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He explained it was a front for the personal ambitions of the Prime Minister of the former Soviet state of Ossovia.
He typed a closing line, the usual sort of entreaty to make contact if Lenny had any questions, and then paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He’d known Lenny was vulnerable when he walked into D4D’s offices. He’d made things worse for her. So much worse she’d pitched glassware at him, then thrown him out.
That was an appalling failing of operational etiquette for a Sherwood, and this email was, if not cold, impersonal and instructional, and he’d already upset Lenny by telling her what to do.
Yet, he had no choice. She couldn’t have known the background to the Heroes League. Few outside Ossovia did. It would be a worse crime if more donations went to fund Cookie Jar’s driving, living, or wealth accumulation agenda and further entangled D4D.
There was no point trying to make his email sound friendlier. Lenny didn’t need or want his friendship. He hit send and turned back to the letter, only to have his computer ping a delivery denial message at about the same time as it struck him that of course it would. Lenny was likely to have earmarked anything coming from Sherwoods as spam, because she knew how to look out for herself.
He could call her, and if she didn’t hang up on him he’d explain. He dialed the D4D office, trying not be too hopeful of getting an answering machine; it was lunchtime after all.
“Good afternoon, Dollars for Daughters. This is Lenny. Are you calling to help a less fortunate woman today?”
“Ah, yes.” Not a machine, which meant he had to have a conversation and couldn’t simply recite the email. “Lenny, it’s Halsey.”
“Well, hello. I’m sorry, I should’ve said are you planning to be a dirty crook today?”
Unexpected and amusing. “I—”
“You answer, yes, and then I hang up on you. Or you could lie, and I’ll still hang up on you, because you’re a convinced-I-need-someone-to-tell-me-what-to-do Sherwood and detrimental to my health. What’ll it be?”
He almost laughed, despite the fact she was outwitting him, because humor fell out of her voice.
“I’m hanging up.” And before he could get another word out she did.
Shit.
He redialed. This time, he’d get the machine and be done with this.
“That thing about you being a bad influence. I meant it. We’re done. This is harassment,” she said.
“Don’t hang up.”
Click.
He hit redial. This time for sure he’d get the machine.
“You have no sense of self-preservation.” Click.
“Jesus H Christ.” He slapped the receiver in the cradle. One last time. D4D’s number rang and rang and rang. Not to be defeated, he dialed Lenny’s cell number only to learn it was now owned by someone with a baritone who answered with, “Are you calling about de-sexing the Mastiff?” and it was his turn to hang up.
Sherin appeared in his doorway as he was saying, “Sorry, wrong number.”
“You look like someone stole a collectible out from under you,” she said.
“Fieldwork,” he said, because it was obvious he was going to have to brave the field to see Lenny in person. The idea made him feel both reluctant and excited, and that was confusing.
“Ah, your favorite,” Sherin said. “Think of this as expanding your competencies.”
It was better than thinking of Lenny being so frustrated she flung glassware at him.
He’d normally have talked this out with Cal, but Sherin, his easy-to-get-along-with sister, was a fine substitute. “How do I convince Lenny Bradshaw to take advice from me?”
Sherin double blinked. “You convince people to lose the family fortune every day.”
“Yes, but my cover is blown with Lenny. To her I’m a bad guy with dubious morals and a criminal agenda.”
“You’re right. You don’t have any con artist magic with Lenny because she already knows the truth.”
