Page 16 of Murder on Charity Lane

“How’d you get invited?” Angela asked me.

“I’m a friend of a friend of Frank’s personal assistant.”

“Oh, CJ? The word is that she’s more than an assistant to Frank.”

I made a face. “No way.”

“Not like that! Don’t be gross, he’s a thousand years old. She’s just his … confidant. She’s like his work wife, except she works here.”

I glanced toward Frank and Karina. “His real wife doesn’t mind?”

“She’s not what you expected, right? He’s worth ninety million bucks, you’d think he’d marry a twenty-four-year-old gold digger with blond hair and a bouncy personality who raises funds for Bright California, but non.”

“Karina doesn’t seem like the biggest fan of World of Goods.”

“She’s not the biggest fan of any giving. Look at this place! It hasn’t been redecorated since the seventies. Karina wants to remodel for the low-low price of four million and change.”

“Ah,” I said.

“Right? But CJ doesn’t want the work to disturb Frank in his, like, final years.”

“How do you know all this?” I asked.

“Jane, of course.”

“Your mentor.”

“The one, the only, Jane Sheffield.” Angela sipped her wine. “This year’s shoo-in for the Millerbrandt Award.”

“What’s that?”

“Big fancy prize for the best human on earth. Jane’s officially the VP of engagement at World of Goods, which means she raises all the money.”

I made fake appreciative noises, then sipped my wine and made genuine ones. “Mm. This is ambrosia.”

“You’re in the big leagues now, Sophie.” Angela nodded toward Frank’s group. “See the bald guy sitting across from Frank, draped in gold chains? That’s Frank’s best friend, Sunny Wheeler. He only gives to, like, niche antiaging organizations and he will pat your ass. Across from him, with the beard and the bangs are George and Helene Kagant. They’re into the symphony and the art museum and maybe cats?”

“Sounds promising,” I said.

“Music, Frank!” a woman called from across the room. “We need music!”

Frank shifted in his seat, looking vaguely alarmed. Karina patted his arm, and he relaxed back into the cushions.

“And that is Jane,” Angela said, nodding toward the woman who’d yelled.

“I wonder why she likes you,” I said, because Jane looked exactly like a more-polished, middle-aged version of Angela. “You’re even dressed alike.”

Well, Jane’s black dress, stilettos, and statement gold earrings looked like money while Angela’s looked like dupes, but still it was like a young Goldie Hawn and Kate Hudson.

“They’re going to need a new VP of engagement at some point,” Angela said, with a slightly wolfish smile. “Once she wins the coveted Millerbrandt Award for nonprofits, she’ll take over as CEO. She brought in like eight hundred million last year. Most of it in medication, equipment, and PPE—not cash—but still. She’s headed for the top and I’m right there with her.”

9

NICHOLAS

Nicholas grabbed a fresh bottle of the Mourvèdre and approached the concentration of gray-haired wealth gathered on the long, low-slung beige velvet couches in the center of the room. He wasn’t here to fade into the background as Sophie networked. No, he and Mrs. B had a plan. She’d encouraged him to come to raise money for Sophie’s play. Tonight’s guests could fund a production with pocket change. They just needed someone to sell them on it.

So Nicholas gestured with the wine bottle, offering a top-up. “Anyone?”