“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.
CHAPTER 10
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…”
“Phil Madison.”
“Oh, Phil. Glad to meet you in person. Or I guess you prefer ‘Dr. Madison’?”
“Phil’s fine. I try not to be so formal here. I’m called ‘doctor’ all day. It’s kind of nice to hear my real name sometimes. I actually forget what it sounds like,” he said, smiling.
She took a swig of Coke. “Want something to drink?”
“Sure,” he said. “Hot one today.”
She walked into the adjacent room and pulled a can from the compact refrigerator.
“Sorry I’m late,” he called to her. “I had a patient with complications.”
“I thought you flaked out on me. I was gonna leave, but then I got this call and the guy kept me on the line for twenty minutes. All he did was complain.” She walked in and handed him a Coke. “Do you want a glass?”
“Can’s fine. I never bother with glasses.”
“Me neither,” she said, settling back into her chair, crossing her long, slender legs in front of her. She pulled another coaster from her drawer and handed it across the desk to Madison.
“I did call, by the way, from my car. I left a voicemail.”
She glanced over at her phone, where a red light was blinking.
“You said this guy was complaining. About what?”
“Nothing important,” Harding said, brushing the long, thick locks off her face. “We’ve only got a little while before the board meeting. If there’s anything you want to review before we go in…”
“I thought we’d go over the agenda together to make sure we’re on the same page.” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out some papers. “How’s everything been since we spoke? Holding your own?”
“‘Holding my own’ would be a good way of describing it.”
“Good. I know it’s tough trying to learn everything in a crash course, picking up someone else’s work in mid-stream.”
Harding removed a cigarette from her purse and began playing with it in her right hand. “Stepping in at the eleventh hour’s not the hard part.”
Madison was about to remind her she could not smoke, but realized she did not intend to light it. “Not the hard part,” he said. “What do you mean?”
“I’m constantly putting out fires. Everything’s a mess. I’m sure I’m not telling you anything you didn’t already know, but Donna wasn’t the greatest organizer. When I first started working with her, I noticed some inefficiencies, but I didn’t realize the scope of it all until I took over.”
“We never seemed to have a problem before,” Madison said. “Her last couple of weeks aside, I always considered Donna to be a consummate professional and quite well prepared.” He glanced at Harding’s desk again, the extreme degree of neatness placing her comments about Donna in perspective.
She placed the cigarette in her mouth and pulled a sheet of paper from a bin on her desk. “Anyway, I got your email with the agenda. Why don’t we go through it?”
Madison sat back, a bit put off by her attitude. He rummaged through his file and found the agenda. He would have to be understanding. She’d had a difficult day. He certainly hadn’t noticed indications of an attitude problem during their prior conversations. On the other hand, they were just quick calls to inform her of things that needed to be done, to touch base on board matters, and other items of that nature that did not allow much independent expression of thought.