Read Online Fundraising the Dead by Sheila Connolly - Free Book Online

Alfred Findley had been murdered, that I had found him, or that this would mean negative publicity for his beloved Society, and thus, indirectly, him. Not that it mattered much, and all were true. “Yes, it was. There was . . . a lot of blood.” Another note to self: who was supposed to clean up the bloodstains? Our custodial staff, or did the police have people for that? “The detective in charge is upstairs now. She asked that we keep the staff away from the third floor until this is sorted out, so I figured we could send them to the old conference room.”
    “Excellent idea. Well, then, I suppose I should go introduce myself to this detective and see what the story is. What is her name?”
    My mind went blank for a moment, then my fundraiser mentality kicked in. “Detective Hrivnak. By the way, she’s never been here before and doesn’t know who or what we are, so you can fill her in.” And turn on the charm , I added silently. I had the feeling Detective Hrivnak didn’t like me very much, and she certainly hadn’t seemed too impressed by the august Society.
    “Thank you for the heads-up, Nell. Shall we?”
    I rapped on the door, and when Officer Johnson opened it, I introduced Charles. “This is Charles Worthington, the president of the Society. I’m sure the detective will want to talk with him, so I’ll just take him upstairs to her. All right? But you can keep anyone else who comes downstairs here. You shouldn’t get any patrons this early, so just direct everyone to the conference room.” Without waiting for an answer, I took Charles’s elbow and all but dragged him toward the elevator.
    Once the doors had closed behind us, Charles asked quietly, “Do they know when this happened?”
    “Hrivnak guessed before midnight, probably during the gala. Look, you go sweet-talk the detective, and I’ll talk to the staff downstairs. Heck, we can even go ahead with the debriefing.” Yeah, right—like people would want to talk about who said what to whom at the party, when there was a dead colleague lying two floors above.
    The elevator doors opened, and I stepped out to be confronted by an angry Detective Hrivnak. “You, Pratt—I told you to wait in your office. And who’s this guy?”
    “I’m sorry, Detective, but I thought I should tell your officer downstairs where to direct people, and I put a sign outside to keep patrons out—I assume you would want that? And this is Charles Elliott Worthington, our president.”
    Charles stepped forward smoothly. “Detective—Hrivnak, is it? I can’t tell you how horrified I am by this event. Alfred Findley was a valued employee, and a very pleasant person. He will be missed.”
    I wondered uncharitably if Charles would have recognized Alfred if he met him in the hallway. But Charles turned on his carefully calculated smile, combining just the right mix of sorrow and sympathy, and the detective softened.
    “Yeah, well, he’s still dead. Look, I’ve got to talk to Ms. Pratt here, since she’s the one who found the body. And I’ve got my people coming to handle the body. So maybe you should just wait downstairs with the rest of your staff until I get to you.”
    Under different circumstances I might have been amused by the sight of the mighty Charles Elliott Worthington being told to wait by someone so . . . uncouth. But this was serious business, and out of the corner of my eye I could still see the dark pool of blood. Charles’s ego would have to take it.
    “Of course. I’ll be available when you need me. You’ll be all right, Nell?” When I nodded, he went on. “Then you’ll find me downstairs.” He beat a dignified retreat, leaving me alone in the hall with the detective.
    “Okay, where’s your office? Shouldn’t take long. This looks pretty clear-cut.”
    “This way.” I led her down the hall and into my office, turning on the lights as I entered. I gestured toward the visitor’s chair and went around the desk to my own. There were a few