“Of course. And Living Ruff does that, too. It’s also listed on multiple charity-accountability websites as excellent. But you know more than anyone from the deals we do how often a business hides details it doesn’t want disclosed. So it’s simple—go down to that little animal charity and find out where my money went. But I want discretion. I know you can barge in like Rambo to get things done. Can you do delicate, Felicity? Nuance? I want to know whether my new acting COO can problem-solve using a softly-softly approach while far outside her comfort zone. So let’s find out. Show me who you are.”
Felicity blinked. She could be subtle, for God’s sake!
“I am not implying you can’t do it,” Elena said carefully. “I’ve just never given you much scope to test yourself in subtleties or come up with outside-the-box ideas. So I need the problem defined, then a solution for it, and my name kept out of all of it. My best-case scenario involves the fewest people possible aware of what you’re up to and how you’ve addressed it.”
What on earth? Since when did Elena tiptoe around anything? “Why?” she blurted out.
“Felicity,” Elena said with a sigh, “if I wanted to get the police involved, I would have simply called them.”
“You…want to protect the charity?” Felicity asked incredulously. “Even if they’ve misused your donation?”
“Of course not. But good charities can close on the merest hint of investigation. I don’t want that happening if everything is aboveboard.”
“Okay. But what if they are straight-up corrupt? Surely we’d get the police involved then?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Felicity sensed Elena was holding something back. Did she know someone involved in that charity or something? Or maybe she thought it would reflect badly on her if it came out that she’d dumped a lot of money on a charity that was corrupt without doing her due diligence first. Curse Thomas for putting her in that position. He was lucky he still had a job.
“It would be easier for my investigation if you would allow me to tell the charity you’ve already donated and have a right to know where your money went.”
“No.”
Felicity didn’t bother pushing it. Elena had long protected her privacy on the causes she chose to donate to. It was smart; she’d be inundated by people with their hands out if they knew how generous she could be.
“So,” Felicity finally said, almost afraid to ask, “how much did you donate exactly?”
“One point four million.”
Holy hell! Felicity’s eyes widened, and she didn’t entirely manage to stop a choking noise from the back of her throat.
“Mm,” Elena said, voice tight. “So now you see my concern. Get to the bottom of this. And don’t take anything that director says at face value. Dealing with that man was like trying to talk to a sheepdog.”
“A…sheepdog?”
“Exuberant, overfamiliar, and somehow clueless. Solve this for me, Felicity. Show me what you can do.”
“Of course, Elena.” Sudden pride swelled in Felicity’s chest. “You can count on me. It shouldn’t take more than a few hours to get to the bottom of this. I’ll just—”
“Felicity,” Elena said, cutting her off, “I expect you to take a lot more time than that. Take a week or weeks, if you have to. I want thoroughness, as if I were doing this investigation myself. Fine-tooth comb.”
“I— Yes, of course, Elena.” Wait— Weeks? “How can I learn to be your replacement as COO if I’m off with a charity? I can’t do both.”
“All in good time. And I can always extend my time with you if needed when you return.”
Oh. Well. Felicity wasn’t sure how to take that. “So…where exactly is this place?”
“The Bronx.” A slow smile crossed her boss’s face as she slid her gaze over Felicity’s expensive suit. “Maybe…dress down a little when you head over there next week. I mean, if you have that in your corporate wardrobe.”
Felicity’s throat tightened. The Bronx? The actual Bronx? She wondered if she’d start hyperventilating. That did not sound safe. Or clean. Or…nice. Felicity made it her business to only swan around in safe, clean, and nice.
Elena’s eyes were practically gleaming with amusement now. “Good luck.” She took one last sip of her tea and placed the mug on her desk with finality. “We’re done.”
CHAPTER 2
Roller Derby Amazons
Felicity spent the weekend researching everything she could find on Living Ruff in preparation for her visit on Monday. Apparently, it wasn’t a regular charity but rather a foundation set up by a wealthy, clever socialite called Rosalind Stone. Felicity knew her by reputation—a shrewd operator to be dismissed at your own peril—but hadn’t ever met the woman.
Rosalind famously loved animals and threw an abundance of parties for her rich friends to raise money for Living Ruff. That explained the charity’s annual donations of about $700,000, a tidy sum for such a small organization that had on staff one director, two full-time vets, several retired vets as on-call temps, a receptionist/vet tech, and a part-time cleaner.
It was still early, the sun barely risen, and Felicity hadn’t quite managed to get out of her cozy mellow-gray Lunya pajamas and into something befitting a corporate weekend warrior. She hunkered deeper into the warm blanket cloaking her on her couch and poked around a few more research websites on her phone.
She had determined it was unusual for any foundation to run its own charity hands-on rather than just cut a check to whichever organization did the closest work to what they endorsed. But apparently, Ms. Stone didn’t do anything by halves. Or perhaps she liked the power trip. After all, the board was headed by Rosalind and stacked entirely with her family and friends.
The director—the “sheepdog” Elena had mocked—was Rosalind’s husband, Harvey Clifford, an unremarkable man on the page with a background in bookkeeping who had married far above his station. Maybe his appeal would be obvious when Felicity met him, but so far she couldn’t see it. Little wonder, perhaps, that Rosalind had kept her own name after marrying the man.
A sound distracted her, and she glanced over to the balcony doors to see Loki creeping past on her way to the nearest lilly pilly.
Felicity’s eyes narrowed. “Hisss!” she called out loudly, flapping her arm to shoo her away.
Loki stopped, turned, met her eyes, then sat. And bold as brass began to lick her paws as though she hadn’t just been caught in the act of repeated interloping.
Picking up a cream and blue cushion, not even caring that its provenance was a French boutique…from actual France…Felicity hurled it at the glass, where it bounced off harmlessly.
Loki shot up the plant’s stem and disappeared into the ball of green at the top only to reappear a moment later, her white pom-pom face and huge eyes all that were visible.
“Oh, come on! You couldn’t even pretend to care I can see you?”
“Mreoow.”
“You’d better not use my lilly pillies as a litter box again, or I swear…”
What? What would I actually do?
Felicity sighed. Was it seriously the worst thing in the world if she couldn’t contain every element in her ordered life? She glanced back at the kitten. “Consider yourself lucky that I’m both solving a mystery and having an existential crisis.”
Loki merely ignored her and maintained her treetop vigil.
Giving up, Felicity returned to her work with a huff of annoyance. So far she’d dug up Living Ruff’s Form 990PF from last year. Charities had to supply these annual financial summaries to the Internal Revenue Service, which in turn posted the information online. With a final scan of the most recent 990 and still finding nothing obvious amiss, she called Thomas.
“Ms. Simmons?” came a disgruntled voice. “It’s six on a Sunday morning.”
“So it is. And if I were in Elena’s bad books for dropping the ball, I’d be very keen to get in her good books again by helping with a question she wants solved.”
That woke him up a little. “What question? What can I do?”
“Look into Living Ruff for me. Yourself this time.” She took another deep draft of hot chocolate. Not even close to the buzz her triple-shot espressos gave her, but she was trying to break bad habits. “Find out if they’re hiding anything.”
