“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.”
Felicity peered at him, confused as to why the other vet’s route was relevant. Or was Harvey just rambling?
“Or you can always come back tomorrow. Dr. Cooper has a clinic day for walk-ins. Just does patch-up jobs in here for animals with minor matters. The more major injuries we send on to other clinics and hospitals.”
Definitely rambling.
His eyes darted back to Felicity’s. “Feel free to skip that, though. Clinic days can be a bit… Well, not for everyone.” He brightened. “But on Wednesday there’s a huge open day for homeless in the park where all the services come together to help them out. My wife and Dr. Cooper will be representing Living Ruff. You can see most of what we do then. What will it be?”
His tone of voice told her either way this meeting was over. She had no interest in riding around visiting more hard-luck cases. Doing it for three hours had been more than enough. “Tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll attend clinic day with Dr. Cooper.”
The thought of skipping a day in Cooper’s company felt strangely unsettling. She absolutely refused to analyze that feeling further.
“Your choice. Clinic opens at eight here. It’s excellent that you’ll see all the good we do. I hope you’ll convey that back to Ms. Bartell.” He rose and extended his hand for her to shake, which she did. “A pleasure meeting you.”
And with that, she was practically bundled out his door.
* * *
That night, Felicity was restless. She barely tasted her low-fat vegetable lasagna or the small glass of red wine she’d washed it down with. Even her guilty pleasures failed to amuse her: Game of Thrones repeats, crime shows, and her beloved wildlife documentaries.
No matter how she turned over her conversation with Harvey, thought about the basic van, and even more basic office supplies, she couldn’t square it away with a charity suddenly flush with cash. She needed to talk to someone who knew Harvey Clifford, someone who could give her a bead on him. A vision of a particular towering vet filled her mind before she could stop it, and she glowered.
No, someone else. Besides, she couldn’t tell Cooper that she thought the woman’s charity director might be shady. She was clearly loyal.
Finally, she decided to call one person who might have some insights, even though she generally didn’t like asking Maddie for anything. It was just too embarrassing to need someone who would only tease the hell out of her for it.
“Felicity?” came Maddie’s perky Australian accent. “This is a surprise. I thought you’d rather have water torture than call me.” She laughed.
“Yes, well,” Felicity said primly, “I have business to discuss.”
“Really? I’m all ears. I can’t think what I could know that you don’t already.” She paused. “Maybe teacup hurling. Trajectories and the like.”
“Don’t make me regret telling you about that. God!” Felicity rolled her eyes, even though the annoying woman couldn’t see her.
“I’d have thought getting promoted for it would make that a fond memory.” The smile in Maddie’s voice was clear.
“You’d be wrong. Now, can we stop with the small talk? I need your help.”
“Go on.”
