffee to stall for a moment. Mr. Smithe? A suspect? Can’t believe I didn’t think of him before. I should look into that. I should see if I can—
    “Julie?”
    “Yes? Oh, right. You asked if Mr. Smithe and Mr. Lanham got along. That’s a difficult question to answer. They seemed to get along for the most part. Although everyone knows Smithe is a real kiss-up when he wants to be.”
    “You’re kidding. Napoleon—a kiss-up?”
    “Oh yeah. Like a chameleon, especially whenever board members or corporate guests are around. As soon as they were gone, he’d be back to his usual hateful self, treating the rest of us like pond scum.”
    “Pond scum?” Matt chuckled. “That’s a new one.”
    “ My Best Friend’s Wedding . Julia Roberts, confessing to Dermott Mulroney how she tried to break up his wedding. She calls herself pond scum. He’s very, very hurt, you see, so he tells her ‘No, lower.’ In utter humility, she answers, ‘I am the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.’ ‘Lower,’ he says. It goes downhill from there, but you get the drift.”
    Matt scratched his head, clueless. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”
    “Oh, don’t mind me. The world’s a movie. Everything reminds me of a scene in a movie or stage play.”
    “I suppose that comes with the territory. Being that you’re an actress.”
    “I’m an actor. The term is gender-neutral now. But yes, it definitely comes with the territory.”
    Julie followed Matt as they left the room. He lowered his voice. “So you never heard Smithe and Lanham argue or have a heated exchange?”
    “Actually, yes.” Her mind replayed some of the shouting matches coming from Lanham’s office.
    “Recently?”
    She thought for a moment. “Quite recently, in fact. Just a few days ago.” Julie visualized Smithe’s face, flushed scarlet as he slammed the door leaving Peter Lanham’s office. What had they fought about? Smithe was a jerk, but was he capable of murder?
    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.