Felicity eyed him in surprise. That was entirely too welcoming.
“Guess I’m off the clock,” Cooper said. “Hey, maybe you’ll get to ride with Dr. Mendoza later. That’ll be hell for you. The man has a chinchilla as a riding companion.”
Felicity swallowed. “I think not.” Her limit for cute animals had been exceeded for the day. She’d probably wind up snuggling the damned thing within two minutes. “Absolutely not,” she said more sharply.
“Well, suit yourself.” Cooper climbed out of the vehicle, and Brittany bounded out beside her. “Hey, Mitch?” she called to a man lurking in the shadows of the building.
He pulled his hoodie off his head, revealing dark brown skin, unwashed hair, and a full beard. His clothing was as filthy as his smile was wide.
“Watch the van for us for an hour? Gabe’ll be here soon to take over rounds.”
Mitch widened his lazy grin. “Sure, Coop.”
Cooper thanked him and headed toward the office, Felicity trailing behind as Brittany scooted up ahead of them.
“Mitch is great,” Cooper said conversationally. “He’s the reason we have a van still standing each morning, not a shell without tires on four stacks of bricks.”
“Oh.” Felicity hadn’t thought of that. “Well…good deal for you, I guess.”
“Good deal for him, too. He can sleep in it on the nights he’s watching it, if he wants, and we pay him security guard rates to boot.”
Well, didn’t that just explain the weird smell in the back. Felicity wrinkled her nose.
“You’re doing it again,” Cooper said. “Making a face. Which I assume is accompanied by that snooty brain of yours judging people.”
Snooty! “Excuse me, it’s a little hard not to judge. You let your expensive work vehicle be used as a flophouse for some random homeless man!”
“Who says he’s random? Mitch is one of Mrs. B’s boys. Hardly a stranger to us.”
“He’s Mrs. Brooks’s son?” Felicity asked in surprise.
“She fosters kids. Mitch was one of hers a few years back, and he aged out of the system. He got hooked on some stuff and wound up on the street. But he still loves his former foster mom, so he’s never too far away. Likes to keep an eye out for her, make sure she’s okay. He’s really loyal. And it’s mutual. Mrs. B loves knowing he’s around. She’s always trying to get him into jobs and re-engaged in life. It’s a sweet thing, actually.”
Oh. Well, whatever worked.
When she reached the top step, Cooper turned back.
“All right, I’ll leave you to my boss’s charms. He’s really enthusiastic about Living Ruff”—Cooper grinned—“so strap yourself in and prepare to have your ear talked off.”
“Good to know. Thanks, by the way. For taking me on your rounds.”
“I’d say any time, but I suspect you wouldn’t think that’s a good thing.”
“No.” Felicity shuddered. “I’d say better you than me.” She glanced down to find Brittany’s butt parked at her ankles. Her fingers twitched to just lean down and… “Perhaps you should call off your menacing dog, too.” She gave the faintest uptick of a smile.
Cooper chuckled. “You really are something else.”
And for once that didn’t sound exactly like a bad thing.
CHAPTER 4
A Prod and a Poke
Harvey Clifford’s office was a little chaotic with stacks of folders everywhere, including on top of a filing cabinet, proving he didn’t know or care about its function. Framed photos of him beaming next to a regal, beautiful woman and a child hung along the wall. Not just a couple of photos, either. Felicity stopped counting at ten. Proud family man, then?
On his desk sat a small, colorful crocheted dog with Living Ruff NY embroidered on its chest. It was the ugliest thing Felicity had seen in some time—and she’d seen all of Maddie Grey’s garage band T-shirts.
“That’s our mascot.” Harvey smiled at her from behind his desk as he caught her gaze. “You like him?”
“Um…very….” Felicity cast around for a tactful word, remembering how Elena had cast doubts on her diplomatic skills. “…orange.”
“That he is.” He beamed again, and his eyes, brown and kind, shone with amusement.
“So your financials?” Felicity said, sliding into a visitor’s chair opposite him. Her back instantly snapped straight. It was one of those old wooden banker’s swivel chairs with a stiff green leather seat. Either Harvey Clifford liked relics, or he hadn’t updated the furniture in quite a few decades.
“Right to the point, huh?” Harvey smiled again. He leaned in and spread his hands. “I was delighted when I heard from Ms. Bartell. It’d be such an honor if Bartell Corp donated to our cause. Such an honor,” he repeated.
“Yes,” Felicity agreed. It was.
His expression shifted to regret. “I trust you’ll explain that the article she saw was just a thing I do every year to drum up new sponsors. It’s a way to add subscribers’ names to our newsletters and hopefully sign them up as regular donors. Ms. Bartell didn’t sound entirely convinced, which is why you’re here, I imagine. But I’ll show you.” He poked through his drawers and pulled out a battered manila folder. “See?”
He spread out before her a bunch of news articles, each with different years on them, all with headlines announcing Living Ruff was on the brink of closure. Harvey’s expression turned sheepish. “I know, I know. It’s a bit shameless of me to play with people’s sympathies like this. When I first began, I used to shout about how well we were doing, and you know what happened? No one donated at all! All our money had to come entirely from my wife’s charity luncheons. But then one year a reporter inaccurately claimed we were about to fold, and donations rushed in!” He shook his head. “It’s a curiosity of people wanting to back the charity about to drown instead of one that’s well-run and prospering.”
Well, that certainly simplified things. If this was just a publicity stunt, Felicity could reassure Elena that her donation hadn’t been tossed at a failing organization. “May I take copies of these?”
“Of course. I’ll get Mrs. Brooks to run some off before you finish up with us.” He looked especially eager now.
A prickling sensation crawled up Felicity’s neck. It all seemed aboveboard, and yet something didn’t feel quite right. Her gaze slid around the outer office. It was all so old. The computers and phones were ancient, like they had not been updated in years. Where was the evidence of Elena’s donation? Harvey could have afforded to modernize everything with all that extra money. Surely no one liked antiques this much.
“Mrs. Brooks mentioned something earlier. A big article that generated lots of donations,” Felicity began.
“Oh yes, that. Wonderful story, wonderful! It really helped us out. We were in shock at the results. Money poured in. We even got $1.4 million from one anonymous donor.” He nodded fervently. “I wish I could thank them personally.”
“That’s a life-changing amount of money for a small charity. Where did you end up spending it?”
Harvey’s eyes clouded, and the delight fell from his expression. “We have a new program in the works. When it’s ready, it’ll be in our media release. I hope your many Bartell Corp publications will report on it.”
“What new program?” Felicity asked, confused by his abrupt shift in demeanor. “I mean, what type is it?”
“I don’t want to discuss it yet because it’s only early days.” He shifted a little in his chair. “That would be like asking to see an artist’s half-finished painting.”
A half-finished painting? He thought of some charity program as art?
Except…he didn’t, did he? Harvey’s eyes darted away from hers. Elena was right. The man was a terrible liar.
“So it’s a program…on an unspecified topic.” Felicity allowed her skepticism to show.
Harvey gave her a smile so bland it was almost nonexistent. “All in good time. So if that’s everything, I have a meeting soon.” He shifted again in his seat. “You are welcome to continue to see how we do things. Dr. Gabriel Mendoza will be in shortly, and you’re welcome to ride along with him when he does his rounds. He covers a different area from Dr. Cooper; goes all along the East River.”
