Murder as a Second Language (3 page)

“I doubt that,” I said. “Today was the first time I've set foot in the building. After I've been trained and have tutored for a few months, I'll think about the board. You may not want me. Thank you for asking, Ms. Constantine.”

“I wish you'd reconsider, Ms. Malloy. If this wasn't an emergency, I wouldn't be asking. I'm afraid it is, and we're desperate.”

I made a face at Peter, who was watching me. “An emergency?”

She remained silent for a moment, then said, “I really can't discuss it on the telephone. We have an informal board meeting tomorrow night at seven o'clock. Would you please at least attend?” Her voice began to quaver. “Otherwise, the FLC may not survive the summer. Our students will have no place to go.”

“I'll attend the meeting,” I said, aware that I was capitulating to emotional blackmail, “but only as an observer.”

“Wonderful.” She hung up abruptly.

“Ms. Constantine?” Peter murmured. “As in Wilhelmina Constantine, better known as Willie?” I nodded. “She's a federal judge. Tough lady.”

“Her name is familiar, but I'm not sure why.”

“She made a controversial ruling a few years ago, but at the time you were distracted by Azalea Twilight's unseemly death.”

“I was distracted because I'd been accused of murder and was being stalked by a certain member of the police department.”

“You were never accused of murder,” Peter said.

“Well, I was most definitively stalked. No matter where I went, you were lurking in the bushes, spying on me.”

The certain member of the police department raised his eyebrows. “I was not lurking. You went to extremes to make yourself unavailable for interviews, and the few times I cornered you, you flounced away like Scarlett O'Hara.”

“Fiddle-dee-dee,” I said. “I have never flounced in my life.”

“And I've never lurked.”

I thought about it for a moment. “Deal.”

 

2

Thursday evening I arrived at the Farberville Literacy Council building a few minutes before seven. Students were chattering as they came out to the parking lot. Keiko waved at me as she climbed into a turquoise VW. Two women wearing hijab headscarves drove out of the parking lot in a silver Jaguar, followed by a carload of boisterous Latino men. A dozen students walked toward the bus stop on the corner. Sonya swooped in on me as soon as I stepped inside and, babbling with delight about my limitless virtues, escorted me into a classroom with tables arranged in a U formation. In one corner was a counter with a coffeepot, a minirefrigerator, and a sink. A chalkboard in the front of the room was covered with words, phrases, and primitive drawings that might have been found in caves in northern Spain. Maybe some of the students were neo-Neanderthals (although I hadn't seen any woolly mammoths tethered outside).

“You must be Claire Malloy,” said a sixtyish woman carrying a coffee mug in one hand and several papers in the other. “I'm Wilhelmina Constantine, and I do want to thank you for coming. Please call me Willie.” I'd expected someone tall and regal, as befitting her lofty position in the judiciary, but she was short, pear-shaped, and, well, a tad frumpy. She was wearing a pink blouse that was missing a button, and her skirt reminded me of a washboard. Her frizzy gray hair had not withstood outbursts from prosecutors and defense attorneys. Her eyes were close-set, and her nose was as sharp as a beak. Despite her smile, she had the look of an offended songbird.

“I don't know how I can be of help,” I said, resisting the impulse to chirp.

“We'll get to that in a minute. Sonya, introduce Ms. Malloy to the others so we can get started. I've been on the bench all day and haven't had a martini, much less dinner.”

Sonya assessed the situation and gestured to a thirty-something-year-old man, who promptly stood up. He was attractive and expensively packaged, with broad shoulders, a clean jaw, and a friendly expression. His light brown hair was carefully tousled. I wondered if he might be MBA Ken. “Ms. Malloy, this is Rick Lester. He's a recent addition to the board.” The lack of warmth in her voice caused me to scratch my theory.

Rick's blue eyes met mine as if he were auditioning for the role of earnest young man of impeccable integrity. “I'm Claire,” I said.

“The fabled sleuth of Farberville,” he said with a bow. “I'm delighted to meet you, Claire.”

“Ah, thank you.”

“I've only lived in Farberville for a couple of months, but I've heard of your exploits.” He smiled at Sonya, but she turned her back to speak to Wilhelmina. “Are you working on a case now?”

“Not that I know of,” I replied. “Are you enjoying Farberville?”

Rick chuckled. “It's quieter than Hong Kong. It's hard to fall asleep without the incessant cacophony of horns blaring and neon lights flashing. Before that, I was in Manila, also a busy place. I worked for an international financial outfit. Now I'm only a small-town banker.”

“Why Farberville?”

“I know some people who used to live here, and they loved it. I'm still adjusting to the pace. My previous jobs came with a chauffeur and full-time help, so I haven't owned a car since I was in college—or scrubbed a toilet. Now I'm learning how to drive myself around town. It seems to be a nice place to settle down.”

Sonya swooped in once again and said, “Let me continue the introductions.” We approached a middle-aged man wearing dark-framed glasses, slacks, and a beige cotton sweater. “This is Drake Whitbream, our vice president. He's the dean of the business school at Farber College. Perhaps you've already met him.”

He held out his hand. “Ms. Malloy and I have met at a few functions. It's so kind of you to join us.” He was a big man who'd probably been an athlete in decades past. Years in academia had softened him and added a sprinkling of gray hair.

He was somewhat familiar, I thought, trying to find his face in a memory. “Yes, at a reception at the Performing Arts Center. You and your wife…?”

“Becky,” he supplied promptly. “Aren't you married to a police detective?”

“Something like that. Your son plays football at the high school. My daughter and her friend are big fans.”

His face tightened briefly. “Toby will be the starting quarterback this season. He's determined to get a football scholarship at one of the big universities and then go pro. With his grades, an athletic scholarship is the only way he'll get accepted.”

I shrugged for lack of a better response.

“Can we get started?” asked a woman who'd entered the room and was now seated at the head table. She spoke with such authority that everyone hastily found a chair. “Where's Austin? Has anyone heard from him today? Sonya, call his cell.” She looked at me as if I were responsible for Austin's absence. Her firmly curled hair and predominant chin made her face look round, but far from jolly. Saggy jowls gave her an air of perpetual dissatisfaction. None of her buttons would dare go missing. “Welcome, Ms. Malloy. I am Frances North, the president of the board. It is very kind of you to join us on such short notice.”

“Austin will be here in five,” Sonya reported as she put down her cell phone.

“I'll bet he stopped at a liquor store,” Rick said, lacing his fingers behind his neck. He smiled at me. “Austin is our bad boy. Frances would love to kick him off the board, but she needs his vote.”

Frances was not amused. “Don't be ridiculous. Austin has done an excellent job publicizing the Literacy Council's programs and events. I certainly do not dictate his vote. Now let's get started.” She shifted the papers and files in front of her for a moment. “Here is the situation, Ms. Malloy. Currently there are twelve members on the board. Due to illness and vacations, only six of us are active this summer. According to the bylaws, this does not constitute a quorum, which means we can take no action in regard to certain sensitive issues. However, we do not require a quorum to increase the size of the board. If you agree, we will vote to add your name to the board. With thirteen members, seven will make a quorum. All you'll have to do is attend any meeting that requires your vote. You needn't concern yourself with these issues.”

“I haven't agreed to anything,” I said, “and I certainly won't unless I know what I'm getting myself into. Why can't this be resolved when the other board members are back?” I began to wish I'd sat closer to the door.

Frances shook her head. “It's time-sensitive, and we cannot risk any leaks if the FLC is going to survive. That's why we're here—and why we need you. Where is Austin?”

“At your service,” a young man said as he entered the room, a bottle of wine in each hand. “Rick, will you get the cups out of the cabinet? Good evening, everyone. Willie, you're looking especially fine. I hope this doesn't mean you've been frolicking with your clerk.” He wore pale blue slacks with pink suspenders, a short-sleeved dress shirt, and a pink bow tie. His teeth were very white against his dark skin. A metrosexual nerd, I concluded, although I was aware that snap judgments were unreliable. Other people's, anyway.

Willie sputtered while Austin opened both bottles of wine, but she eventually accepted a cup of white wine, as did Sonya and I. Drake declined. Frances North sat in silence, emanating disapproval until Rick and Austin sat down. I was relieved that I was not a member of their oenological conspiracy.

“Claire, this is Austin Rodgers.” Sonya said, tersely. He and I nodded at each other—tersely.

“Austin, I informed you at the last meeting that we would no longer have wine,” Frances said. “Keiko told me that some of the Muslim students were upset when they found empty bottles in the trash. Our primary concern is our students.”

He took a sip of wine. “So I'll take the empty bottles home with me. If there's to be no wine, then there's to be no Austin. I didn't get away from my office until six thirty, and I need a fix. Why do you have your pantyhose in a knot, Frances? Did the third graders march on your office, protesting cafeteria food?”

Frances stood up. “Shall we proceed? Do I hear a motion to nominate Ms. Malloy for membership in the Farberville Literacy Council board of directors, pursuant to article six, paragraph four of the bylaws?”

“Wait just a minute—” I began.

“I so move,” Sonya said quickly.

“Second,” Drake said even more quickly.

“All in favor please raise your hand.” Frances avoided looking at me as she glanced around the table. “The motion passes unanimously. Welcome to the board, Ms. Malloy. If you choose, you may resign at the first official meeting in September, but of course we'll be delighted to keep you.”

I wondered if I was supposed to give an acceptance speech. “I'm honored,” I said without enthusiasm. They could elect me in a nanosecond, but I could always resign in half of one.

“Why wouldn't you be honored?” Austin refilled my cup. “I propose a toast to Ms. Claire Malloy for her courage. Not everyone would willingly embroil herself in such a maelstrom.”

“Don't exaggerate, Austin,” Willie said. “It's more of a bother than anything else, and Claire needn't worry about it.”

“Until she gets sued,” he said.

I found my voice. “Wait just a minute! I'm going to be sued? What's this about?”

Drake stood up and closed the door. “She deserves to know, people.”

That was the first sensible thing anyone had said since my arrival. I placed my hands on the table and looked at Frances. “Well?”

“A small problem with our finances,” she said. “Rick?”

Rick cleared his throat. “I joined the board this spring. Although Willie is our treasurer, I looked into the grants, expenditures, and so forth. There are some subtle discrepancies that suggested further analysis. The FLC hasn't had a full audit in five years, and the board budgets according to Gregory's monthly reports.”

“He's talking about embezzlement,” Austin said as he winked at me. “Bankers are incapable of using the word. It sticks in their throats like a whalebone.”

“We will not use
that
word,” Frances said. “The books are a mess, and the bank statements are confusing. Right now Willie, Keiko, Gregory, and I are authorized to write checks. Some of us are sloppy about noting the details of the expenditures. I received a notice earlier this week that we were in arrears with the electric company. I paid it from my personal account so they wouldn't turn off the lights. Gregory swears that Keiko is responsible for the bills, but she said that he takes them into his office and loses them in the clutter. As for the credit card statements…”

“We might as well shred them,” Sonya said. “The real problem is that those of you who write checks reimburse yourselves without, as you said, noting the details of the expenditures. Gregory can't keep the accounts organized without receipts.”

Willie did not look pleased with the discussion. “I bought office supplies because they were on sale. I did not have an FLC credit card or checkbook with me, and I wasn't about to drive all the way over here. I felt entitled to reimburse myself. If you have a problem with that, you can reimburse me the seventy-nine dollars I spent.”

“Don't push your luck,” Sonya replied. “Seventy-nine dollars is a drop in the bucket—or should I say, your budget?”

Surprised at Sonya's flippancy, I waited for Willie to bash her with a concealed gavel, but she sat back and picked up her cup of wine. I decided to take my new position seriously. “Why not have an audit? That should identify the source of the discrepancies. Aren't nonprofits obliged to have yearly audits?”

“Full audits cost thousands,” Drake said. “We don't have enough cash in the account to pay for the audit and stay open this summer. Because of the economy, our grants are shrinking, and they have to be used for specified programs. A few of our benefactors have told us that we won't be receiving anything from them.”