Following Rain

by Darrel Nelson

  “Bathroom checks?”

  Rain nodded. “We do unscheduled checks for drugs and alcohol and other contraband. Toilet tanks are a popular hiding spot. Charlie and Jayden are our detectives, like Sherlock Holmes. They’re good at finding things.”

  “It’s elementary, my dear Watson,” Charlie replied in an English accent, imitating Benedict Cumberbatch’s version of the master detective.

  She took Jayden by the hand and looked up at Charlie. “Time for some detective work.”

  Jayden began to protest. “But I want to be on—”

  “Let’s go, guys,” she said abruptly. “You’re our best detectives, remember.”

  Charlie grinned and climbed down the ladder. “Come, Watson!” he said, continuing to speak in an English accent. “The game is afoot.”

  Rain quickly led Charlie and Jayden toward the back door.

  Paul blinked in perplexity and then hurried to catch up to them. “I don’t suppose we can get some footage of you later, Rain?”

  “Me?” she said, stopping abruptly.

  “Yeah, talking about the details of the upcoming Super Saturday event.”

  Rain motioned toward herself. “But just look at me. I’m washing windows and doing cleaning.”

  “You look fine.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Besides, my cameraman’s a wizard. He can make anyone look great.” He stopped abruptly. “Wait! That didn’t come out right. I mean, he’s very good at what he does. He can make—”

  “When you’re in a hole, stop digging,” Rain said, arching an eyebrow. Then she turned and conducted Charlie and Jayden toward the back door.

  Paul watched them disappear around the corner of the building. “Way to go, Blakely,” he muttered. “Smooth move.” Scowling in self-recrimination, he followed at a distance and headed back to the office.

  Maria and Grunge emerged just then.

  “Everything go okay?” Paul asked.

  Grunge made a face as if to say: Duh!

  “Good. Now let’s get some footage of the guests working. There’s a crew washing windows in the kitchen. I especially wanted to get a shot of little Jayden, but Rain took him to do a bathroom check.”

  “Surely you can understand why, Mr. Blakely?” Maria asked. “He can’t appear on the news. That would lead his father straight here.”

  Paul winced in chagrin. Of course Maria was right. He hadn’t even considered the consequences of putting little Jayden on the local news. His only thought had been to create an emotionally appealing scene of a cute little homeless boy helping out at the shelter. Whose heart wouldn’t be touched by that image? He felt his cheeks begin to burn at the realization of at least one person whose heart wouldn’t be touched. The boy’s father! Rain had realized the potentially dangerous situation Jayden would be placed in and so had skirted him safely away. But what about Charlie? Why was he abruptly whisked away, also?

  As Grunge repositioned his camera, Paul drew Maria off to one side. “What’s with Rain and Charlie, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Maria removed her glasses and let them hang from the chain around her neck. “What do you mean?”

  “When I suggested taking some footage of them washing windows, and maybe Charlie doing some impersonations, she took Charlie on the sudden errand, too.”

  “That’s a different matter. Not everyone’s as comfortable being in front of the camera as you are, Mr. Blakely. I was a little nervous myself, and I was just holding a pencil and pretending to write. Surely you’ve encountered people before who are camera shy.”

  Paul nodded but wasn’t entirely convinced. It was more than a case of being camera shy. The look on Rain’s face when he first suggested filming them was one of shock. And when he mentioned filming Charlie doing impersonations, her expression changed into nothing short of alarm.

  While Grunge continued to film, Paul said, “And when I asked her about him the other day, she quickly changed the subject. What’s their connection?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask her about that, Mr. Blakely. I’m not at liberty to discuss the personal lives of our workers or guests. You understand, right?”

  “Of course. Force of habit. I’m just snoopy by nature.”

  Maria patted him on the arm. “It’s quite okay. Anything you need to know about our shelter and the challenges we’re facing, ask away. That’s what I’m here for. Now, shall we get some pictures of the activities we’re doing around here?”

  “You bet. We’re in your capable hands.”

  As Maria conducted them toward the kitchen, Paul peered down the hallway in time to see Rain shoot him a quick glance and then escort Charlie and Jayden downstairs to the men’s sleeping quarters.

  CHAPTER 11

  Following Paul and Grunge’s departure, Rain returned to the office and noticed that several e-mails had arrived. She sat down at the desk and brushed back a strand of hair before entering the password.

  There were three messages in all. The first was from Clayborg Systems, a computer outlet store that had become a sponsor last year. The manager indicated that the store was willing to continue its support but was scaling back the amount. He wished her well with the Super Saturday fundraiser.

  The second was from a private donor who had given the shelter a modest donation each year for the past five years. She was writing to confirm her continued sponsorship.

  The third message was from Envision Business Enterprises, a corporation that had come aboard two years ago. Last week Rain had contacted Randall Wocknitz, the corporate CEO, to confirm EBE’s continuing support, and so was expecting a reply.

  Dear Ms. McKenzie:

  Thank you for your recent letter of inquiry. We were unable to respond earlier because we were waiting for our fourth-quarter projections. On that note, I regret to inform you that we will be unable to partner with the homeless shelter this year. I can’t disclose the details, but we’re going through a period of major financial restructuring. Our charitable contributions are being frozen until next year. Feel free to contact us then, and we will assess things anew. Please accept EBE’s regret and know that we wish you all the best.

  Sincerely,

  Randall Wocknitz

  Rain slumped in her chair as she finished reading the message. The country was in an economic slump, true. But she’d never had a sponsor cancel before. There were many needy organizations that were asking for corporate, civic, church, and private support. And there was only so much money to go around.

  To this point, Welcoming Hands had received sufficient donations to fund its yearly operations. Barely. But more money was required in order to upgrade the physical facilities. The shelter was counting on the Super Saturday fundraiser to provide it. But now the cancellation of funding from EBE, coupled with the reduction by The Appliance Superstore and Clayborg Systems, hung over the project like an ill wind moving in from the coast, ominously signaling a change in the weather. And if other sponsors followed suit? Rain grimaced at the worrisome prospect.

  She pushed away from the computer and pulled a folder labeled Super Saturday Fundraiser from the file drawer. Chewing on her lip, she studied the proposed outline of activities, wondering if the event could be downsized should other sponsorships fall through.

  The silent auction? No, it had always been one of the more successful fundraisers in the past. The children’s games and prizes? Parents would be less likely to attend if there weren’t activities and rewards for their children. The karaoke contest? She was looking forward to that event because she knew Charlie would love it. The outdoor movie? Perhaps that could go since many parents with young children might leave before dark, anyway.

  She put a mental question mark beside the movie. Cancelling it would reduce equipment rental costs, but a movie was such a fun way to end the evening. It was a draw for many people who liked to lie on the grass and snuggle in the largest “movie theatre” in town.

  Replacing the file folder, she contemplat
ed the situation realistically. The shelter’s yearly operating budget had to be considered first. The overhead costs of the fundraiser couldn’t come out of that money because Maria refused to rob Peter to pay Paul. So if there were insufficient funds, the event would have to be postponed or cancelled altogether. Ditto for the upgrades to the physical facilities.

  Maria returned just then from her meeting with the city councilor. She smiled wearily as she entered the office, but that pretense of cheeriness quickly faded when she noticed Rain’s expression. “What’s the matter, dear?” she asked.

  Rain’s first inclination was to hide the truth from Maria, who had obviously had a hectic day herself. But she swallowed hard and answered truthfully. “A sponsor just cancelled on us, and another has decreased his contributions.”

  Maria’s shoulders slumped and she set her attaché case down. “Did they say why?”

  “The one who cancelled said it was because of financial restructuring.”

  “There’s a lot of that going on right now,” Maria murmured. “City council is in the same boat. The news today was not good.”

  “The city is cancelling funding, too?” Rain asked in alarm.

  “Spreading it around is a better way to put it. Council is facing criticism about giving public funds to private organizations, like us.”

  “What are we going to do?” Rain asked softly.

  Maria grimaced and shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. But we’ll think of something. We . . . have to.” She picked up her attaché case and headed into her office.

  Rain watched her go and then put her head down on her desk. A lightheaded feeling washed over her, and she felt like a weight was pressing on her chest. The sense of foreboding she’d experienced yesterday with the arrival of the letter from The Appliance Superstore intensified. A disconcerting pattern seemed to be developing. Threads were beginning to unravel and she fought the urge to panic.

  She sat up and stared around the room determinedly. More than anything she wanted to make Super Saturday a success. She was anxious not to let Maria down because she owed her boss a huge debt of gratitude for giving her this job in the first place. A source of steady income had been a godsend and had made all the difference. Plus, Maria was not only her boss, she was also her friend and mentor. And Rain desperately wanted to uphold that trust and friendship.

  She grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. Then she opened the telephone book and began jotting down the names of businesses that jumped out at her.

  Her role as researcher was the easy part. The hard part was assuming the role of crusader and leading the way in an effort to talk the businessmen and businesswomen into loosening purse strings. And because the CEOs and corporate directors held the ultimate decision, the playing field was not level. From where she stood, Rain could tell it was going to be an uphill struggle all the way.

  CHAPTER 12

  In the afternoon Paul and Grunge drove to the Hirotoma’s upscale home in Capitol Hill. Kaz greeted them warmly and led the way into the den. Paul reviewed the procedure with him, while Grunge set up. Once everything was ready, the interview began. Kaz was articulate in his delivery and well prepared with the facts. He went over the same information he had shared with Paul during the interview, only in more detail. He produced the receipt for the money that had been donated, and he then brought out a statement from an anonymous source—someone on the inside—that verified that no MRI machine was on the premises nor had one been ordered. Kaz expressed sincere concerns about how this might affect philanthropy in the city. If donated funds were not accounted for, the well might dry up, he said. And that would have grave consequences for individuals and organizations that truly needed assistance but discovered it was not available to them anymore. He spoke passionately, and Paul was pleased with how credible his friend and informant appeared on camera.

  Grunge smiled broadly when Sumi brought three glasses of lemonade and a plate of Danish pastries into the study. He wolfed down one pastry and was reaching for a second one when Paul caught his eye and shook his head discreetly. Grunge masked a scowl and got to his feet. “I’ll put the camera away,” he said.

  Paul reached out and shook Kaz’s hand. “Thanks for the interview. It went well.”

  “When will it air?” Kaz inquired.

  “I need to edit today’s footage and interview Frank Tolley, the director. If we can catch him this afternoon, I can have everything ready for tomorrow evening’s broadcast.”

  “I’m anxious to see it.”

  Paul grinned and followed Grunge toward the door. “I don’t think Frank Tolley will be.”

  Kaz’s chuckle followed them all the way to the van.

  * * * * *

  Noxby Medical Center was a three-story white stucco structure, surrounded by maple and birch trees. Manicured flowerbeds filled with a variety of colorful flowers wrapped around the building like a richly festooned lei. A narrow strip of lawn lined the front sidewalk on the north and curled around the building to the east and west. The south side was reserved for parking, and a prominent sign warned that unauthorized vehicles would be towed away at the owner’s expense.

  Grunge parked along the curb under the boughs of an overhanging maple tree. But it wasn’t for shade, since the sky resembled the shadowy underside of the Kingdome Stadium’s ceiling before the lights are turned on for a game. The sun hadn’t made a clear-skies appearance in three days. Grunge parked under the tree for privacy, so they could view the exit to the building discreetly. It was almost closing time for the administration office and they waited, Paul armed with the microphone and Grunge with the camera. The two men glanced at one another and grinned. They loved ambushes!

  “Here comes someone,” Paul noted, as a man emerged from the building.

  “What does Tolley look like again?” Grunge asked.

  Glancing at the screen, both men studied the photograph Paul had pulled up on the laptop. Frank Tolley was middle-aged in appearance, bald except for a fringe of hair above rather large ears, and wore black-framed glasses. He was slight in build and sported a well-trimmed goatee.

  Grunge noticed another individual exit the office just then. “That’s not him, either. Too young. No glasses.”

  “And too much hair,” Paul added with a smirk.

  Several women followed next and made their way toward a group of parked cars. As they drove away, a man emerged carrying a valise.

  “That’s him!” Paul said, reaching for the door handle. “Let’s go.”

  He was out of the van in an instant and cornered Frank Tolley so the surprised man couldn’t retreat back into the building. And Grunge, balancing the camera on his shoulder, cut him off so Frank Tolley couldn’t make a break for his car. Their approach was a tactical move that was as well rehearsed as a tag-team wrestling duo.

  Paul stuck the microphone in the man’s face. “Mr. Tolley, Paul Blakely with KNEX-TV news. Did Noxby Medical Center receive a large donation for an MRI machine?”

  The startled man simply stared at Paul.

  “It’s not a trick question, Mr. Tolley. You received money for an MRI machine, yes or no?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Paul produced the documentation that Kaz had faxed him. “I have a copy of a receipt for $1.3 million, specifically earmarked by the donors for an MRI machine. We’d like to see it.”

  “The money?”

  Grunge chuckled under his breath but kept the camera steady.

  “The MRI machine,” Paul persisted, inching the microphone closer. “The contributors want the public to see what their money has purchased.”

  “Look, this is a medical center,” Frank stammered, adjusting his glasses and taking a step back. “You can’t come barging in here with microphones and cameras. We respect our clients’ privacy.”

  Paul narrowed his gaze and inched the microphone even closer. “We’ll put our equipment in the van and then you can take us on a personal tour to see the mach
ine.”

  Frank glanced helplessly around the parking lot. Grunge did a close up, revealing the perspiration that appeared on the man’s upper lip. “I’ve got a meeting to attend,” Frank said quickly. “You’ll have to excuse me.”

  “There is no MRI machine is there, Mr. Tolley?”

  Frank rushed toward Grunge, his hand held out in an effort to cover the lens. Grunge sidestepped him and then kept the camera trained on him, following the man as he rushed for his car.

  Paul tailed him. “Word has it that there have been significant salary increases for management. Is that true? Have you personally had a salary increase?”

  “That’s confidential information,” the man shot over his shoulder.

  “Also, it’s reported that the bookkeeping is loose and accountability almost nonexistent. Does the board of directors know this, Mr. Tolley? Are they aware of the sieve-like nature of the way the medical center is being managed? May we see the books?”

  Frank had reached his vehicle now. “Absolutely not!”

  “Then show us the MRI machine and settle the matter once and for all,” Paul said as he and Grunge pressed toward him.

  “It—it’s still on order. It hasn’t arrived.”

  “But you just said there is one.”

  “It’s in our order system, so we essentially have it.”

  “Can you verify the order? Show us an invoice number?”

  Without responding, Frank ducked into his car, fired up the engine, and drove away without a backward glance.

  Grunge trained the camera back on Paul.

  “What happens to money that is donated to private institutions?” Paul said solemnly. “Where is the accountability? We must ensure that donations to Seattle businesses and charities are respected and utilized properly, and that a system of checks and balances is in place. Noxby Medical Center needs an MRI machine, and there is a group of concerned citizens who are anxious that the facility receives one. They’re just not certain that Frank Tolley is the man who will see that it happens. Paul Blakely at Noxby Medical Center, Seattle.”