Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
There were still other facets of my plan that had to go off without a hitch, just in case this wasn’t the smoking gun I needed.
I headed into one of the spare meeting rooms where the board meeting was actually taking place.
“I’m so sorry ladies, I do not know what is keeping Mrs. Astrid. You would think someone so high on the board would be sure to be on time for meetings.”
I watched a few of the women roll their eyes, and the others just looked annoyed.
“I’m so sorry if I am speaking out of turn, but is this usual behavior for Mrs. Astrid?”
“No,” a woman wearing a Dior dress and far too much perfume said. “But as of late, her attention seems to be… elsewhere.”
“Probably trying to repair her damaged reputation,” a woman with garish lipstick sneered.
“Ladies, I’m sure we could do without the gossip,” I admonished, and each one of them looked a little guilty. “But, if I may speak candidly.”
“Please do,” the woman with too much perfume said.
“Well, I hate to spread gossip, so I trust each of you to leave what is said in the room here…” I hedged, as if I was unsure whether what I was going to say should be said at all.
Every single lady swore up and down they would keep my thoughts in confidence as they all leaned forward, desperate to hear what I was going to say.
Just like that, I knew I had them. Every one of them was eating out of the palm of my hand, practically purring for a tiny morsel of information they could use against Mary Quinn.
“I am worried that Mrs. Astrid has been…” I paused for dramatic effect and looked around, each woman hanging off every word I said. This was almost too easy. “I’m worried that her focus has strayed from a righteous path. I have tried many times to speak with her, and she seems disinterested in correcting her ways. I was over at her house not too long ago to speak to her regarding the loss of a young man who was tragically killed on her property in the Hamptons.”
Immediately, the women mumbled to each other, and I raised my hands to silence them.
“The young man in question died in an accident. It was tragic, but nobody’s fault. When I went to console her, and to pray with her, asking the Lord to accept his soul into his embrace, Mrs. Astrid refused and laughed at the notion. She said that animals do not have souls.”
The women all gasped, though I had no idea why. I knew most of them treated the help like dogs, anyway.
“The way she spoke about this young man was crossing over the line into blaspheming. She refused to admit that someone she saw beneath her could even be considered a person worthy of compassion and kindness, even in their death. When I went to visit her, it was around nine a.m., and Mrs. Astrid was just finishing her breakfast. I believe she had already indulged in a fair amount of alcohol. I could smell it on her breath, and it was the only reasonable explanation I could come up with as to why she was so belligerent.”
“Oh my,” Garish Lipstick said. “That is simply unacceptable.”
I bowed my head with my eyes closed as if it were a sad but true fact, while I pressed my lips together to stop my smile. The mask of indifference I wore slid over my features and allowed me to better control my reaction. If there was a single crack, these women would see it.
“Do we think she needs an intervention?” a woman wearing a tacky orange sweaterdress asked.
“I’m afraid an intervention may not help. Interventions are for people who can be persuaded to get help. They are for people who just need their friends and family to reach out to let them know that they have support. Mrs. Astrid, I’m afraid, may be at a point where she is beyond salvation. I believe deep in my heart that she can be saved, but she has to do the work.”
“Maybe it’s stress,” Too Much Perfume suggested. “She is on so many boards, and with the recent scandals with her children, maybe that is what’s driven her to drink?”
I didn’t like the way this woman was thinking. Before I could think of an appropriate response, Garish Lipstick spoke up.
“No, I don’t think this has anything to do with her children. I think her children are another symptom of her illness. Not the cause of it.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. This woman wanted Mary Quinn gone. All I needed to do was give her a little shove.
“Well, I don’t want to speak out of turn—”
“This is a safe space,” I said a little too quickly. “Anything you say in this room will remain here. We’re not here to judge Mrs. Astrid, but to discuss the situation because we care about her and are concerned.”