Power Play

by Dara Girard

  “But?”

  “But I need to structure my life in a way that when he leaves, I won’t fall apart, and right now the way things stand, the moment he leaves my life would crumble again. And I can’t face that.”

  “I don’t think you’re being fair to him or yourself. What’s our motto?”

  She repeated the words with reluctance. “As a member of The Black Stockings Society I swear I will not reveal club secrets, I will accept nothing but the best and I will no longer settle for less.”

  Rania pointed at Mary. “We don’t accept less in life or in love. You deserve a man who can offer you those promises and, most important, you should ask for them.”

  Mary left the restaurant that evening with Rania’s words resounding in her mind. She couldn’t ask Edmund to make any promises. And yet a part of her wanted to. She wanted to hear words like forever, marriage and love. But she also knew they were just words. Curtis had said those words to her many times, and they had been as solid as air.

  Rania meant well, but Mary still felt confused. She knew of only one person who could help her untangle her thoughts: Mrs. McQueeth. Mary baked a batch of coconut biscuits and headed over to the community from her friend’s place after work. She knocked on Mrs. McQueeth’s door. It slowly swung open, revealing an empty apartment.

  Chapter 11

  Mary rushed over to the main building and barged into Gregory’s office. He sat at his desk and Edmund stood facing him. He didn’t turn around.

  “Where is Mrs. McQueeth? I just went to her apartment and it was empty.”

  “I told you not to remove her things,” Edmund said in a harsh tone.

  Gregory lowered his gaze. “I had to get everything analyzed immediately.”

  “You could have waited,” he snapped. “They could have done the inspection in the apartment.”

  “I did what I thought was right.” He raised his gaze, sending Edmund a cold look. “I’m still the manager here.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mary demanded. “Have you moved her to another apartment?” When neither man replied, Mary took a deep breath, then enunciated every word. “What. Is. Going. On?”

  “Mary, sit down,” Gregory said.

  “I don’t want to sit down,” she said, anxiety making her voice shake. “Tell me what’s wrong!”

  Gregory stared up at Edmund, as though seeking guidance, then looked at Mary. “It seems Mrs. McQueeth had an accident last night.” He hesitated. “Someone looked in on her and found her.”

  Mary sank into a chair. “Was she badly hurt? Is she in the medical ward? Can I go see her?”

  “No.” He briefly shut his eyes. “She passed away.”

  Mary looked at Gregory’s bent head, then at Edmund’s back, confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “We’re looking into everything, but it appears she got tangled in one of the chairs. She may have gotten a piece of clothing caught and…” He didn’t finish.

  “She was strangled?”

  “We don’t know. We won’t know anything until the report.”

  But she knew. It had to be that chair. The chair she had thought was too complicated; the chair Edmund had claimed was safe. Was that what had killed her? Was that why he wouldn’t look at her? Because he knew he was partly to blame? She’d trusted him. He had told her he would take care of everything, and now only a year later her beloved Mrs. McQueeth was dead.

  She wanted him to face her, to deny or admit something. She couldn’t stand his silence. “Edmund?”

  He turned and looked at her and the devastation on his face shattered something inside her. She’d expected him to be cool, neutral or distant. Instead, he looked anguished and vulnerable, reflecting all the feelings she didn’t want to face. Suddenly, the reality of her friend’s death hit her. She thought about the cookie sheet full of her biscuits cooling on the front seat of her car, and the future she had planned with Mrs. McQueeth. But her confidante was gone forever. A numbness gripped her, preventing any tears or visible sign of grief. She didn’t want to look at the sadness on Gregory’s face or Edmund’s. Instead her gaze fell on a file sitting on the desk, it was marked Important—the Board’s most recent report.

  “I’d like to see that,” she said in a dull tone, desperate to fill her mind with something else, a part of her denying what she’d heard.

  “This isn’t a good time,” Gregory said.

  “More bad news?” she challenged, surprised by how cutting her tone sounded but unable to care.

  Gregory shot Edmund another glance, then reluctantly gave it to her. She took the file and left the office as though in a dream.

  It took her two days to cry. To allow herself to succumb to the grief that had threatened to burst forth. When it did, she felt drained. It was several days later before she had the strength to look at the report. Mary sat back on her couch and began to read it. She soon wished she hadn’t. She learned that there were a host of problems she had never been made aware of in any of the reports submitted. There had been problems with family members visiting and abusing residents. Three residents had been injured as a result of electrical problems with chairs and beds. Two nurses had been dismissed, on the spot, in the medical unit due to falsification of their licensure, and theft was a growing problem.

  She’d been reading Gregory’s reports for a year and didn’t know about any of this. She’d done her own inspection of the medical unit, read the community reports and hadn’t found anything. She now realized that all of the reports submitted to her had been sanitized to make things look better than they really were. Edmund had been hiding these facts from her and she’d never forgive him for that.

  “We can explain,” Gregory said.

  He, Edmund and Mary sat in his office in the same chairs they had sat in during their first meeting, and again Mary had control.

  She tossed the report on his desk. “No, you can’t.”

  Edmund came toward her. He hadn’t been able to talk to her before. “Mary—”

  Mary held up a hand and shook her head, fending him off. She didn’t want him near her. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. Where is Mrs. McQueeth?”

  “At the coroner,” Gregory said. “They said that it will take about a week before they will release the body for burial.”

  Edmund sighed. “I’ve arranged everything.”

  She hadn’t even thought about the burial arrangement. “Of course. You’re good at burying things.”

  Edmund’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Look, I was outvoted on a lot of those issues. A board isn’t about one person. It’s made up of a lot of individuals.”

  Mary stood and snapped her portfolio closed. “True, but a relationship is based on two.” She turned and opened the door. “Goodbye.”

  Edmund followed her out. “Just say it.”

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  “There’s a lot to say. Just say it, I can take it. You blame me. You think I killed her.”

  Mary spun around and faced him, her numbness turning to anger. “You lied to me. I was so stupid. Everything isn’t as it seems. I was too busy…” She stopped before she said falling in love with you. She laughed bitterly. “You were a great diversion. It was a clever plan and it worked.”

  His gaze hardened. “You can insult yourself, but don’t insult me.”

  She continued down the hall.

  He caught up with her. “I’ve gone over and over it in my mind, how it could have happened. It shouldn’t have.”

  “But it did. And you—” She bit her lip before she said something she’d regret.

  “Go on, say it,” he urged in a low tone. “I know you want to.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

  “We were handling things. I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Because there were things to worry about, right?”

  “Things have improved. I can provide the documents to prove it if you’ll give me a chance. The things you s
aw in the report have all been dealt with. I used my own money to investigate the thefts, and we had all the beds and chairs inspected. They were not faulty. Some of the residents were having difficulty working them—”

  Mary backed away from him. “I’m tired of listening to you. You don’t lie full-out, but you lie by omission. How can I ever trust you? You lied to me.”

  “I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you.”

  “You don’t tell me a lot of things, and I don’t want that anymore.”

  “Just trust me this time.”

  “This time? Every time I trust you I lose something. First my promotion, then my best friend and now…” She shook her head. “I think I’d be better without you in my life. Please leave me alone.”

  Edmund seized her arms; he clung to her, desperate for her to understand. “I can’t leave you alone. Not anymore. These past days have been hell for me. I understand that you’re angry with me, but don’t kick me out of your life. We had—have—something special. Don’t throw it away.”

  She struggled to free herself. “Let me go.”

  “Mary, I just need you to listen to me. Mrs. McQueeth would have wanted—”

  “How could you know what she would have wanted? I’m tired of listening to you, and if I had one wish, I’d wish that Mrs. McQueeth were here right now instead of—” She bit her lip, not able to say the word, but it hung in the air between them as though she’d shouted it.

  Edmund released her as if she’d spat at him. And for a moment she saw a sight she’d never thought she’d see: she could have sworn that his Arctic gaze had melted into a stream, but he lowered it before she could see any sign of tears. “I understand,” he said in a quiet, hollow tone.

  His words were simple, but his voice pierced her heart. “Oh, God, Edmund, I didn’t mean—”

  He lifted his gaze, his eyes hard and flat as though a steel barrier had been constructed. “You don’t have to explain.” He turned and walked away.

  Mary fell against the wall and watched him go until he was out of sight.

  Chapter 12

  Edmund sat in his office and upturned a snow globe with a small house, a white picket fence and a dog in the yard; he watched the confetti fall. He’d been doing so for the last half hour, reminding himself that he was all right. He had never been dumped by anyone in his life, but he assured himself that he was fine. Mary’s words didn’t hurt him too much; she was just angry. That was understandable. He understood that she needed space. It didn’t bother him that she had taken everything from his place and had promptly removed all of his things from hers. He didn’t mind that when she saw him in the hallway, she barely offered him a glance, or that his bed suddenly seemed too big and that his apartment now felt empty.

  He shook the snow globe and watched the confetti twirl. His grandmother had given him his first snow globe when he was eight, but he hadn’t started collecting them until his grandfather had become sick. Somehow he was drawn to the happy scenes frozen in the glass bubble. They represented something he couldn’t do—freeze the passing of time and hold on to happy memories forever.

  He set the globe down. Yes, he was fine. He had made a miscalculation; he would deal with the consequences. His life would go on. He was successful in his business. Mary was just another relationship that hadn’t worked out. He was okay with that. The only thing he found annoying was Cammie’s large, empty cage. Mary had refused to take it and he didn’t feel like throwing it away.

  He wasn’t ready to make everything final. Yes, he had made an error in judgment, but he’d find a way to alter things to his favor. He had to. It was fine if she didn’t want to be with him, but he couldn’t let Mary think he had let her down. Even though he still couldn’t understand how the tragedy had happened.

  Mrs. McQueeth’s death could have been due to natural causes, but it also could have been the result of negligence. That thought ate away at him every day.

  He lifted the snow globe again, but this time he didn’t see the quiet domestic scene. He saw all that he didn’t have. He didn’t have a home with a wife, or a pet or kids to come home to, and he wanted those things. He’d wanted them with Mary. She was the one he wanted, and she wished he was dead. A scalding river of fury flooded his veins, and suddenly he hated the image he saw before him. He threw the globe against the wall, where it shattered, staining the wall with water and confetti.

  Suddenly he hated them all because they weren’t real. They depicted scenes of all the things he wanted but couldn’t have. He smashed a globe showing a couple on a beach, a family sledding down a hill, a group of children playing in the snow. He loved the sound of each crash—it freed his mind of the reality that he would never be a husband to the one woman who’d captured his heart. They’d never start a family together, and he’d have to go on living without her. He slumped back in his chair.

  His assistant, Dion, burst into the room, looking ready for battle, his knife tattoo standing out from the veins on his neck. “Are you okay?”

  Edmund straightened and glared at him. “Mary broke up with me. And do you know why?”

  Dion shook his head.

  “Because I didn’t tell her things that I thought she didn’t need to know. I wasn’t lying…exactly. It’s just how I do business. It’s what’s made me successful. Is that wrong?”

  Dion cleared his throat, still confused by the sight of the shattered glass and confetti. “Perhaps she thinks a relationship should be different than business.”

  “How? I was protecting her. You protect your greatest assets. I did everything in her best interests.” When Dion looked doubtful Edmund decided to clarify. “Of course I also benefited on some level, but that wasn’t my only goal.” He clasped his hands behind his head. “Do you know that she basically accused me of ruining her life? Despite all that I’ve done for her.”

  “Then she doesn’t deserve you.”

  “No.”

  “I mean you can get any woman you want. You don’t need hassles like this.”

  “You’re right.”

  “If she can’t appreciate you then you’re better off without her. She’s done you a favor.”

  Edmund nodded. “Yes.”

  Dion sat down in a chair and got comfortable. “You’re a businessman. You call the shots, you set the standards and if she can’t follow them then she doesn’t sound worthy of you. I mean from what I’ve heard, she doesn’t seem very smart or capable. We both know she came to you because she had no place to live. We know that her last boyfriend left her, she hasn’t been promoted in years. She’s not exactly the type you usually go for. She was almost like a charity case.”

  Edmund’s eyes blazed, but his tone remained cool. “What did you just say?”

  Dion rushed to his feet. “Nothing.” He inched over to the shattered glass. “I’ll clean this mess up.”

  “Sit down.”

  “But—”

  “I said sit.”

  Dion slunk back into the chair. “I didn’t mean—”

  Edmund pointed at him. “Mary is not a charity case for me or anyone. She’s very smart, very capable and…” He sighed, resigned. “I should have given her more credit. I made a mistake and I’m sorry.” He stood, anger propelling him to his feet and making his voice rise. “She blames me for her friend’s death and I blame myself, but there’s nothing I can do. Nothing.” He pounded the desk. “And I can usually do something. Do you know how many powerful people I know? I have more money than people could ever hope for. I don’t even have to work. But there’s nothing I can do to make this up to her. No matter how many times I say ‘I’m sorry’ I can’t bring Mrs. McQueeth back.” He pressed his fists to his eyes. “If I had to spend every last cent of my money to bring her back, I would.” He let his hands fall to his sides, and turned to the window. “And if I could trade places with her, just to make Mary happy again…” His words fell away as he looked at the street below.

  Dion squirmed in his chair, uncomfortable with E
dmund’s morbid thoughts. “No, you can’t bring her friend back. But you can admit that you were wrong.”

  “That’s not something I do very well. Besides, Mary wouldn’t care. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  “Remember what your grandfather used to say?”

  “Before or after he lost his mind?” Edmund scoffed.

  Dion continued as though Edmund hadn’t replied; he had known Edmund a long time. He knew him when he was just a young man visiting his grandfather in the nursing home where Dion used to work. He’d seen him struggle and become the success he was and didn’t want him to forget that. “He used to say, ‘If you give up on life, life gives up on you.’” Dion leaned forward. “I’ve never known you to give up on anything you truly wanted. That’s just not the Davis way.”

  Edmund spun around and stared at Dion, who gripped the arms of his chair, unsure of what the outcome of his honesty would be. He silently sighed with relief when Edmund nodded and said, “You’re right.” He glanced around the room and gestured to the mess. “Now clean this up.”

  Dion stood and did a mock salute. “I will.”

  Edmund smiled. “And give yourself a raise.”

  Dion opened the door, then bowed. “With pleasure.”

  Mary placed several large pieces of turnip leaves in front of Cammie, but she just looked at them. Cammie hadn’t eaten in days, and she was clearly losing weight. “Come on, don’t do this to me.” She looked at the newspaper article that high-lighted Mrs. McQueeth’s death and the allegations against The New Day Senior Living Community. Each new article seemed to be more sensational, but nothing had surprised her more than James’s response a week earlier.

  “Mary, you were at the top of my list for a promotion, but I can’t ignore this.” He waved the newspapers stacked on his desk. “What do you expect me to do? Ignore the fact that not only did you not notice these problems, you had a friend living there and you were sleeping with a major investor. That’s not like you at all. What happened?”