John Casey - Compass Rose

Jack cleared his throat, and Mary realized that her silence was making him uneasy. He said, “Where were we? Ah — I may have sounded … I didn’t mean you when I said ‘mice.’ You’re sensible enough to come up here and have a sensible discussion. Of course, you’ll want to talk it over with Mr. Callahan.”

“I was only thinking all this must be hard on you.”

For an instant he appeared touched — the set of his face softened. Then grew tight again. He shut his mouth so hard his lips disappeared. He took a breath and said, “Not in the slightest. This is my meat and drink. Which reminds me — don’t you have to be getting back to the kitchen?”

Mary laughed in his face.

Unaccountably, Jack laughed, too. Did he think he’d been funny with his little skip from “meat and drink” to “back to the kitchen for you, my girl?” Hadn’t he heard himself being an asshole? Dear God, they were every one of them being got the better of by a man who was tone-deaf.

With every day that passed it looked as though Jack was going to get his way. Elsie thought she’d been the screwup, but it turned out nobody else was getting anywhere, either. She recognized that she wasn’t purely out for justice — Dick would admire her, May would tolerate her, Jack would howl. And Rose? Every time Rose set foot in May’s house, Rose would have to think, Mom was the one …

Elsie shook it off. Too much dithering. Try again.

She phoned Mary Scanlon. Elsie was moved when Mary told her she’d offered up her new property if Jack would leave the Pierces in peace but not moved enough to offset her anger when Mary said that she talked to JB and that they couldn’t outspend Jack on lawyers. “Besides,” Mary said, “JB is sure he wouldn’t think of anything else, and he has to get back to his own work.” She added, “I’m remembering how I love it there at my old place.”

“Well, May and Dick love where they are, too.” Elsie hung up.

She tried Johnny Bienvenue again. He said he’d done what he could — he pointed out that he was the ex — attorney general and not yet a congressman, not in a position to horse-trade.

“And Jack’s holding a fund-raiser for you at Sawtooth.”

“Yes, he is. That was arranged a long time ago. Look. I sent someone to talk to the township. They say nothing’s definite; they’re waiting to see if things work out privately.”

“The threat of eminent domain is part of the—”

“And I talked to Jack. His position is he’s making a generous offer, more than generous, and when he gets the property, a slice of it’s going to be for a public footpath to the nature sanctuary. And it’s going to be hard to make the case that he’s throwing the Pierces out on their ear. He’s offering another house plus some cash. The demographics have changed. If South County were still farmers and lobstermen it’d be different. Now there are more people around who look at land as fungible. That means—”

“I know what fungible means.”

“—one acre of farmland is worth another acre of farmland, one acre of waterfront is worth another, et cetera. Now, if Jack was robbing them blind …”

Elsie said, “So it’s money, money, money. I thought you were better than that.”

He sighed. “I’m reporting the common opinion, not espousing it.”

“Have fun at your fund-raiser.” She hung up.

She walked down to the mailbox. She opened a letter from the Perryville School. It was a bill for one hundred eighty-five dollars. What the hell was this? Rose was on a full scholarship. She didn’t go back to her house; she cut through Miss Perry’s garden and marched into the school office. She plunked the bill down on the secretary’s desk. “What is this about? ‘Incidental fees’? What is that?”

“I’m not sure. There’s supposed to be a code number. But there’s no code number; I don’t know why. I’ll get someone to go into the file after lunch.”

“I’ll do it myself.” The secretary opened her mouth and blinked. Elsie said, “I’m faculty, I’m administration.” She pulled Rose’s file. The charge was for incidental room and board. Elsie said out loud, “I thought she slept on the floor. Well, maybe not. But it was all for that damn play.”

In the file she saw the tax return she’d had to submit for Rose’s scholarship. An Aldrich scholarship — that egomaniac put his name on everything. And there was Dick’s tax return. Of course — both parents. She couldn’t resist looking. Dick’s gross income was a lot bigger than hers, but his net was much lower. Interest on debts, fuel, maintenance … Ah. Child support. She’d noted it in her monthly bank statement, but now she saw it as … what? More than a tenth of his net, closer to an eighth.

It was then that it occurred to her that this was how Jack was so well informed about Dick’s finances. She said to the secretary, “Who goes over these files? The scholarship committee?”

“Yes.”

“And who’s on that?”

“The headmaster, the dean, three board members—”

“Mr. Aldrich?”

“Yes. He’s chairman of the board. They meet in his office over at Sawtooth.”

“And they take the scholarship files over there?”

“Yes — I mean, I make copies for them.”

“And what happens to the copies? Do you go get them?”

“No. Mr. Aldrich takes care of that. They’re confidential. I think he has his secretary shred them.”

Elsie jogged back to her house, got in her car, and drove to Sawtooth. Bold. Time for her to be bold. March in and tell him … what? That he’d abused his position as chairman of the board of the Perryville School, used a confidential file for his private scheme, that unless he gave it up, she’d go to the board and make a big enough stink so he’d lose his chairmanship. He loved his chairmanship, part of being the laird of South County. And there’d be a taint on his good name. They’d have to take his name off the Aldrich scholarship.

Halfway up the stairs to the top floor, she stopped. She was sure he’d cheated, but what proof did she have? All right, all right — go in softly. She was here to ask a favor. What? About the one hundred eighty-five dollars. As head of the scholarship committee, he could clear that up. Penny ante for him, not for her. Hat in hand, poor Elsie. But somewhere in his files … Get him out of his office. How? Yell fire? All right, all right, something more sensible. She’d think of something.

No secretary in the anteroom. Lunch hour. She knocked on the office door. No answer. Tried the knob, not locked. Easier than she thought. And if he came back? She’d be writing him a note. On the memo pad on his desk she wrote, “Dear Jack, A problem I need a little help with.” All right, enough there. Files? No steel filing cabinets for Jack, solid oak. Under what? S for Sawtooth? L for land? P for Pierce? No, no, and no. Start from the beginning. And there it was — Adjacent Properties. There was Hazard, and there was Pierce Creek property. Indeed. Erase the people. And there was Dick’s tax return. She pulled it out. There it was in her hand. But now what? If she’d thought to bring a camera … All right, all right. A witness. Go down to the kitchen and get Mary. Ah. She’d been mean to Mary on the phone — got in an angry jab and hung up on her. But still, Mary wasn’t for Jack.

She took a step toward the door. Idiot — there was the phone on Jack’s desk. Mary wouldn’t have to come up; all she would have to do was listen. And better yet — fortune favors the brave — there was a list of in-house extensions. One for the front desk, two for the kitchen. She imagined Mary under oath—“Yes, Elsie called me from Jack’s office. I could tell it was in-house …”