Sheila Connolly: Fundraising The Dead

It didn’t take long to get to the garage.

“Well, this is it,” I said. Really bright comment , Nell.

“All right, then. Take care.”

For an awkward moment, I wondered if we were supposed to shake hands or something. In the end, I just turned and walked toward the stairs of the garage. As I entered the stairwell, I caught a brief glimpse of him, standing where I’d left him, watching me.

The next morning when I arrived I posted signs onthe entry doors announcing a quick staff meeting-déjà vu time. I waited for the troops to gather in the boardroom. People appeared quickly, no doubt apprehensive about the rumors that had been swirling around over the past few days. Gossip travels fast in a small place.

When it looked as though everyone was assembled, I began to speak. “I know you all want to know what’s going on, but I only want to say it once. Is anybody missing?” People turned to look at each other and shrugged as one. “All right. I’ll give you the short version, and then you can ask questions. Charles Worthington has resigned from his position as president of the Society, effective immediately. There will be an ad hoc board meeting tomorrow to formally accept his resignation and to begin a search for his replacement.” I debated briefly whether to tell them about Doris ’s role in Alfred’s death and decided against it. Let Alfred rest in peace, at least until the press got hold of Doris ’s arrest. “Any questions?”

Of course there were. The impromptu meeting with the staff eventually ended only because we knew there were patrons lined up at the door, fuming, and we couldn’t afford to antagonize any of our supporters. Nobody mentioned anything about missing documents, not that many people knew about them. Had we really managed to keep that quiet? Or would staff members seek me out one at a time to get the real story? As I had told Marty, our staff were good people, by and large. I hoped they would stick around through whatever was coming, because we needed them, now more than ever. I hoped that they had enough trust in those of us who were left to be patient, and we wouldn’t be seeing a mass defection. I would be saddened to see some of these people go, and they were important to the Society if we wanted to keep operating as usual through the stormy days ahead.

I wasn’t particularly happy about the lack of leadership going forward. I remembered the search process from the last time and shuddered. If attracting qualified candidates and making a decision had been difficult then, what was it going to be like now, with Charles’s abrupt departure? But that wasn’t my problem: Marty was dealing with the board, and I knew she could handle whatever questions they pitched at her.

She’d managed to assemble the board in record time, or at least enough of them to make decisions. I don’t know what she told them to get them to show up at the Thursday meeting, beyond the bare facts of Charles’s defection. Since they shared some liability for what went on at the Society-and a fair number were lawyers- she had probably had to tell them more than that. In any case, they had all promised to come to the meeting.

Marty had asked me to be there, too, so I had dressed carefully, putting on my grandmother’s pearls again, and keeping them on this time. As I walked through the lobby, then the catalog room, I got more smiles than frowns from the busy staff members, so I assumed that they weren’t in panic mode. Yet.

The meeting had been scheduled for late afternoon, to accommodate professional schedules. Just before four, I wended my way to the boardroom on the second floor. It looked as though most people had already arrived. Marty was clearly in charge, back to her former no-nonsense self, and when she spied me she came over quickly.

“Nell! Glad you’re here-we’ve got a lot to get through. Jimmy’s coming to explain the legal side of things, and then the board is going to have to vote on a couple of things. I think it’ll be all right, but you never know. Listen, there’s something-”

She was interrupted by the arrival of the board chair, Lewis Howard, followed closely by James, and the three of them conferred as a few stragglers wandered in. Marty directed one last comment to the chairman, who cleared his throat and called the meeting to order. People drifted to their seats, sat down, and looked expectantly at him. I took a seat against the wall so I could watch the proceedings, since I didn’t have an active role in the group.

“Gentlemen-and ladies,” the chairman began, casting a conciliatory smile at the few women in the gathering, “we meet today under extraordinary circumstances, in the face of a crisis that threatens to undermine the very foundations of this noble establishment…”

I’d seen Lewis Howard in action before at many board meetings. He was a Philadelphia lawyer with a long record of distinguished service, and he tended toward pomposity. Still, he was a noble figurehead for the Society, and he wasn’t entirely past his prime. He waxed eloquent, alternately outraged, apologetic, and hopeful. He stopped orating only when Marty, seated next to him, gave him a nudge, and then he turned the meeting over to James.

Agent James Morrison stood. He began with a brief announcement of Doris ’s arrest, then segued into a crisp and concise summary of Charles’s depredations of the collections and outlined the plea bargain that Charles had indeed requested. He touched on what we could hope to recover, and he gave a time line for expected events. The board members looked uniformly stunned.

As James wrapped up, he glanced briefly at me, but I couldn’t read his expression. He returned to the assembled group. “Any questions?”

Marty had apparently done her work well, and there were few. The chairman asked if he should contact our insurance agency, and they agreed to meet at another time to review those details. Another member asked about issuing a public statement, and I cringed, but the majority voiced variations of the opinion that the less said, the better, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

James nodded to the group around the table. “If you don’t need me for anything else, I’ve got a lot of paperwork waiting for me. Feel free to contact me if you wish.” No one spoke, and he picked up his coat and headed for the door-where he paused, caught my eye, and winked. Winked? What was that about? And then he was gone.

Marty leaned toward the chairman and whispered something. He nodded, and she stood.

“I think we’ve covered most of our agenda, except for a few loose ends. First and foremost, we must officially remove Charles Worthington as president of this institution. He has tendered his resignation, but our attorney says that his alleged behavior certainly violates the terms of his contract, so I think that we may feel free to terminate him for cause.” I was faintly amused when I realized that this meant Charles would receive no severance pay or related benefits. “Do I hear a motion?”

“So moved,” three people were quick to answer. It was seconded in short order, and the motion was passed unanimously.

Marty spoke again. “That brings us to a second, related issue: how we intend to replace him.” Her eyes swept the group. “I have discussed this with all of you, and I believe that we are in agreement?” Heads nodded. “I propose that we appoint Eleanor Pratt as interim president, to assume active day-to-day management of the Society.”

Wait a minute! She wanted me to take over? For a moment I was speechless. She was grinning at me.

I found my voice. “Uh, excuse me, did I hear you correctly? You want me to run the Society?”

There were plenty of other eyes on me now. Marty looked around the table and then back at me.