Dead Hunt

newspaper.
The board members were waiting for her in the third-floor meeting room. Diane wasn’t in a hurry to get there. She needed to regain her focus. On the way up she reread the newspaper article to rekindle her anger and her indignation. It worked. What could board member Madge Stewart have been thinking?
Diane knew the answer to that question. Madge liked to feel important and in the know. She also liked to blame others for her own lapses in judgment. How she must have enjoyed it when Ms. Boville called for her opinion. No one on the board ever did.
It probably was not simple chance that led the reporter to the one board member who was most likely to speak unguardedly to her. Someone had primed the reporter and pointed her toward the weakest link. Diane looked again at the byline—Janet Boville. She didn’t know her. She wondered if David could wheedle out of the reporter the name of the person who started this whole mess. Perhaps not without extreme trickery.
Madge Stewart was on the board of directors because her parents were friends of the Van Rosses and had donated a substantial sum to the museum. Madge had studied art and she worked as an illustrator for a publishing company in Atlanta. Added to her trust fund, her work should have provided her with a good living. But Madge had reached her
Diane sensed she was feeling that
her by.
mid-fifties, and life was passing
    Diane didn’t hesitate at the door when she reached the meeting room. She opened it and walked in. They were all there—Vanessa; Laura Hillard, a psychiatrist and Diane’s friend; Harvey Phelps, retired CEO; Madge Stewart; Kenneth Meyerson, CEO of a computer company; and the newest members—Martin Thormond, American history professor at Bartram; Thomas Barclay, a bank president; and Anne Pascal, schoolteacher and Georgia Teacher of the Year.
    They were divided up—old Rosewood families on one side of the table and more recent residents on the other. Recent meant having great-grandparents who weren’t from Rosewood. It was odd how social boundaries were subconsciously maintained.
    They all looked up as she entered. Laura smiled slightly. Vanessa didn’t smile, but she rarely did in board meetings. All their faces reflected the seriousness of the situation. Their frowns deepened when they saw Diane. She must look as pissed off as she felt.
    Thomas Barclay looked
eyes over glasses pushed
at her with dark, serious forward on his nose. His bushy eyebrows met in the center as he frowned. She wondered how many loans he’d turned down with that weighty expression. Laura told her that he had been shocked to discover how much power Diane had and how little the board had. She said he had been lobbying Vanessa to make changes. Were it not that the governance was Milo’s plan—and as far as Vanessa was concerned, Milo was a saint—she might have considered it.
    Diane reminded herself that most of the people in the room were her friends. Not because she was nervous about what they were going to say to her, but because she was angry—angry with the reporter, with Madge, and with all of them for insisting on a board meeting. Before the meeting was over, she intended to wipe that what-do-you-have-to-say-for-yourself look off Barclay’s face.
    Diane went to her place at the head of the long, polished mahogany table, unrolled the newspaper, smoothed it down on the shiny surface, and sat down. She looked at Madge, then at the others.
    ‘‘This article has created a problem for the museum,’’ she said in an even tone.
‘‘It looks to me like Miss Williams has created the problem,’’ interrupted Barclay. ‘‘Has she been suspended?’’
Diane looked over at him. ‘‘Mr. Barclay, you are trying to apply solutions when you don’t know what the problem is.’’
She turned her attention back to the rest of the board. They looked startled. Were they surprised she hadn’t come hat in hand? They were all frowning except Kenneth Meyerson, who winked at her. Don’t make me smile , she thought.
    ‘‘The museum’s reputation is seriously threatened,’’ continued Barclay.
He said that for Vanessa’s sake, thought Diane. He knew what phrases would get to her. Diane also knew that Vanessa would listen to what she had to say . . . and Vanessa was no fool. She came from a family of centenarians and supercentenarians and had more than sixty years’ learning from their experiences.
‘‘Mr. Barclay, a museum’s
danger. That’s the reality