Playing the Game Read Online Free PDF Page A

before, the Boswell family name is a very proud one. It’s not my aim to have that name splashed all over the area news media like some cheap tabloid item.” Penelope noticed the man’s face turn pink.
    “I’m sorry. I thought the articles were done very tastefully and in no way a bad reflection on the Boswell name since they were aimed at the girl herself and her affair. After all, her name is still Roxanne Monet. She’s not a Boswell,” Lipman said.
    The strain was evident in the man’s voice, but it was obvious to Penelope that he simply did not understand. For a moment she regretted having hired him. But what else was she to do? She couldn’t afford to involve yet another person in all this. Maintaining her air of indifference, she spoke again.
    “When I say discreet , I mean absolutely no media involvement. I’m sorry if that makes your job more difficult. But I not only forbid the solicitation of media exposure, I would like you to go out of your way to keep this from reporters.” She paused, then chose her words carefully. “It’s been a very distressing time. I don’t want to add to that by having the family embarrassed.” The articles insinuating Roxanne’s affair with Mark Baines as the murder motive hadn’t been of any help at all , Penelope thought with disgust. They only made Donald look like a fool .
    “You got it. Too bad, though. Publicity sometimes helps flush information out into the open in cases like this.”
    Penelope couldn’t help the hot blush that came to her cheeks at the man’s crassness. Working hard to cover her distress and maintain her calm outward appearance, she unclenched her fingers and hoped it wasn’t a mistake to hire an investigator after all. She cleared her throat.
    “I would like you to turn your attention to assisting my lawyers in any way you can to get the house from her, or at least prolong the litigation.” She lifted a card from her desk and handed it to the man. “Here’s their number. Call them. The house is important to me. I have memories there.” She thought of the photograph and glanced over at it on the desk as if by doing so it might jump to life. She turned from him.
    “Good day, Mr. Lipman.”
    “Good day, Mrs. Boswell.”
    She listened to the door closing behind him and then wiped the tears from her cheek. There would be no more good days for her, thanks to that woman.
     
     
    When Roxanne arrived early at the country club, she let the valet whisk her car away. With a smile on her face, she swept into the room where the party was to be held. The night was going to be part fund-raising and also part fun. Sauntering toward the center of the room she scrutinized it from every corner and then headed for the kitchen to find the function manager for a conference.
    “The room is really lovely, but we must have the podium as the center of attention. We can’t very well have the Club’s management presenting a check to the hospital off in a corner.”
    “Of course, I totally agree. It will be done immediately.” The man smiled.
    As guests arrived, she greeted them, most by name, and took their invitations. Laura came in through the kitchen to join her. After a good number of people had arrived, she left the entryway and zeroed in on a group of older patrons.
    “I’m Roxanne Monet, representing Children’s Mercy Hospital. We’re very pleased to have you as our guests tonight. We hope you have a very exciting time and please do not hesitate to let me know if there’s anything you want.” With that she winked at the silver-haired gentleman and squeezed the hand of his pink-faced wife and sauntered on her way again. Now she was having fun.
    All the while she laughed her way around the room, enjoying the patrons and making mental notes about how the arrangements were being carried out. She believed the littlest details had the most impact, like the brass golf ball paperweights at each place on the tables and the ceramic golf bag vases filled