Paper Trail by Judith Campell

Author:Judith Campell [Campell, Judith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-20T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

On that same evening in one of the newer neighborhoods of Plymouth where the streets are all named after daughters of the contractor, and the houses look alarmingly similar, Betsy Hopkins was at home with her chihuahua. She was totally unstrung by the events of the day and was now taking comfort in her little dog Bradford and a balloon glass of lightly chilled Chardonnay.

Betsy only allowed herself one glass of wine per day, but the recommending physician had never said how big that glass could or should be. She’d taken full advantage of the ambiguity and found herself a doozy at a local church thrift shop.

Get hold of yourself, she said after the third swallow. And after the fourth, she told herself she needed to make a list of who to talk to and what to say. She reached for the pencil and pad of paper she kept by her chair for just such occasions. Start with the paid staff, all two of them.

Money was always in short supply at the Mayflower House, and so there were only two—well, one and a half—salaried staff. One was the director and overseer of the collection, Ed Leyden, a man with a degree in American history and Mayflower lineage on both sides of the family tree. The other was a two-thirds time factotum, Bill Swinden, who did everything else from opening mail and filing to carpentry to snow shoveling, as needed. The daily operation was seen to by Betsy in consultation with Ed and her beloved and devoted, to the point of being fanatical, volunteers.

Betsy was also the chairwoman of the board of directors. She did all of this out of love and a fierce and protective loyalty to her Mayflower ancestry. Years ago, with time on her hands and enough old money to keep her in pins and hair-ribbons unto the next generation and unto the next, she walked through the glass paneled front door and told them she wanted to help out. That was twenty-five years ago, and Betsy Hopkins had the memory of an elephant. Along with her records and documents, she’d filed and preserved every word of praise and every slight that came her way. She was proud of that, too.

She pulled herself back to the task at hand. The list.

There was no way either Ed or Bill could be on the list of possible suspects. They’d been there almost as long as she had, and in fact, she’d been on the search team that brought them, each in his own time, on board. They’d worked out well and continued to do so, something in which she took no small amount of personal pride. Some might call it smug self-satisfaction, but Betsy was content to think of it as pride in a job well done.

Bradford, the chihuahua, whined and pawed at Betsy’s knee, interrupting her thoughts. He cocked his little head, yipped this time, and stared at the snack bowl.

After another inhalation of chardonnay and a handful of Cheez Doodles for herself and the dog, it was on to the list of volunteers.

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