Cat of the Century (5 page)

“‘Net profit’—the two most beautiful words in the English language,” Flo purred.

“Was she … herself?”

“She was, but in check. She’s sharp, sharp, sharp when it comes to money, and she watches our treasury like a hawk.” She paused, “A hawk who wears far too much gaudy jewelry from her expensive store.”

Flo thought retail was quite difficult and admired anyone who succeeded, whether it be a huge corporation or a small neighborhood nursery.

Again, the two women signed off.

Flo truly did look forward to March 25, but she knew the meeting of the alumnae board would be tense. Money was tight everywhere. If people were going to fight, they were going to fight over sex or money. As far as she knew, there was no sex among the board members. Then the thought of Mariah in bed with Andrea, a rotund board member from Omaha, sent her into a fit of laughter.

H
alfway across the country, the administration of William Woods University prepared for the centennial.

President Jahnae H. Barnett, Ph.D., possessed that marvelous ability of finding the right person for the right job. While someone in the administration needed to oversee the gala, it would best serve the university if the actual centennial chair happened to be an alumna, someone not on the payroll. Given the economic crash and the subsequent hiring freeze, President Barnett’s people labored with overload. Dedicated and efficient, everyone in the administration pulled their weight and then some. So, too, did the department chairs. Putting another responsibility on them wasn’t fair when an alumna volunteer might be available.

Academics, notoriously naïve where money was concerned, tried the patience of most university presidents. Issues became moral arguments. Tedious, unnecessary, counterproductive, the venom one academic reserved for another was exceeded only by the venom poured on people who were successful outside the ivory tower. Again, President Barnett had sidestepped this emotional snake pit during her long tenure as leader. She worked closely with personnel, pinpointing people who excelled in their field, keeping a positive outlook, and rarely giving in to intellectual snobbery. One of the reasons William Woods was such a happy place could be traced to fastidious hiring at
all levels. Mistakes had been made—impossible not to make a few—but those individuals were let go without fanfare and in such a way as not to obliterate their fragile egos.

Ego. Sometimes President Barnett wondered what life would be like without it. She had weekly conversations with Flo Langston as well as Mariah D’Angelo. Neither Flo nor Mariah, so shrewd in all other respects, could recognize that their own hostility toward each other stemmed from ego. President Barnett managed to harness them to pull together for William Woods University. It wasn’t easy.

Trudy Sweetwater, the local alumna in charge of Tally’s blowout, sat in the comfortable chair in President Barnett’s office. She worked for a small irrigation-equipment company in Fulton. She was far from rich, but she loved her alma mater and was a good organizer—something her employer had long ago recognized, too.

Named Gertrude for her paternal grandmother, thirty-one-year-old Trudy hated the name. “Trudy” wasn’t so bad.

“I’ve arranged a caravan to Callaway Hills. They’ve graciously offered to serve a light lunch.”

The vivacious and quite pretty president beamed and said, “Wonderful.”

Callaway Hills Stables, one of the great Saddlebred establishments in America, was guided for years by Mrs. Weldon, breeder of the great Will Shriver. She passed away in 2007 and her daughter, Tony, had taken over. Those incredible Callaway horses continued to be born, trained, and shown.

“You know Tony; she’ll have every horse in the stables gleaming.” Trudy smiled.

“She does anyway.” Jahnae Barnett had ridden in the Concert of Champions at the American Royal in Kansas City, one of the big-five old shows in the Saddlebred world: the Junior League, Mercer County Fair, Shelbyville, the Kentucky State Fair, and the Kansas City Royal. She had a keen appreciation of what it took to excel, and was thrilled when Marjorie Townsend, a fifteen-year-old who was like a daughter to her, also rode at the Royal.

These days she was lucky to ride a bicycle. Time. Just no time.

“Inez will be paired with Tally, of course.”

“She’s one of our most successful graduates.” President Barnett checked her notes. “The Jameson Singers?”

“Ready.”

“Gin?” Said with a slow smile.

“Bombay Sapphire and Tanqueray. Inez said that Tally likes to switch off from time to time. She starts when the sun goes down, but Inez says she has rarely seen Tally drunk. The woman has an amazing capacity for alcohol.”

“So I hear. You know if you need anything, Kenda Shindler”—she referred to her assistant—“or Gayle Lampe will help. I don’t remember when I’ve seen Gayle so excited. She’s dying to spend time with Inez.”

“She gets that excited over a box of Rogers’ Chocolates.” Trudy laughed, naming the candy company in Canada.

President Barnett laughed, too. “Point taken. Anything else?”

“Mariah called. Her computer crashed. She’s afraid she won’t have the alumnae treasury figures in time for the meeting. But she says she’ll have a techie on it, pronto.”

President Barnett raised her eyebrows. “Okay.”

Trudy added some crucial information. “It appears she didn’t keep a backup.”

The eyebrows shot straight upward. “Oh, no.”

“She says not to worry.”

“I don’t suppose she kept a regular accounting record just in case?”

Trudy shook her head. “People are forgetting how to keep written records on their own.”

“All we need is one huge electrical disaster or other form of disaster and there goes everything. I still keep my logbook, and I carry it with me.”

“I do, too. My mother pounded that into me.” Trudy nodded her head.

“Remind me to tell your mother she’s right.” President Barnett leaned back in her chair. “Well, everything seems to be on track, except for the computer crash.”

Money arouses passions. If President Barnett had only known how high, she might have canceled the whole damned thing.

On that same day Harry finished the end-of-day chores, her cats and dog helping.

Tucker barked,
“Fair and intruders!”

The vet truck rolled down the drive, still a little muddy after the light snow last week plus the freezing and thawing. In Fair’s wake was Fred Willard, driving a new Volvo XC70, and someone behind him in a Volvo SUV.

Harry wondered why the caravan.

Fair hopped out of his truck and put his arm around his wife’s waist, getting straw on himself and propelling her toward the XC70, a lovely silver station wagon. Fred emerged and handed Harry the key.

“Six cylinders.” Fred, a Volvo salesman, smiled.

“You rented a Volvo?” Harry was incredulous.

“I bought a Volvo.”

“Fair, we’re in a depression!”

“Recession,” Fair replied.

“Bullpucky,” Harry shot back.

“I have enough, recession or depression, and you’re driving to Fulton, Missouri, in something safe.”

He was one hundred percent correct. Besides, they really needed a vehicle that wasn’t a truck.

Harry, stunned, finally spoke. “It’s beautiful. And I will be safe.”

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

I
resent that.” Mariah D’Angelo’s cheeks burned with indignation.

“You can resent it all you like, Mariah. You fell down on the job.” Flo stated this calmly—too calmly.

“The techie is working on the problem. In the meantime, I’ve made notes from memory.” Mariah slapped the table.

“How do we know you didn’t make up the figures to cover yourself?” Flo went for the throat.

Inez lightly tapped the table with her gavel. “Ladies, this solves nothing. If we compare last year’s income and expenditures to what we have so far, based on Mariah’s memory, we’ll get some idea of where we stand. Why you all trust computers is beyond me. You should keep the books by hand as well as on your computer. I’m not saying, Mariah, that you didn’t need to file everything on your computer. I know it makes it easy to print copies, but it’s always a good idea to keep vital information in a form not dependent upon electricity.”

Mariah stammered. Nothing coherent came out.

Flo leaned back in her chair with her hands folded.

Liz Filmore, ever eager to put the Richmond chapter in a good light, said, “We do that.”

“How wonderful for you.” Mariah’s voice could cut ice.

“Let’s take a break. A fifteen-minute break. When we return, I expect
to see an attitude adjustment.” Inez rapped the gavel on the table again, her disgust apparent.

She rose, steadying herself for a moment on the table’s edge. Her knees throbbed. Bad weather was coming. She stepped into the hallway. Although the alumnae chair emeritus, Inez had to take over the actual chair’s duties because Mariah and Flo had made it impossible for Liz. Too young, cowed by the rich St. Louis and Kansas City alumnae, Liz couldn’t keep order. Neither Mariah nor Flo paid the least bit of attention to her, but they respected Inez, even feared her a little. She was the only person on the twelve-woman alumnae board who could keep order. As St. Louis and Kansas City were vitally important to the economic health of Missouri, so they were to William Woods. Having a representative from each city was important. Seattle, large as it was, had not fielded as many alumnae over the years as had the two great and completely different Missouri cities.

Small knots of women chatted in the halls, lobbying for pet projects or gossiping about Mariah’s computer crash. Some found it suspicious. Others felt that those things just happened.

Flo fanned the suspicious people. “Until we have an accurate accounting, I must assume all is not well with our funds.”

“Are you suggesting Mariah misused them?” DeeDee Halstead, head of the L.A. chapter, leveled her gaze at Flo.

Flo hesitated just enough to intimate perhaps that was the case, but she said, “Mariah has enough money; she doesn’t have to steal ours.”

Flo left this group, satisfied she’d stirred the pot. She passed a few other members on her way to the ladies’ room. As she opened the door to enter, Mariah pushed it to exit. They knocked each other off balance. Regaining that balance, they stared at each other for a moment.

“I should have known it was you.” Mariah brushed back a straying lock of expensively colored hair.

“All you had to do was get your fat butt out of the way,” Flo sniffed.

“Diva that you are, Flo, your butt—which surely harbors more cellulite than you care to admit—is no smaller than mine. But, you know, I’ve always respected your success. That’s why I know you’re trying to ruin me.”

“What?” Flo was puzzled and irritated.

“Whenever we’ve been forced to talk to each other about school projects, you’ve mentioned a company or two. I researched them and sometimes even invested in them. Much as I hate your guts, I know you are a financial wizard.”

“What’s your point?”

“You set me up for a fall. I made money—until now.”

“You’re not my client. I have nothing to do with whatever it is you’re talking about.”