Alan Jacobson - False accusations

“Irritability, forgetfulness…sometimes she just, I don’t know, spaced out. The last week or so it seemed to worsen. I don’t know if she’s having problems at home or if it’s a delayed reaction to the death of her sister, but she’s taken time off to get her head together.”

“How long is she going to be out?”

“Who knows. She could be back in a couple of weeks-or maybe never. Murph’s looking into it. He said he was going to call me tonight to discuss it.”

“Who’s gonna handle the fundraising?”

“Donna’s assistant. Murph just hired her a few weeks ago. I haven’t even met her. Her name’s Brittany…Brittany something. She was originally hired to help with the backlog of membership accounts receivable collections. Then, when we had that glitch with the licensing board, Donna had to free up some time. She gave Brittany some of the fundraising duties. Good thing, because at least she had some idea as to what Donna was doing, and how she was doing it. Harding, that’s her name. Brittany Harding.”

“Phil, you can’t continue to carry the organization on your back. It’s time for someone else to run the agency. You’ve given it everything you’ve got, and it’s time to pass the baton.”

Some time ago, he had realized that Leeza was right, but he had held off telling her that there was no one else who was ready or competent to assume the presidency. Having a brother who benefited from the assistance that the Consortium currently provided to hundreds of area children, youth, and adults, he felt committed to the organization. He couldn’t leave it without adequate leadership firmly in place.

“I’ll look into it,” he said. “Just don’t count on anything changing in the near future.”

“I gave up hopes of that a long time ago,” she said.

By the time they made it to Marine World-or Six Flags Discovery Kingdom — Jonah had fallen asleep, though he awoke when they arrived. The crowd was large, the weather beautiful yet unseasonably chilly. The dinosaur and shark exhibits fascinated Elliott, but they scared Jonah, and he ended up clinging to his father until they moved on to the petting zoo.

The boys spent the next four hours running, yelling, feeding the animals, and eating com dogs and ice cream dots before finally collapsing in the back of the van on the way home. All in all, it was a good day outdoors with the family.

When they drew close to town, Leeza called Steve’s Pizza and ordered dinner. It was ready by the time they arrived, and Leeza held the warm cardboard boxes on her lap until they made it home a few minutes later.

The phone was ringing as they headed into the house. “The machine will get it, Phil. We’re gonna eat dinner first.”

“But-”

“The machine will get it,” she said, taking him by the arm and steering him toward the kitchen.

The pizzas were devoured in a matter of twenty minutes. The answering machine had a message from Michael Murphy, the regional executive officer of the Consortium for Citizens with Mental Retardation.

Murphy was hired eleven years ago by the Consortium. Based in San Francisco, he would make weekly trips into town to touch base with staff and monitor administrative matters. Murphy’s job was to play watchdog over the other two offices in northern California. He had been personally responsible for hiring Donna, the Sacramento administrative officer, ten years ago.

Madison took his handset over to the family room lounger and punched Murphy’s number into the keypad. The phone was answered two rings later with a boisterous “Hellllooo,” Murphy’s trademark.

“You always sound so damned energetic, Murph. Makes me feel like a wretched old man.”

“Positive mental attitude Phil. Gotta live and breathe it twenty-four/seven, or it doesn’t work. You can’t turn it on only for business meetings or staff conferences.”

“I’ll remember that,” Madison said. “I got your message.”

“Good, good, Phil. Thanks for calling me back.”

“Anything new with Donna?”

“I spoke with her husband. He said she’s seeing a shrink, but he hasn’t seen much improvement. They were taking her to an internist to check for other causes. Other than that, he didn’t say much, and I didn’t want to pry. I think we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“How is what’s her name-Brittany-doing?”

“Fine, as far as I can tell,” Murphy said. “She’s still getting her feet wet. It takes a while to learn all the procedures. She really wasn’t here that long before Donna started having problems.”

“Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, she’s got all the tools-she’s a meticulous organizer, good with details, and quite attractive.”

“Murph…”

“In the short term, I think she’ll do fine. With a little training here and there, she should pick it all up without a problem. Kind of like panning for gold-you have to sift through all the sediment to find the value. I just wish I knew how long Donna was going to be out. Hard to plan things when you don’t know who to plan them around.”

“Tell me about it. I have a board meeting in a week and I’ve done very little to prepare for it. Donna usually took care of all that.”

“Let me know if I can be of any help.”

“Count on it,” Madison said.

The consortium occupied what was essentially an old car dealership building. It had been renovated and remodeled by a construction contractor whose son had suffered a severe head injury as a result of a motorcycle accident. In appreciation for all the assistance the CCMR had provided his son, the contractor transformed the building into a respectable facility that proudly housed the services and offices the CCMR required to run their operations. That was twenty years ago, and the structure had an outdated eighties look to it. Still, it was functional and served its purpose.

His conversation with Michael Murphy eight days ago still occupying his thoughts, Madison entered the building and walked down the corridor to the office of the administrative officer. There, he found Brittany Harding sitting behind Donna’s desk with the phone pressed against her ear. She looked up, saw Madison and motioned for him to sit down. She continued her conversation.

He had not yet met her in person; he had only spoken to her on the phone five or six times during the past couple of weeks. She was much more attractive than he had envisioned. She had long, lustrous auburn hair that was blown back and loosely permed, giving it a playful lift and fluff. High cheekbones of Asian ancestry showcased large brown and gold-highlighted tiger eyes. Her makeup was understated.

Harding’s desk was meticulously arranged, with a blotter in place and messages and notes tucked neatly under the edges. There was an in box, an out box, and a tidily stacked pile of opened mail. There was even a coaster under her can of opened Diet Coke.

A framed photo of an older Asian woman and Caucasian man sat on the bookshelf behind her, beside numerous knickknacks harkening back to her Chicago roots.

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “…Yes, Mr. Ivy, I’ll take care of it. I’ve already told you that I’ll look into the matter… Yes, I will. As I already said, I’ll call you once I have an answer for you… Uh-huh… Uh-huh,” she said, opening a paperback novel to a bookmarked page. Her eyes began moving across the lines of text. “Yes, Mr. Ivy, I’m here…I understand. Okay. Okay. Right. ‘Bye.”

She hung up the phone, closed the novel, and sighed heavily again. “Some people…” she said, her voice trailing off. She arose and extended a hand toward Madison.

She squeezed his hand. It hurt.

“And you are…”