Death Vetoes The Chairman (Lizzie Crenshaw Mysteries Book 7) by Teresa Watson

received a sizeable donation that will help them purchase a new ambulance.”
    “Who did that?”
    “All I know is it was an anonymous gift.”
    “And what happened to your wrist?” she asked.
    I was wearing a lightweight jacket, so she couldn’t see the bruises on my upper arms. “Oh you know, just my normal klutzy self. Nothing serious.” She seemed satisfied with my answers, but I knew there were other people that wouldn’t be so easy to appease. “Well, I better go. I wanted to stop by and make sure you two were doing all right. Let me know if there is anything you need.”
    “We’re good. My mother and mother-in-law are getting things ready at the house. The boys are very anxious to see their little sister.”
    “They’re going to love her.”
    “Mom said they’re already arguing about who was going to hold her first.”
    “Watch how fast they run when it comes time to change a diaper,” I told her.
    “Their father is the same way,” Angel laughed.
    I gave her a hug and said goodbye. Thirty minutes later, I was walking through the front door of the newspaper. As I made my way to Ellen’s desk, I noticed the newsroom seemed to be busier than usual. Three different reporters, Bruce included, brought me copies of stories they were working on. Ellen handed me a fourth story when I stopped at her desk. “Good grief, why is everyone suddenly so productive?” I said. “Normally, I have to beg them for this stuff.”
    She shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea. Maybe somebody told someone that there was a changing of the guard coming, and heads were going to roll,” she replied, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
    “I never said that,” I whispered.
    “They don’t know that,” she whispered back.
    “You are so bad, girl,” I said, laughing and shaking my head. “Do me a favor. Send out an email to everyone. We need to have a staff meeting to let them know what is going on. Let’s do it around 2 p.m.”
    “Will do. By the way, the story I gave you is about sexual harassment and sexual assault.”
    “Really?” I glanced down at the story on the top of the pile.
    Ellen nodded. “There’s been a lot of it going on, and I don’t think that a lot of people in the community realize it.”
    “What are you hoping to accomplish by writing this?”
    She thought about for a moment. “I think there is a certain stigma associated with being a victim. When I was talking to some of the survivors, they told me that one of the questions they got a lot was ‘how could you let this happen?’, as if they had any type of control over it. Even those who fought back felt like they had to defend themselves again, this time from public scrutiny.”
    I felt a knot in my stomach as she said this, and honestly wasn’t sure what to say. “Sounds like you have something good here. Let me read over it, and we’ll talk.”
    “Thanks, Lizzie.”
    Smiling and nodding, I walked away as I started reading her story. She had talked to several people, included statistics, from local, state and national sources. Apparently, she had been working on this for a while. What I was reading was quite bone chilling.
    I walked into my office, dropped my bag in one of the chairs, and flipped to the second page as I walked around the desk. Sitting down in my chair, I realized it felt lumpy. “You want to get off my lap?”
    Screaming, I jumped, threw the papers in the air and spun around. “Dale! What are you doing in my chair?” I said as I put my hand on my chest. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure it was going to jump right out.
    “I came in to write the farewell address to the town that Jake said you wanted. As I wrote it, I started thinking about all the things I’ve been through over the years. Thought I was tearing up, so I turned around so no one could see me.”
    “I’m sorry you are having a hard time writing it,” I replied, placing my hand on his shoulder.
    “I’m sixty-two-years old, Lizzie. All I’ve done