by Hagan,Anne
“Let me do this,” the older man said as he drew in and then blew out a breath, “let me talk to the church board or at least to the board President, Aiden Quinn. The church has been looking for bigger space for revivals and district meetings and such. Now, I can’t promise a thing, but if the church is interested, maybe they could go ahead and buy it and then share it with the community, once their organization is up and running…sort of, have a joint board.”
“Um, okay…I guess. I’m not sure I understand all of that.”
“I’m just trying to find a way to speed up the timeline so you don’t get stuck without a project before your time runs out.”
“So what should I do now?”
“The board meets next Wednesday. I should be able to get some sort of answer for you by next Friday. Why don’t you, in the meantime, try and talk to the woman that owns the building; see if she’ll let you in there? You’re going to need to find some help that can help you figure out what needs to be down and how much it’s going to cost.”
Hanson put a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “I’m going to level with you son, you’re biting off a lot here. You not only have to figure out what needs done and get it completed, you’ve got some fund raising ahead of you too. That might be the hardest part. Unless you have money and materials committed from the get go, Council isn’t going to approve this.”
Chapter 3 – Growing Pains
Wednesday Evening, September 23rd
Morelville Christian Church
Aiden Quinn looked pointedly around the large square of tables at the other board members as they finished consuming their pre-meeting meal. He stood and cleared his throat. “Faye, “I want to thank you for feeding us such a wonderful dinner tonight. Everyone’s efforts are always wonderful, of course,” he said as he caught the eyes of a couple of the others assembled for their twice monthly meeting, “but you always spoil us.”
Faye beamed but waved a hand dismissively in his direction. “Oh you! You know it’s my pleasure. Besides, you all don’t get anything I wasn’t already making for Jesse and, well, whoever else is eating at our house on any given night; I just make a little more, is all.”
“Well thank you,” he told her. “Now then, I’d like to ask that we dispense with the regular order of business for ten or fifteen minutes.” He held a hand out to his left. “Robert is here with us tonight. He wants to address us about a project one of his Scouts wants to do and ask for our support.” Catching Faye’s slight nod, he gave her a little smile.
He resumed his seat and everyone looked to Hanson expectantly but, before he could even begin to speak, Pastor Scott spoke up, “Brian’s already shown me his design and I think you’re all going to like it as much as I do. I really believe his plan is going to work and give us a nice memorial garden we can all be proud of.”
Hanson shot Aiden Quinn a look and asked, “Didn’t you tell them?”
Aiden, catching the confused looks from around the table including one from Faye, told the group, “I do apologize for blindsiding everyone but, as this is the first time we’ve all been together as the council since our last meeting, there wasn’t an opportunity to get the word out to you. Mr. Hanson has a proposal of sorts from one of his Scouts that might be very beneficial to us. I propose that we go ahead and give him the floor for a few minutes.” He gave Faye a broader smile now and nodded to Robert. There were answering nods all around.
Hanson launched into the spiel he’d rehearsed. He mentioned the opera house and its historical significance to the community, the project Faye and Chloe were spearheading to get it on the National Register and then he described the project Cole wanted to do to qualify for Eagle Scout. As he talked, Faye beamed even more than she had at Aiden’s praise while most of the rest of the board members listened with rapt attention. Only Ken Gross seemed to be impatient with the whole idea.
Gross drummed his fingers on the table top and waited for his chance to interrupt. When Robert stopped for a sip of his water, the developer pounced.
“If you’re asking the church to support the, how can I put this; the ill-advised effort to purchase this building by another, pseudo organization, we can’t do that.”
Half standing from his chair, Hanson leaned across the tables toward Gross, “I hadn’t finished.”
Faye couldn’t help herself. She jumped into the fray. “Ill-advised? It’s hardly that! That building has a long history with this community, predating most of it…certainly predating you and your grand plans for it. That’s what your issue is,” she snapped.
Aiden Quinn jumped up and raised his hands for calm. “Whoa. Let’s all remember that we’re in a house of God, first and foremost.” He looked pointedly at both his friend, Faye and at Kent whom he didn’t always agree with on matters outside the church but whom, he had to admit to himself, had been a steady hand at treasurer for the past couple of years. When both looked sufficiently cowed, he said, “Robert, if you don’t mind, I’ll take it from here.”
Hanson nodded his assent.
“It boils down to this folks, one way or another, that building is going to be sold by the current owner. A group of citizens has come together with intent to get it registered as historical and to purchase it for the community and rehab it to its former glory. Cole Roberts, Faye’s grandson,” he continued as he looked briefly at Faye, “wants to earn his way to Eagle Scout. He needs a project and he’s chosen the rehab as that project. There’s only one problem and here’s the crux of it.”
“The building has to be publicly or charitably held in order for Cole’s project to be approved. The community is working toward that end but that may not happen soon enough for Cole.”
Kent Gross shifted forward in his seat and shot the board President a look. Quinn held up a hand to him, “Let me finish.”
“We, as a church, as a congregation could use that space. We’ve talked about it before. The assembly area is easily twice the size of our current sanctuary. There’s room there for 200 people or thereabout and there are a few rooms that could be classrooms and meeting rooms plus there’s office space and, in the back stage areas some storage space. Heavens, the stage is so large, we’d only need the front half or 2/3rds of that. We could wall off the back portion and make more rooms or more contained storage. This could be a solution to the space issues we talk about all of the time.”
“Yes,” Seth Scott said, “we’ve considered leasing it in the past but there were issues finding the actual owner. Is that what you’re proposing now?”
“No,” Quinn shook his head and Robert Hanson did the same. “We’d have to own the space for Cole’s project to work.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Kent Gross snarled. “We don’t have the funds to buy that building!”
“No, but we own this one,” Aiden said. “We could mortgage that one until we sold this and then pay the bulk of that off.”
“Or,” Kent shot back, “we could get a loan to make this much newer, more modern building big enough to suit our needs.”
“We’ve covered this ground before,” Seth put in. “We don’t own enough property here to do the kind of expansion we need without losing half of our parking and that’s already limited.”
Gross wasn’t to be dissuaded. “You don’t think that’s going to be an issue over there? There’s no parking at all there.”
Pastor Scott slumped back in his seat. Already appearing tired, he now looked like a man beaten down. Faye looked over at him with concern.
“If I might say something?” Evan Brietland asked the group. As several looked toward their aging Vice President in deference, the old man struggled to his feet. “What this young man wants to do is admirable. What the community wants to do is admirable but I question the community need. Mr. Hanson, or better perhaps, Mrs. Crane, do you care to explain?” Gross looked smug as he stared at Faye.
“I’m not sure I follow you Mr. Brietland,” she said.
“When the elementary school closed, the townshi
p took it over and it’s operated as a community center. There’s a fine auditorium there and a cafeteria, both of which we use as a congregation from time to time. I fail to see what purpose this building would serve for the community at large.”
“Here, here!” Kent Gross crowed.
Brietland, still standing, turned to face Gross. “Don’t you go getting too excited. I’m not finished.”
“You’re right, Mr. Brietland,” Faye said deferring to the man formally as she always had with members of the founding family of the village. “Our interest on the community side is purely based on the historical significance and the preservation of that.”
The silver haired man nodded. “The community, however, would most likely support it being rehabbed to operate as a church over it being leveled for other nefarious purposes.” It was his turn to glare at Kent Gross.
Kent didn’t give up. “Rehab? There’s so much work that needs to be done to that building to make it inhabitable by any sort of group, church or not, it’s totally cost prohibitive. We’d be insane to consider it.”
Aiden Quinn stood, joining Brietland. “This isn’t something we’re going to figure out in ten minutes tonight and we do have a full order of business to discuss.” He turned to Robert Hanson, “Thank you for being with us tonight. We need to open our official meeting and cover some agenda items. You have my word we’ll continue this discussion under new business; now, if you’ll excuse us?”
Chapter 4 – Cooked Books?
“Do I have a motion to accept the minutes of the previous meeting as read?” Aiden Quinn asked the Council.
“I move to accept them,” Evan said.
“Is there a second?”
No one spoke. Aiden looked around at the members as Doris Proctor sat holding her copy of the two typed pages, a look of confusion beginning to cloud her face. He asked again.
Faye cleared her throat and spoke up, “I think, before we approve the minutes, we should have the treasurers report, Aiden.”
Kent opened his ledger but Quinn held out a hand to stay him. “May I ask why?”
“There was a discrepancy pointed out to me that’s come to light since our last meeting,” Kent offered. “The minutes reflect my last report but an accounting done for the congregational meeting since then, shows a $6,000 plus dollar discrepancy.”
Before he could continue, Doris put in, “Oh that? That was just a typo. A little mistake is all.”
Faye watched the Secretary and Recorder for Council closely and thought she detected a bit of a tremble in her voice but she turned her attention quickly back to Kent Gross when he began speaking again.
“When it was brought to my attention by the finance committee, I thought that might be the case too and so I was willing to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. I was wrong in that assumption.”
A gasp went up and around the tables and the members all leaned in, listening intently.
Gross glanced first at Faye and said, “You Mrs. Crane and your committee who work so quickly and diligently after services to total up the collection monies and divide it as earmarked by our members; you’ve all been above reproach. I find no fault with you or your team.”
Faye nodded at him, surprised at his unexpected praise and momentarily silenced.
He looked toward the pastor, “You Reverend Scott for all that you do to take care of the day to day needs of the church, the membership and all that your duties entail and you too have been above reproach.”
Seth Scott glanced around at the assembled board members and then down into his lap, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.
“And that brings me to you, Ms. Proctor.”
“Me? But all I do is record the numbers that you give me. If I’m recording something incorrectly, it’s because you’ve given it to me incorrectly.”
Seth looked back up. “If this is just about the numbers for the Congregational Meeting, I did all of that myself. I probably used old data, is all. I’m the one that created that spreadsheet.”
He glanced over at Doris and continued, “I mean no offense, but Ms. Proctor struggles some with the finer points of accounting software and even with simple spreadsheets. I created one for her to use to make it a little easier on her and I took the numbers right out of that.” Several board members nodded, seemingly satisfied and relieved with this explanation.
Aiden spoke up, “It would seem then that we gave the congregation some bad information at the meeting. The record will have to be corrected, but it’s an innocent mistake.”
“Not so fast,” Kent cautioned. “I thought of that; truly, I did. Look,” he glanced around at the assemblage, “I know you all think I don’t deserve to be the Treasurer here; that I’m only here because no one else wanted to do it.”
Faye dropped her eyes to her own lap.
“It’s not bragging to say that I didn’t get as far as I have in real estate by not understanding the numbers. I may not have formal accounting training,” he said, catching Faye’s eye as she looked back up, “but I have learned it…quite a bit of it. Frankly, something smelled rotten and I checked it out after some things were brought to my attention recently.”
Kent picked up a folder off the table and took out a stack of papers. He passed two stapled packets to Aiden and two to Seth. “What you’re looking at gentlemen, are two slightly different spreadsheets, both showing the accounts of the church but each varying slightly in their totals month to month to the tune of between $500 and $900 a month for the last ten months or so. Our expenditures, it would seem, haven’t been as high as suggested on the ‘official’ spreadsheet,” he made air quotes, “that Ms. Proctor coordinates with me on and that she gives to you, Reverend Scott.”
“That’s not true,” Doris proclaimed. “Every penny on that spreadsheet has been spent!”
“I’m sure it has, Ms. Proctor. I’m sure it has. The question is, where?”
“Well! I never!” Doris shot a look around the table, looking for support.
“Kent,” Seth held a hand out to him, “let’s slow down here. You’ve made a very serious accusation with little to back it up.” He smiled at Doris. “Ms. Proctor is a great asset to this church when it comes to the day to day operations. I do admit though, and this is my point, she struggles mightily with the computer. A simple save to a shared drive is difficult for her. It would not surprise me if there were multiple versions of our spreadsheets floating around.”
Gross interrupted him. “Things are not as difficult for her as she’s led you to believe, Reverend. Let me lay this out for everyone and then you can all decide for yourselves, okay?” He looked around at each face in the group resting finally on the ashen countenance of Doris.
Aiden Quinn sighed. “You have the floor Mr. Gross but, please, let’s keep it civil.”
“I’ve made some calls on a couple of our vendor accounts and I’ve pulled some invoices to compare against the spreadsheets and against our bank statements...our real bank statements and not the altered ones in the church files. With a couple of dollars here, a few dollars there and ten to twenty dollars elsewhere, money has been slowly siphoned away from the church. The numbers just don’t add up. My errors in all of this are in not checking the actual bank balance on a regular basis and in not reviewing the vendor bills as they came in to see what was actually owed and what we paid out.”
He paused and drew in a deep breath. “I guess; I really could have used some accounting courses after all. I trusted others to do the work I should have been doing.” He sat down in his chair heavily, held a finger up in a wait a minute sort of gesture and took a sip of his water. After clearing his throat, he went on. “Ms. Proctor, I’d love for you to tell me this is all a big mix up but I’d like you to explain this,” he said as he arched up a little, reached into a trouser pocket and drew out a small black item.
Doris looked at the object he was holding and then her head spun and her eyes lit on her purse sitting on the top of a table across the aisle.
“It’s not yours,” Kent told her as he watched her. “Yours is still in your purse, if that’s the last place you left it. Unfortunately for you, you left it in the USB port on your computer when I was here a couple of nights ago going through things and that’s how I found all of this out. This matching one,” he held it aloft again for everyone to see, “I bought in Zanesville for a few bucks.”
“Doris,” Seth implored her, “tell me this isn’t true.”
“I…I can explain.”
Aiden Quinn rose from his seat, drawing all attention his way. “At this time, I propose, for the sake of Ms. Proctor and her reputation with this church, that this meeting enter executive session with the pastor and the primary board members only. Committee heads, I appreciate your diligence in attending faithfully every two weeks but this is a matter best pursued privately.”
“If that’s a motion, I second it,” Evan Brietland said.
Doris interrupted, “It’s okay Evan, Aiden, really. Everyone can stay.” She took a deep breath. “You all remember my twin sister Denise?”
Most heads at the table nodded. To Kent Gross, who continued to eye her narrowly, she said, “Denise was the outgoing, vivacious one when we were in school. She went off to college to get away from here and meet a husband. She never looked back, in fact, she’s only been back here to visit a few times in the last thirty some odd years.”
“What does she have to do with this?” Kent asked.
“Everything. I did it for her. Denise never worked a day in her life outside the home. She married well, or so she thought and lived a life of leisure. She and her ex-husband only had one child. She flits about the world doing this and that and never comes home. A year ago, with their son out of college and out on his own, Gilbert divorced her; up and left her for a young assistant. Instead of retiring and doing all the things he’d always promised they’d do, he retired, filed for divorce and moved with a woman less than half his age to some island.”