nothing’s seemed secure here lately. Chloe keeps telling me not to worry. But I can’t help worrying.”
Worry.
Nela pictured Marian’s brown tabby looking up forlornly….
She was worried…She didn’t know what to do
…
“What’s been wrong?”
It was as if Louise stepped back a pace though she didn’t move. Her face was suddenly bland. “Oh, this and that. Things crop up. The foundation is involved in so many activities and sometimes people get angry.”
Nela was abruptly alert. Someone had been angry last night in Marian Grant’s apartment, angry enough to pick up a crystal statuette and fling it at a mirror. Nela wasn’t reassured by Louise’s smooth response. The intrusion in the dead woman’s apartment last night had been wrong, and there seemed to be something wrong here at the foundation, but Chloe’s boss obviously didn’t intend to explain. Was the search last night related to things cropping up, whatever that meant, at the foundation? The secretary’s threat to call the police because of Nela’s unexpected arrival had to be based on some definite concern.
“Here is the connecting door to my office.” Louise gestured toward an open door. “Unless I’m in conference, I leave the door open between the offices and that makes access easier. Chloe handles my correspondence and takes care of filing. We’re having a meeting of the grants committee later this month and Chloe is about halfway through preparing one-page summaries of applications. Tomorrow, you can be sure the conference room is ready for the staff meeting, fresh legal pads and a pen at each place. There’s a small galley off the main conference room. About ten minutes after everyone arrives, you can heat sweet rolls and bring them in with coffee. The foundation has the most wonderful cook.”
She was now businesslike with no hint of her earlier distress. As they approached the front of the building, the size of the offices grew. Louise walked fast and talked fast. Names whirled in Nela’s mind like buzzing gnats. “…These offices are provided as a courtesyto the members of the grants committee.” She rattled off several names. They reached the front hall.
“The main hallway”—she made a sweeping gesture—“runs east and west. This is the west hall.” She pointed across the spacious marble hallway. “The corner office belongs to Blythe Webster. She’s the trustee of the foundation.”
Louise flicked several switches, illuminating the magnificent main hallway. “There are only two front offices, one at each corner. Now for our beautiful rotunda.” She looked eager as she led the way. “I love the fountain behind the reception desk.”
Water gurgled merrily, splashing down over blue and gold tiles.
Louise stopped next to a horseshoe-shaped counter opposite the huge oak front door. She patted the shining wooden counter. “This is the reception desk. Rosalind McNeill takes care of the phones.”
Nela was pleased to recognize another name. Chloe had mentioned Rosalind in her letter. Rosalind apparently had filled Chloe in on things that had happened at the foundation.
Louise pointed at the high ceiling. “Rosalind has the best view in the building.”
Nela looked up at a series of huge frescoes, magnificent, fresh, and vivid.
Louise beamed. “The paintings reflect Haklo Foundation’s encouragement of crop rotation. The first panel is wheat, the next is canola, and the third is sesame.”
Nela felt swept into a new world as she admired the vivid frescoes, the three distinctly different crops, grazing cattle, a champion bull, an old field with ranks of wooden derricks.
“We’re very proud of the frescoes. They were painted by one of our very own scholarship students, Miguel Rodriguez. The sculptures on either side of the fountain”—she pointed to alcoves inthe stuccoed walls—“are members of the Webster family. That’s Harris Webster’s grandmother, Mary Castle, who was a Chickasaw. The Webster
Worry.
Nela pictured Marian’s brown tabby looking up forlornly….
She was worried…She didn’t know what to do
…
“What’s been wrong?”
It was as if Louise stepped back a pace though she didn’t move. Her face was suddenly bland. “Oh, this and that. Things crop up. The foundation is involved in so many activities and sometimes people get angry.”
Nela was abruptly alert. Someone had been angry last night in Marian Grant’s apartment, angry enough to pick up a crystal statuette and fling it at a mirror. Nela wasn’t reassured by Louise’s smooth response. The intrusion in the dead woman’s apartment last night had been wrong, and there seemed to be something wrong here at the foundation, but Chloe’s boss obviously didn’t intend to explain. Was the search last night related to things cropping up, whatever that meant, at the foundation? The secretary’s threat to call the police because of Nela’s unexpected arrival had to be based on some definite concern.
“Here is the connecting door to my office.” Louise gestured toward an open door. “Unless I’m in conference, I leave the door open between the offices and that makes access easier. Chloe handles my correspondence and takes care of filing. We’re having a meeting of the grants committee later this month and Chloe is about halfway through preparing one-page summaries of applications. Tomorrow, you can be sure the conference room is ready for the staff meeting, fresh legal pads and a pen at each place. There’s a small galley off the main conference room. About ten minutes after everyone arrives, you can heat sweet rolls and bring them in with coffee. The foundation has the most wonderful cook.”
She was now businesslike with no hint of her earlier distress. As they approached the front of the building, the size of the offices grew. Louise walked fast and talked fast. Names whirled in Nela’s mind like buzzing gnats. “…These offices are provided as a courtesyto the members of the grants committee.” She rattled off several names. They reached the front hall.
“The main hallway”—she made a sweeping gesture—“runs east and west. This is the west hall.” She pointed across the spacious marble hallway. “The corner office belongs to Blythe Webster. She’s the trustee of the foundation.”
Louise flicked several switches, illuminating the magnificent main hallway. “There are only two front offices, one at each corner. Now for our beautiful rotunda.” She looked eager as she led the way. “I love the fountain behind the reception desk.”
Water gurgled merrily, splashing down over blue and gold tiles.
Louise stopped next to a horseshoe-shaped counter opposite the huge oak front door. She patted the shining wooden counter. “This is the reception desk. Rosalind McNeill takes care of the phones.”
Nela was pleased to recognize another name. Chloe had mentioned Rosalind in her letter. Rosalind apparently had filled Chloe in on things that had happened at the foundation.
Louise pointed at the high ceiling. “Rosalind has the best view in the building.”
Nela looked up at a series of huge frescoes, magnificent, fresh, and vivid.
Louise beamed. “The paintings reflect Haklo Foundation’s encouragement of crop rotation. The first panel is wheat, the next is canola, and the third is sesame.”
Nela felt swept into a new world as she admired the vivid frescoes, the three distinctly different crops, grazing cattle, a champion bull, an old field with ranks of wooden derricks.
“We’re very proud of the frescoes. They were painted by one of our very own scholarship students, Miguel Rodriguez. The sculptures on either side of the fountain”—she pointed to alcoves inthe stuccoed walls—“are members of the Webster family. That’s Harris Webster’s grandmother, Mary Castle, who was a Chickasaw. The Webster
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