Fundraising the Dead by Sheila Connolly Read Free Book Online Page B

to be enough for both of us. We didn’t harbor false expectations. I wasn’t looking for a husband, and if I had been, I’m not sure he would have been on the short list. If I was totally honest, I suspected I might be more enamored of Charles’s image, his lifestyle, what he represented, than the man himself. We were discreet about the relationship, whatever it was. But we shared an unvoiced feeling that it would be frowned upon at the Society if it were known that we were seeing each other, so we had been silent about it. Again, that suited me. I liked keeping work and play separate. Our attraction was not of the sort that would send us panting into each other’s arms in the stacks, overcome with lust. No, we were adults enjoying an amiable, low-commitment relationship, and that suited both of us just fine.
    And when we were finished with our inventive and completely satisfying bedroom activities, we would each retreat to our respective sides of the bed and sleep, to be ready to face another day of strenuous fundraising, arm in arm.
    But tonight there was that one niggling worm of doubt. Before I could drift off to my well-earned rest, I nudged Charles. “I need to tell you about something Marty Terwilliger said to me today.”
    Charles’s hand caressed my hair. “Sweet Nell, you worry far too much about your work. I’m sure it will keep until morning. Won’t it?”
    I fitted myself against his lean body. “I suppose. But remind me in the morning, will you?”
    I don’t think he heard me, because he was already asleep, and in minutes so was I.

CHAPTER 5
    The day started badly, and there was no time to talk to Charles about missing collection items. Charles had neglected to set the alarm (could he have been distracted?). Luckily I woke up early anyway, then collected my scattered garments and showered and dressed in the change of clothes I’d brought with me, as quietly as I could. Charles stayed in bed, serving as an admiring audience.
    “Must you go so soon?”
    “Yes, I must, and you know why. We’ve got the wrap-up meeting early, and I wanted to pick up some goodies for the gang—you know they’re always friendlier when you feed them.” Following any major event, we always held a before-hours staff meeting in the morning at eight, so that everyone could unload whatever gossip they had heard or overheard while it was still fresh, and review the event as a whole—what had worked, what needed improvement before the next one. Besides, if I was going to demand that people show up early, the least I could do was to dangle some yummy carbohydrates in front of them, and there was an excellent French patisserie on the way to the Society. “And then Marty’s coming at nine—oh, shoot, I didn’t have time to tell you about that. I’ll fill you in later, okay?”
    “If you think it matters.” He looked all too comfortable in his high-thread-count sheets, reclining in state against his many pillows. But I had to move if I was going to pick up pastries and get to the Society in time to start the meeting.
    By seven thirty, laden with goodies, I climbed the timeworn stone steps of the Society building and let myself in with my key. I didn’t linger in the dark and quiet lobby, but I could tell that there was no evidence of the past evening’s revels—the cleaners had done their job well. Instead, I crossed the catalog room and pushed the button for the building’s sole—and antique—elevator. I could hear it lurching into action from somewhere in the bowels of the building, and when it deigned to appear, I inserted my key in the wall panel and pushed the button for the third floor, where all the administrative offices were. I stepped out into the dark hall—no lights meant that no one else was in yet, which didn’t surprise me. I made for the nearest wall switch, outside the education director’s office, which took me past the door to the stacks. When the lights flickered to life, I noticed a dark red