feet and picked up her purse from the floor beside the bed. She rummaged through it, finally pulling out a business card.
Not giving herself time to change her mind, she punched in the number on the hotel phone and counted the rings. One. Two. Three.
“Hello,” Chris Coleman said, his voice coming through bright and jovial. Commotion reined in the background, as though the community center had hit a particularly busy spell.
“Hi, Chris. It’s Diana Smith. Is the job you offered me still available?”
TYLER BENTON RUSHED through the Bentonsville Community Center in the direction Valerie, the receptionist, had directed, aware of minutes ticking by that could be spent preparing for trial.
It couldn’t be helped. He needed to take care of this today.
The high-pitched chatter of the children in center-based day care mingled with the rusty voices of seniors playing bridge as he stood at the head of a large room, scanning the crowd.
“Yoo hoo, Tyler.” The greeting came from one of the women at the nearest card table: his sixth-grade teacher, the white hair piled on her head adding inches to her height.
“Hello, Mrs. Piper.” He tamped down his impatience and smiled at her. The other women at the table looked up from their cards. Tyler knew two of them, who he greeted by name. Mrs. Piper introduced him to the third, Mrs. Ruth Grimes, a plump woman with old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses.
“Tyler here is an assistant state’s attorney,” Mrs. Piper told her, “although we all know he’s destined for even better things.”
Mrs. Grimes peered at him with interest over the top of her glasses. “Oh, really? Then perhaps you’d like to meet my granddaughter. She’s a peach.”
“I’m afraid that adorable Lauren Fairchild got to him first.” Mrs. Piper lowered her voice as though confiding a secret. To Tyler, she said, “I saw you two together at church on Sunday. You make a lovely couple.”
Tyler’s father, who’d invited the omnipresent Lauren to sit with them, had voiced the same sentiment. Tyler let Mrs. Piper’s comment slide, the same way he’d ignored his father’s verbal shove in Lauren’s direction. If he claimed not to be serious about Lauren, he’d find himself on a blind date with Mrs. Grimes’s granddaughter.
“Have any of you seen your director?” he asked. “I’ve got some business with him.”
“I wondered what you were doing here in the middle of the day.” Mrs. Piper craned her neck just as Chris Coleman stood up from a chair he’d pulled up to one of the other tables. “There’s Chris now. He’s such a sweetheart.”
The three other woman nodded, their assessment of Chris unanimous.
“Don’t let me interrupt your bridge game any more than I already have,” Tyler said, his mind on taking care of business and getting back to work. “It was a pleasure to see you ladies.”
He moved toward Chris, who excused himself from the foursome to whom he’d been talking. The charming smile the director had bestowed on the ladies of Bentonsville disappeared.
“Benton,” he said in lieu of a greeting.
“Chris.” Tyler inclined his chin. “I’ve got to talk to you.”
“Now? It couldn’t have waited until tonight?”
Tyler spent some of his very limited free time on the center’s outdoor basketball court, playing ball with the teen boys who congregated there. “I can’t make it tonight. Or any time soon, I’m afraid. I’m about to go to trial.”
“Then what’s so important you’re here now?”
Tyler looked around, encountering a half-dozen sets of interested eyes. He indicated a nearby hallway with a jerk of his head. Receiving his silent message, Chris walked with him until they were out of hearing range of the card players.
“Okay, what’s up?” Chris asked.
The director’s manner was friendly. His eyes were not. Although they’d never run in the same social circles, Tyler had graduated from high school the same year as Chris. The animosity he sensed rolling off the director hadn’t appeared until recently. Lately, it seemed as though Chris plain didn’t like him. Well, Tyler didn’t like what Chris had done.
Tyler carefully kept his next statement non-accusatory. “Jim Jeffries told me you backed out of buying his pool tables.”
Jim owned a bar and two regulation-size pool tables he was about to replace. He would have sold them to the center at well under retail. Tyler should know. He’d negotiated the price.
“That’s right. I took a closer look at the budget and decided the center couldn’t afford it.” Chris crossed his arms over his chest, as though reluctant to explain himself. That didn’t make sense. Chris often stated that the community deserved a say in matters concerning the center.
“Jim says he has another offer. The center can’t afford not to buy those pool tables,” Tyler argued. “As soon as the nightly basketball game’s over, the kids scatter.”
“Pool tables aren’t enough to make them stick around.”
“They’re a start,” Tyler snapped. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated at himself for raising his voice. Every good lawyer knew cool logic got better results than heated words. “We’re on the same side here, Chris. We both want to keep kids off the street. But how can we do that if we can’t keep them at the center?”
“I don’t disagree.” Chris’s body language said differently. “But I have to consider what’s good not only for the teen program, but for the center as a whole. Our grant’s up for renewal in a few months. How can I justify spending such a large chunk of money on our least represented group?”
“By explaining that you’re trying to increase attendance.”
“Except I believe you can’t solve a problem by throwing money at it. Look at some of the things we’ve tried since the center opened. Paid speakers who talked to mostly empty rooms. Dances where nobody came. A study lounge hardly anybody uses.”
Tyler addressed only his last concern. “That’s because there are no computers in the study area.”
“Computers cost money, which we don’t have much of. I’ve got a tight budget. And, like I said, a lot of other programs to consider.”
“Then I’ll donate the pool tables,” Tyler said, surprised the solution hadn’t occurred to him before now. He’d sunk most of his disposable income into the house he’d bought last year, but he could afford used pool tables. “And maybe you could do some fund-raising for the computers.”
“Any fund-raising I do is global, benefiting the center as a whole. I can’t—”
“What if I get somebody to donate the computers?” Tyler asked, although he could ill afford the time. His work schedule was jammed.
Chris transferred his weight from one foot to the other. “That’d be great. But I’m still skeptical that pool tables and a couple computers will increase
