by V. M. Burns
Jacob showed me the file room, which, if the labels on the drawers were accurate, held years of information.
I sighed. “You really shouldn’t keep financial information this long.”
He shrugged. “Freemont had it brought out of storage.”
“Freemont?”
“Freemont Hopewell, our previous financial manager.” He took a finger and wrote his name in the dust that covered the file cabinet. “Freemont was a family legacy.”
“What’s a family legacy?”
He smiled. “That means he is a relative from the family that founded the museum and was therefore guaranteed a job whenever needed.”
I waited for more, but nothing more came. Instead, he continued on and showed me the restrooms, employee lounge, and vending area. He was just about to take me downstairs to the snack bar when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the number. “That’s the boss.”
He engaged in a brief conversation and then disconnected. “Linda Kay’s back and is anxious to get acquainted.”
We hurried back down to the office, where the door behind Jacob’s desk was open. Still, he knocked and then stepped aside for me to enter. “Linda Kay, this is Lilly Echosby.” He turned to me. “Linda Kay Weyman.”
I entered, and then he backed out and closed the door behind him.
If I thought my office was impressive, it was nothing compared to the executive director’s office. The space had probably at one time been two offices that had been combined to form one massive space. The walls were painted a rich eggplant and there was a thick, sumptuous pewter carpet. One side of the room held a huge desk, while a large conference table with eight chairs took up the other side of the room. The view out of the window was spectacular, and there were lots of homey touches around the room, including vases and paintings I felt confident were worth a small fortune.
Behind the desk sat a middle-aged woman with thick red hair, bright eyes, and a big smile that made me feel warm and welcomed. “Come in.” She extended a hand from behind her desk but didn’t stand.
I walked up to the desk and shook.
“Please sit down.” She gestured to a large leather wingback chair in front of the desk.
“Thank you, Mrs. Weyman, I’m very pleased to meet you. I—”
“Call me Linda Kay. Everyone does.”
I sat. “Please call me Lilly.”
She smiled. “I’m very sorry I wasn’t here to greet you, but you were in good hands with Jacob.”
I nodded. “He was wonderful. He was just taking me on a tour of the building.”
“How far did you get?”
I told her the areas I’d seen. “We were just about to go downstairs.”
“Wonderful.” She clapped her hands. “Then I’ll continue where Jacob left off.” She turned and swiveled around, and I noticed the electric scooter positioned behind her chair for the first time. Linda Kay slid from her chair onto the scooter and then backed out from behind the desk. It was only then I noticed she was missing a leg.
I tried not to stare and quickly moved to open the door so she could precede me out of the room.
Linda Kay motored past Jacob but stopped long enough to tell him where we were going and to give him instructions.
I followed her to the elevator and then got in. We went back to the first floor but took a different path than the one I had taken earlier with Jacob. We went down a ramp and turned a corner. The hall was too narrow for us to walk side by side, so I followed close behind Linda Kay. At the end of the hall, there was a large square on the wall that allowed her to open the door with a push. Once inside, we were in a small café where museum patrons could purchase coffee, tea, and sandwiches.
“I didn’t know about this place. I went to Da Vinci’s.”
“Coffee is free for employees.” Linda Kay leaned close and whispered, “But they get the pastries from Da Vinci’s and tack on an extra charge. You’re better off to just walk a block and save the money.” She smiled.
She pulled up to the coffee counter and poured herself a cup. “Would you care for anything? It’s one of the perks of working here. You get free coffee—or tea, if you prefer.”
I was pretty well caffeinated from my stop at Da Vinci’s, but it looked as though Linda Kay planned a rest stop, so I poured a half cup of coffee and followed her to a seat near the window.
Once we were settled in, she smiled at me. “I thought I’d start by giving you a little background and explaining why you’re here.”
I wished I’d thought to bring along a pen and notepad but took my phone out of my pocket and placed it on the table. If worse came to worse, I could always type notes on my phone.
She took a deep drink of her coffee. “You’re not from here, are you?”
I shook my head. “No. I recently moved to Chattanooga from Indiana.”
She nodded. “I could tell by your accent you weren’t from around here.”
I smiled at the thought that, here in the South, I was the one with the accent. “My husband died about three months ago, and I needed a change. My best friend from college lives in Chattanooga, and I decided it would be a good place to start over.” This was a temporary position, and I didn’t feel it necessary to go into a lot of detail about Albert.
She took a drink of coffee before she started. “The Chattanooga Museum of Art started out as a legacy from the Hopewell family. Ulysses Hopewell was a tycoon who made a ton of money and built a big mansion on the bluffs. His wife, Sarah Jane, was a socialite who loved art. She wanted to be an artist herself, but her family didn’t feel that was an acceptable career for a well-bred woman back then. However, she never gave up her passion for art. When her husband died, she threw herself into the arts. She bought a lot of paintings and sponsored promising artists from all over the world. Before she died, she established the Hopewell Art Museum and Trust and endowed the organization with ten million dollars.”
“That’s impressive.”
She nodded. “Especially in nineteen-twenties dollars.”
“Did she have children?”
“Oh yes. She had a large family. Unfortunately, most of them have died except for a great-great grandson, Freemont, and a few others.”
“Freemont whose job I’m taking over?”
She smiled. “I see Jacob has already filled you in.”
“No, he didn’t.” I didn’t want her to think Jacob had been gossiping and hurried to explain. “He only mentioned that Freemont kept a lot of records when he showed me the file room.”
She waved away my protest. “It’s okay. Jacob and Freemont never got on. Freemont was far too smooth for Jacob’s liking. He said Freemont still had delusions of grandeur.” She sat up straight and pushed her nose in the air. “Too much to the manor born, if you know what I mean.” She laughed.
“Jacob did mention he was a Hopewell legacy, but he didn’t completely explain what that meant.”
“It means that because he is a Hopewell, he gets preferential treatment. His family founded the museum, so whenever a Hopewell needs a job, the museum hires them.” She shook her head. “Which is really odd now that I think about it. Freemont certainly acts as though he has plenty of money. He drives around in fancy cars and wears designer clothes. He owns an antiques shop or something. I thought that was doing well.” She shook her head again. “No matter how incompetent they are, we find positions for Hopewells. Unfortunately, the only job that needed to be filled was financial manager, so I was pressured by the board of directors to hire him.” She sipped her coffee and stared out the window. After a few seconds, she must have made up her mind. “I might as well prepare you. Freemont didn’t have a clue what he was doing, and the books are a mess. In fact, the financial position of the museum is a mess.” She sighed.
“Do you think he was embezzling money?”
She shrugged. “I
doubt it. I think it was just pure incompetence. But since he didn’t know what he was doing, he didn’t file the right papers with the IRS, and our tax-exempt status is in jeopardy. It’s a hornet’s nest, and we have an auditor arriving in a few months. The problem is that when I confronted Freemont, he quit. So now it will be my butt in a sling if I can’t figure out what he’s done and straighten it out.”
I sighed. “Why didn’t you hire a firm to help? This might be too much for one person.”
“The board won’t approve the money for that.” She sat up tall and puffed out her chest and her cheeks. In a blustery voice, she said, “We can’t do anything that would in any way diminish the good name of Hopewell or tarnish one of the foremost families of Chattanooga society.” She shrugged and resumed her normal posture. “The only thing I can do is hire a replacement for Freemont. So”—she spread her hands out—“here you are.”
Here I was. What had I gotten myself into now?
Chapter 3
I spent the rest of the day looking through files. Apparently, Freemont didn’t use any financial software, so everything he did was handwritten. Prior to Freemont joining the museum staff, the financial information was managed by a very competent woman named Alice Foxworth. Alice was a paragon of detail, and her books were a thing of beauty. Apparently, she retired and went to stay with her daughter in Florida, as I learned from Linda Kay. Alice’s records could have been framed and held up as a model of accounting excellence. Unfortunately, Freemont’s weren’t. His ledgers were messy, and there were stains and a lot of erasures that blotted out numbers and made the recordkeeping even more challenging to follow. I buried myself in ledgers from the last few years, the period when Freemont had been in charge. I was pretty certain Alice’s figures were perfectly aligned down to the last penny. It might have been a stereotype, but I didn’t care. I’d stake my reputation that Alice’s figures were right.
I lifted my head from the ledgers three times. Once when Jacob brought me a tuna fish sandwich from the café, once to answer the call of nature, and once when Stephanie phoned to let me know the golden retriever was awake and well. Dixie was taking her to the airport to pick up her boyfriend, Joe, and they would then go back to the emergency clinic in their rental to get our new houseguest.
Later, Linda Kay rolled into the office and said my name. “Lilly!”
I looked up dazed. “I’m sorry. I was engrossed.” I rubbed my eyes.
“I can tell.” She came into the room. “It’s time to go home.”
I looked at my watch. “I didn’t realize how late it is.”
“Well, you’ve had your head buried in those books long enough. Go home!” She smiled. “There’ll be plenty of time to look through those tomorrow.” She turned the scooter around to face the door. She stopped before she left and looked at me over her shoulder. “You are coming back tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“Of course.” I stood up to stretch.
She nodded. “Good. Then I’ll see you then.” She waved over her shoulder and motored out of the room and down the hall.
I tidied my desk and gathered my things. It was later than I realized, and I needed to hurry home to attend the neighborhood association meeting tonight.
Traffic on the way home wasn’t nearly as obliging as it was in the morning, but I made the drive in a little over thirty minutes. Tomorrow I’d explore alternative routes that would allow me to bypass the interstate.
Aggie was barking when I pulled into the garage. By the time I made it to her crate in the bedroom, she was spinning in circles. One of the things I liked about this house was the master bedroom had a door that allowed me to quickly let her out onto the deck. I flung the crate door open and ran out the door and onto the deck as Dixie had told me. Sure enough, Aggie followed at a quick pace and once outside, she wasted no time taking care of business.
I put Aggie’s food out, but she was more interested in watching me change out of my work clothes into jeans and a light sweater. No matter how much I encouraged her, she refused to eat and instead followed me through the house as I prepared to go to the meeting. I waited as long as I dared, but still she didn’t eat.
“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to go back in the crate.” I looked at Aggie as she stared up at me. I walked to the crate and held the door. “Kennel.”
Unfortunately, Aggie must have had enough of the crate for one day because she took off running, and a chase ensued. Eventually, I cornered her and scooped her up and carried her to the crate. However, by the time our little game of tag was over, I was frustrated and in a foul temper.
I tossed a couple of dog biscuits inside the crate, turned the television back to the home decorating channel, turned off the lights, and left.
The neighborhood association meetings were held in the community building in the center of the subdivision. I walked quickly, which meant I was hot and sweaty by the time I got there. When I entered, the meeting had already started, and I quickly found a seat at the back of the room and tried to collect my breath. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time. Just as I sat down, a man I assumed was the association president asked if there was any new business. He was one of four people seated at a table at the front of the room.
The grumpy old man who yelled at me stood.
Several of the people at the head table rolled their eyes, and there was a general groan from the audience.
The president sighed. “The floor recognizes Theodore Livingston.”
“I have several complaints to bring to the board.”
“Of course you do,” said a large man with a pointy head and a grisly beard that extended almost to his navel.
The crowd laughed, and the president took a small gavel and pounded it a couple of times to regain order.
None of the comments seemed to bother Mr. Grumpy. Theodore Livingston walked to the front of the room. “First, the bylaws for the association clearly state that the grass must be mowed and kept to not more than two inches in height.” He held up a ruler. “I measured the grass at lot fourteen, and the grass was over three inches tall.”
More groans from the audience.
A thin-faced woman stood. “Why, you mean old coot, that’s my yard. I should have known you were up to no good when I saw you nosing around my block at five in the morning.”
Theodore Livingston smiled. “I always get up early. The early bird gets the worm.”
The president pounded his gavel, but the thin-faced woman wasn’t about to be deterred.
“I keep my grass cut.” She looked around at her fellow neighbors, who all nodded. “But I can’t do it right now on account of my broken foot.” She pointed to her leg, which was in a cast.
Grumpy Mr. Livingston refused to make eye contact. “I can’t help that. The rules is the rules.”
The president pounded his gavel. “Order.”
“I’ll take care of Mrs. Herrington’s yard, first thing Saturday,” a man yelled from one side of the room.
“Thank you, Mr. Leonard,” the president acknowledged.
Mrs. Herrington thanked Mr. Leonard, scowled at Mr. Livingston, and sat down.
“If that’s all—” the president started.
“No. That’s not all,” Mr. Livingston continued. “I have another complaint. We have rules in the covenant about animals leaving waste throughout the subdivision and the owners cleaning up after them.”
Here it comes. I knew this one was directed at me, even though I had only been in the neighborhood two days and I cleaned up after my dog. I sat up straight and leaned forward to make sure I heard every word.
“There are some folks that let their dogs go piddling and pooping all over the neighborhood and don’t clean up. Plus, noise restrictions. There are noise restrictions that are being violated. Today, the person who recently moved into lot seven left her dog inside all day, and it barked, which is
a violation of the restrictive covenant.”
I had no idea what lot number I was on, but I knew, in my bones, that Mr. Grumpy was talking about me. Before I thought about it, I was on my feet. “Are you referring to me?”
Grumpy face turned and glared at me. “If the shoe fits...”
“I’ve got a shoe for you,” I mumbled loud enough for him to hear me.
His face was beet red, and he sputtered, “You people move into a neighborhood and think you own the place. I had to put up with that trained demon of Hansen’s because he owned the place, but I don’t have to put up with some yippity-yappity ankle-biting rodent masquerading as a dog leaving piles of dog crap all over the neighborhood and disturbing the peace so I can’t enjoy my garden. If I had my way, that little runt dog would have been drowned at birth.”
I didn’t know if it was the “you people” or the “ankle-biting rodent” or a combination of everything, but something snapped. I marched up to the grumpy-faced man. I stood toe to toe and practically nose to nose. “I don’t know what barnyard you were raised in, but I don’t appreciate being spoken about like that. What exactly do you mean by ‘you people’?”
He scowled. “Yankees.” He hacked a large brown wad of spittle onto the floor.
I didn’t even try to hide the disgust on my face. “Well, this Yankee isn’t afraid of a grumpy old troll who doesn’t have anything better to do than to go around complaining about his neighbors and threatening poor, defenseless dogs.”
“If I see that little runt in my yard, I’ll squash it like a bug.” He stomped his foot on the floor and twisted it. Then he looked at me with a snide smile. “No one around here will be able to stop me because I know all the dirty secrets.”
