Died in the Wool

by Melinda Mullet

  Urquhart paid no further attention to me and instead plowed ahead with his own agenda. “Duncan, give us a quick rundown of the financials.”

  Amanda turned to me and whispered, “Duncan’s our accountant.”

  Duncan pulled out a file and spread it on the table in front of him. “Things have not improved since our last meeting. Six hundred pounds to repair the water heater on the upper floor, two thousand for repairs to the roof, and I have an estimate here for another five hundred–odd pounds to replace the stove.”

  “They’re all necessary expenses,” Amanda insisted. “You can’t expect our guests to take cold showers and live with water seeping in from the roof. As for the stove, it’s a menace. It’s going to explode one of these days and take the whole house with it.”

  “Then perhaps this is the perfect juncture for raising the subject of the new premises in Campbell Street,” Urquhart interrupted. “It seems ridiculous to me that we are throwing good money after bad on the Rest’s current facilities.”

  “You think we’re spending a lot here! What do you think will happen over at Campbell Street? The building’s in even worse shape than the one we’re in now.” Amanda’s voice rose in exasperation. “The expenses there will dwarf the current expenditures.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound. I took a deep breath and launched into the proceedings. Being new, I could play dumb. “Surely someone’s responsible for making the new building habitable before you move in?” I queried. “I would presume it would be the responsibility of the landlord.” I fixed Urquhart with a pointed gaze and watched his eyes narrow as he realized that I didn’t intend to just sit back and watch.

  “My arrangement with the Templeton Family Trust is for the use of one building in the city limits rent free. It is an extraordinary deal and as a result, the maintenance of the building is the sole responsibility of the trust. That’s what the trust’s funds are for.”

  “And paying bills, and feeding all of our guests,” Amanda snapped. “We don’t have the resources to maintain a building in the condition of the Campbell Street property.”

  “Not to mention it’s in a horrid neighborhood,” Greer observed. “There would be significant safety concerns to think about. Added security. That would be costly, too.”

  Urquhart walked over and stood behind Greer, placing a hand on her shoulder. Greer stiffened ever so slightly, as if repulsed by his touch. “We’ve discussed this already. The neighborhood’s in transition, but in due course it will become gentrified, just as this neighborhood has, and the Rest will be well established. Besides, we aren’t running a cheap boarding house. This is meant to be temporary, transitional housing. No point making them too comfortable,” Urquhart insisted.

  I could feel my blood pressure rising. “Them” indeed. “So you’re saying that the shelter will be moved on again once the new property becomes more valuable to the owner?” I asked. “We wouldn’t want the shelter to become too comfortable, would we?”

  “Beggars cannot be choosers, Ms. Logan,” Urquhart said in a low voice. “The building has been inspected and it is suitable for the designated purpose.”

  “By whom?”

  “We’ve had a professional inspection.”

  “If you were buying a property, would you rely on the owner’s inspection?” I stared Urquhart down. “Or would you insist on one of your own?”

  “That’s irrelevant.”

  “I think not. The shelter should be permitted to have its own inspection done.”

  “Sounds reasonable to me,” Greer said.

  “I agree,” Amanda chimed in.

  “You can stall all you want. The outcome will be the same,” Urquhart said.

  “A second inspection isn’t an unreasonable request,” Ross observed, “but as Richard is the sole arbiter of suitability in this instance, and unlikely to change his mind, I maintain it’s an expense we can live without.”

  “I hate to say it, but Duncan’s right,” Colin interjected. “Why waste good money on an inspection when we’ll need that money to make repairs after the relocation.”

  “I’ll fund the inspection,” I said quietly.

  “They’re expensive,” Colin pointed out.

  For the first time in my life I was actually able to say without hesitation, “Money’s not an issue.”

  Urquhart’s eyes narrowed and I sensed I had just moved up slightly in his cash-based estimation. No doubt he would be looking into my background after the meeting was over. He rose to his feet and began to pace back and forth. “This is a waste of time,” he fumed.

  “You must have a large number of properties in your portfolio,” I said pointedly. “Are there no other buildings in a better location that might be appropriate for the shelter to use?” I asked.

  “None that are zoned residential,” Urquhart snapped.

  “And why can’t the shelter stay here?” I asked.

  Urquhart was beginning to flush. I had a feeling that board meetings were usually a formality and my questions were annoying him.

  “I am not required to disclose my personal business plans to this board just because I provide you with accommodations.” Urquhart’s voice grew louder with each word. “If I elect to sell this building, it’s my business, not yours. You’re being offered a perfectly suitable alternative, but if the board chooses to oppose the move to the Campbell Street premises, you have two choices.” Urquhart leaned across the table to address me directly. “You can take me to court over the suitability issue, and I guarantee that it will be a lengthy proposition and money will most certainly become an issue, or you can find somewhere else that you can afford to rent on the open market.”

  I returned Urquhart’s gaze without flinching. “That’s blackmail,” I said.

  “That’s business,” he responded.

  “Perhaps it’s best if we just get on with the vote,” Duncan Ross said. “Richard has raised the question of whether Ms. Logan is eligible to vote at this first meeting. He believes she is not.”

  Amanda jumped in. “I’ve looked at the founding documents and a board member is eligible to vote as soon as he or she has been nominated and seconded by one other member of the board. Greer has seconded my nomination.”

  “Fine,” Ross said without emotion. “All in favor of the move to the Campbell Street property?”

  Urquhart, Ross, and Colin raised their hands.

  “All opposed,” Ross continued.

  Amanda and I raised our hands, and Greer slowly followed suit.

  “Opposition duly noted,” Urquhart growled, “but I have no suitable alternative and won’t have one in the near future. So the ball is in your court. Sue me or be packed up by the end of the month.”

  Amanda jumped to her feet. “The end of the month? That’s only two weeks away,” she said. “Under the terms of the agreement we have sixty days. Two weeks is madness.”

  Colin frowned. “Surely you can arrange for a bit of extra time? Even you have to admit two weeks is a bit sharpish.”

  “End of the month,” Urquhart repeated. “Here’s your notice.” He slapped a piece of paper on the table in front of Amanda and swept from the room.

  “Colin, how could you?” Greer demanded, turning to face her brother.

  Colin exhaled with a long, low sigh. “I don’t like the idea of moving the Rest any more than you do,” he said. “But if Richard’s determined, you know he’ll get his way, and he refers too much business to us for me to ruffle his feathers.”

  Greer scowled. “It’s not all about business.”

  “Really, sis, sometimes it is,” Colin insisted. He went to Amanda and gave her shoulder a light squeeze. “I’m sorry, ’Manda, I’m afraid it’s looking like the move’s inevitable, but I’ll go see if I can talk some sense into him about this quick turnaround.” Colin grabbed his jacket from t
he back of the chair and followed Urquhart from the room.

  Ross began hastily gathering his papers into a pile. He looked as if he wasn’t anxious to stay long in the room with all three of the dissenting votes. “This may not be the ideal situation,” he said, “but we can’t afford to fight and we certainly can’t afford to pay market rent on anything livable. I think it is the better part of valor to exit with grace.”

  Ross’s exit wasn’t graceful, but it was quick. When we were alone, Amanda dropped her head into her hands. “I was afraid of this. Thanks for trying, Abi, but looks like we’re stuck moving.”

  “Don’t give up yet. I’m happy to fund a proper inspection of the Campbell Street property. Surely if it’s as awful as it sounds, he can’t force you to move. It wouldn’t qualify as suitable.”

  “We’ve had this argument before. ‘Suitable’ covers a multitude of sins.”

  “Well, let’s see what the inspection report says. A good inspector can find all kinds of problems and a good lawyer can find loopholes. Any chance you can get me a copy of the agreement between the trust and Urquhart?”

  “I have a copy in the files at the shelter if you think it will help.” Amanda looked slightly brighter. “Are you sure you don’t mind funding an inspection? I’m sure Colin’s right that it’ll be terribly expensive.”

  I smiled. “Like I said, not a problem. In fact, I suspect I can convince my own charity’s board to make a donation to help the shelter with some of the near-term expenses.”

  “That would be amazing, and very timely,” Amanda said, “but that wasn’t why I asked you to join our board. You know that, right?”

  “I know, but I can see why you needed help here. Some heavy-handed men you’ve got working with you. Not Colin,” I added hastily, seeing the look on both women’s faces.

  “Colin means well, he really does,” Greer said sadly, “and he’s very supportive of the shelter, but his business sense gets in the way sometimes. The practical side outvotes his sentimental side.” Greer began to shred her empty paper coffee cup. “I suppose it’s good that at least one of us has some business sense.”

  “He’s not wrong.” I sighed. “The move may yet be inevitable, but we can try to land somewhere better than what we’re being offered now.”

  “We appreciate anything you can do to help,” Greer said. “It’s always been us against the money men. It’s nice to have you on board, Abi.”

  “Glad to help.”

  Greer reached under the table and handed Amanda a mesh bag full of fresh beets, their green tops poking out of the top and a fluff of fresh dirt sprinkling from the roots to the floor. “Have some more beets. We’re drowning in them at the moment.” She turned back to me with a smile. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have brought extras. You should stop by the farm when you’re in the neighborhood and I’ll send you home with something tasty and fresh.” Greer grabbed her jacket from the floor and dusted off the soil that clung to the cuffs. “I’d better see what Colin’s up to. He’s liable to get worked up and forget he needs to take me home.”

  As Greer’s footsteps faded away up the stairs, Amanda placed the beets gingerly on the table and retrieved a brush and pan from the corner. “She’s lovely, but so messy. It’s like having a child around.” Amanda brushed the dirt into a pile away from the stock of yarn.

  “Urquhart seemed disappointed by the outcome of the vote.”

  “I think he’s been trying to bully Greer into voting with him, but she stuck with us.”

  “Tell me about the guy I’m replacing?” I asked. “Was he an Urquhart supporter?”

  “Chris Burley? He was loyal to Moureen and the shelter. He always voted the way he felt she would have. Sadly, he resigned last week.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “He’s had his hands full with his wife. She was diagnosed with cancer late last year and he said he needed to give her more of his time and attention.”

  Legitimate enough, but I couldn’t help wondering how he felt about the move. “Don’t suppose you knew where Chris stood on the whole Campbell Road issue?” I asked.

  “It’s really only just come up in the past two weeks. We hadn’t talked about it a great deal, but I will say he wasn’t much of one for change. If he thought Moureen wouldn’t support the move, he wouldn’t either.”

  “What was his connection to Moureen?”

  “He was the head gardener at the Templeton estate for many years, and he’s helped us no end with light repairs and yardwork at the Rest. He’s a good sort. Moureen insisted he take a place on the board at the beginning because she wanted someone she could trust. Someone to balance out the toffee-nosed twits, as she used to call them.”

  “Surely she trusted Colin and Greer, didn’t she?”

  “Of course, but the kids didn’t join the board until after she died.”

  Amanda gathered up the rest of her things and I helped her with the bag of beets, trying to contain the fallout in my hands. “Look, I don’t know about you, but I could use a decent cup of tea,” she said. “Care to walk back to the shelter with me? I’d like to talk to you about a couple of things, but I feel I need to get back. It’s been such a traumatic day for everyone.”

  “I’m happy to walk back with you.” I stood in the crisp evening air as Amanda locked the front door of the shop. We set off along the side of the square facing into a sudden breeze that kicked up along the street, sending a flurry of leaves into the air. “Do you live at the Rest yourself?”

  “I have a lumpy couch in the office,” Amanda said ruefully. “Sometimes when I’m really wiped out I sleep over, but my sister and I have a farm about a half hour away, near Dunfermline. That’s where my studio is, and our own flock of sheep.”

  “Not too bad a drive, then.”

  “I like that I can get over to the Rest quickly if there’s any problem.”

  “Do you often have problems?”

  “No.” Amanda sighed heavily. “Seldom if ever, and this is the first time we’ve had a death.” She whispered the final word as if it conjured up evil spirits.

  “How long had Jenny been at the Rest?”

  “Nearly eight weeks. She arrived at one of the clinics on the north side of town right after Christmas with two broken ribs and a black eye. They referred her to us, and she showed up on the doorstep with everything she had left in one plastic bin liner.”

  “No family to turn to?”

  “She has a mum living just outside of town, but from what I can gather, she’s in a similar situation. Her sterling advice to her daughter was ‘shut up and put up.’ ”

  We arrived at the Rest just as a light drizzle began to fall. Amanda and I trotted up the front steps and shook off the drops of water as we made our way through to the kitchen. Sheila was sitting alone at the table nursing the last of a cup of hot chocolate.

  “That looks just the ticket,” Amanda said. “Care for a refill?” she asked, laying a hand on Sheila’s shoulder.

  “Why not?” Sheila sighed. “But I’ll get it. You set yerselves down. You’ve had a long day.”

  “How’s Nora taking all this?” Amanda asked as she placed the beets in the sink.

  “With the resilience of youth and her usual sense of optimism, bless her,” Sheila said. “She’s upstairs doing her homework. When I came down to clean up the kitchen, she hugged me and said, ‘Jenny’s at peace now, Mum, and no one can ever hurt her again.’ ” Sheila looked over at me. “My daughter Nora’s eleven.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot of maturity for eleven,” I remarked. Not that I had any idea, but it seemed like a lot.

  “Nora’s always been a tough cookie,” Sheila said. “She’s had to be.”

  “You must be very proud of her.”

  Sheila smiled. “Not so’s you’d notice.”

  “How are the re
st of the residents taking the news?” I asked.

  “They put up walls,” Amanda said. “All of them try to seem hard and unemotional, but underneath they’re all very upset. Having the police poking around all morning didn’t help either.”

  “Did any of them think that Jenny might have committed suicide?”

  “It was certainly the police’s first guess, and whether they like being labeled as a suicide risk or not, the other girls can’t swear that Jenny didn’t take her own life,” Sheila said sadly.

  “Some women find it hard to make their own way after being in a controlling relationship for so many years,” Amanda noted. “They can be a bit like a boat without a rudder. Though I wouldn’t have said that about Jenny.”

  “Not at all,” Sheila confirmed, stirring cocoa powder into the milk on the stove. “She was a fighter. I think that’s what’s bothering me the most about all this. I tried to tell the police officer that the words she had written on the mirror weren’t a final statement, they were her mantra. “No More”—no more abuse, no more hiding, no more being a victim. But he kept insisting that I needed to accept that suicide was a common thing with girls like her.”

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “Girls like her. Wish we had more girls like her. Determined, resourceful. The cops tend to have preconceived notions about our guests. They believe them to be weak, poorly educated, and unstable women. In my experience, they’re usually anything but.”

  “Women are definitely stronger than we’re given credit for, but anyone can get overwhelmed by life,” I pointed out. “What do they think she OD’d on?”

  “The police found her Prozac tablets next to her bed. Not an uncommon prescription ’round here. A lot of the girls deal with depression and anxiety.”

  Amanda retrieved a cloth bag from the corner of the room and pulled out a ball of pale yellow yarn. I watched as she grasped a pair of needles and sent them flying without once looking down at her work. It was an instinctive motion and I sensed the rhythmic clicking and repetitive pattern was soothing to her.