Not Charles. Not Harvey. Not Rosalind. Not Shenzhen Industries. Felicity stared at the rustling lilly pilly. “How about you, Loki? Did you mastermind a scam to steal my boss’s money?”
“Mreooww.”
“Well, it’s a working theory. No need to get offended. And get out of my damned tree!” She made a shooing gesture, which was promptly ignored. Naturally.
She could have sworn Loki had laughed at her.
“With that much haughtiness, you could star in a forties film,” Felicity told the kitten. “You could be like Turner or Dietrich. All attitude and imperiousness.”
Felicity went still as she was reminded of a book she’d read once years ago about the golden age of Hollywood and how certain subtle games were played.
Oh. All those little threads her subconscious had been trying to make sense of came into focus. And just like that, the suspect list shortened dramatically.
Grabbing her phone, Felicity tapped a text message to Saul, asking for an address.
Theoretically, this could wait till the morning. But spooked people in stressful situations sometimes ran. And…if she was lucky, sometimes they talked, if they felt safe and had the home-team advantage.
That just left one more question. Do I call the police, too?
Everything in her gut told her she’d get answers if she just went in softly, softly instead of employing jackboots.
She almost laughed. God. Wasn’t this how Elena had laid out the assignment? Asking her to dig deep within and find some subtlety?
Be careful what you wish for, Elena.
CHAPTER 12
The Unnecessary Lie
Felicity leaned on the door buzzer at the front gates of an impressive loft mansion in Tribeca.
Harvey Clifford’s voice came through the little box. “Yes?”
“It’s Felicity Simmons. I just have—”
“No. Go away.”
The voice unit went silent. She stared at it, then raised her voice to neighbor-hearing range. “Mr. Clifford, I have important information about a scam involving your char—”
“QUIET!” His bark was ferocious.
Huh. Felicity didn’t know he had it in him.
There was a clunk, and the gates opened.
Felicity followed the beautiful travertine-paved path to the front door, which opened to an enraged-looking charity director.
In his buttoned-up navy cardigan with a pale blue collar peeking above it, corduroy pants, and loafers, the man looked like a rumpled literature professor. His expression, however, could have flayed her alive. “Ms. Simmons, do not shout my business to the street.”
“I apologize,” she said with little sincerity. “Perhaps we should talk inside.” She made to enter, but he didn’t move aside.
“This couldn’t wait till tomorrow?” he asked in exasperation. “It’s almost ten!”
“I don’t think so, no.”
Harvey’s eyes darted over her shoulder as if assessing whether eavesdropping neighbors were lurking. “All right. Come in.”
He led her to a small book-lined room with a leather couch facing floor-to-ceiling windows. “My library. Sit,” Harvey instructed.
Felicity duly sat and waited curiously as Harvey paced a nervous circuit of the room, then finally sat on the other end of the same couch.
“What was so urgent?” he finally asked.
“I know.”
“You know what?”
“About the scam. How you were sucked in.” Of all the games and all the possible plays, Harvey being scammed fit best. He barely spent anything on his charity that wasn’t essential. The man only wanted what was best for Living Ruff. So he’d spent Elena’s money with that outcome in mind, gambled it all, and lost. It might be foolish but it wasn’t criminal, even if he was probably in hell about it. That would explain his erratic and furtive behavior.
She really hoped she’d worked this out right.
Harvey stared at her.
“I don’t blame you,” Felicity pressed on. “When I came to Living Ruff looking for answers, I wasn’t expecting to find what I did. But I don’t blame you. I believe you meant well.”
He sagged. “You know,” he repeated.
“I do.” Felicity waited, praying he’d fill in the blanks for her. Reaching into her pocket, she placed the little white cat on the coffee table. “Look familiar?”
