She’s got me there.
She takes off with the baby as I catch Buffy’s eye and give her the subtle sister nod that meanscreate a diversion while I go investigate suspicious behavior and hopefully don’t get myself killed in the process. She understands immediately and starts herding Mom and Georgie toward the dessert table because, let’s face it, in just a few short months, she’s learned exactly how to keep those two occupied with sugar-based distractions.
Cordelia is hanging back near her charity foundation display, adjusting awards and straightening already-perfect promotional materials with the kind of obsessive nervous energy usually reserved for people who’ve just committed felonies and are trying to look casual about it. And I wonder if that’s exactly what’s happening here.
Perfect opportunity for some amateur detective work, assuming I don’t accidentally confess to crimes I didn’t commit or somehow manage to incriminate myself in the process.
“This foundation display is really impressive,” I say, approaching with what I hope looks like casual admiration instead of an amateur sleuth conducting an investigation while internally panicking about whether I’m talking to a cold-blooded killer.
Thank goodness someone appreciates all the work I put into this presentation,Cordelia thinks to herself as she turns around with a smile.Though I hope she’s not going to ask too many detailed questions about the programs. She’s a nosy one.
I gasp at the slight.
“Thank you,” Cordelia replies with genuine warmth. “It’s so important to showcase the foundation’s work, especially during the holiday season when people are feeling most generous and least likely to ask for receipts.”
We share a quick laugh.
“You must be so proud of everything you’ve accomplished,” Icontinue, studying the photos and testimonials with what I hope looks like innocent interest. “These children’s Christmas programs sound wonderful.”
If only you knew how wonderful they are on paper,she thinks to herself, though her smile remains perfectly professional.Sometimes the best charity work is the kind that maximizes tax benefits while minimizing pesky things like actual expenses and real children.
My brows furrow at the woman. What in the world is she confessing to?
“Oh, Christmas programsarewonderful,” she says brightly as if she were proud of a rather successful magic trick. And I’m beginning to wonder if that’s exactly what this is. “We’ve been able to help so many families this year. Of course, the foundation has faced some challenges recently.”
“Challenges?”
“Well,” she says carefully, her fingers moving to adjust a perfectly straight picture frame, “we lost a potential major sponsor unexpectedly. Balthasar Thornfield was supposed to support several of our initiatives, but then...” She trails off with the kind of meaningful pause that suggests tragedy has struck her charitable endeavors along with the rest of Cider Cove.
“I’m so sorry about what happened to him,” I say, watching her reaction carefully. “It must have been such a shock.”
More of a relief than a shock,she thinks to herself,with the kind of honesty that probably shouldn’t be shared with someone who has a proven track record of solving murders.That man was becoming a serious problem that required a permanent solution.
“Yes, it was terrible,” she says aloud, though something flickers across her expression like someone trying not to smile at a funeral. “Such a loss to the business community.”
“Were the two of you close?”
“Professionally, yes. Balthasar was always very thorough in his business dealings. Sometimes more than any sane personshould ever have to be.” Her smile becomes slightly strained. “He had a tendency to dig deeper into financial details than most sponsors require. Or deserve. Or have any legal right to, frankly.”
The man was like a bloodhound when it came to following money trails,she thinks with irritation.Of course, there was some light theft from who knows where, but name a charity where there’s not a phantom dipping their hands in the funds. But despite the fact if he hadn’t been so obsessed with examining every program budget, none of this would have been necessary.
My jaw goes slack. What wouldn’t have been necessary? Murder?
“That sounds frustrating,” I offer sympathetically.
“It was challenging,” she admits. “Some people don’t understand that charitable operations require a certain amount of... well, creative accounting. There are administrative costs, overhead expenses, operational flexibility that needs to be maintained.”
The way she sayscreative accountingmakes it sound like an art form rather than potential fraud. I could probably pick up a tip or two from her when it comes to the inn.
“I’m sure running a foundation is complicated,” I agree. “Did Balthasar understand that complexity?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Cordelia’s composure slips slightly. “He kept insisting on seeing detailed breakdowns of program expenditures, meeting with supposed beneficiaries, and visiting facilities that were still in the planning stages. The man had no appreciation for the delicate balance required in foundation management.”
He wanted to see actual children benefiting from children’s programs.She rolls her eyes at the thought.As if physical evidence were more important than properly documented tax deductions.
Oh wow, this sounds terrible.
“That does sound demanding,” I say. “I imagine that kind of scrutiny could put pressure on your working relationship.”
