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She told herself she ought to be okay with that. And she was. As far as it went. But for some reason it was vaguely depressing to know that he saw her as simply an ally in a battle against a common enemy. Comrades in arms. That should not be a problem. It was how she viewed him, wasn’t it?
Well, no.And what was up with that?
“Right,” she said, going for brisk and businesslike. “Nothing like almost getting killed together to cement a friendship, I always say.”
“Exactly.”
She clamped her teeth together. Time to move forward. She started to make the call to Talia but hesitated when a thought struck her. She reached into her messenger bag and took out her sketchbook.
“If we’re right about any of this,” she said, “I think I now know how to interpret my drawing of the staircase at the asylum.”
The weariness retreated from Ambrose’s eyes. Intense interest took its place. “The picture of the snakes slithering down the steps?”
“Yes.” She opened the sketchbook. Together they studied the drawing. “I knew the fact that there are several snakes, not just one, was important; I just didn’t know why. Now I think my intuition was trying to tell me that we’re not looking for one killer. We’re looking at a conspiracy.”
Ambrose raised his brows. “As opposed to a drug ring?”
“Obviously drugs are involved, but there is something else going on here. Why would a drug ring run experiments in a sleep clinic?”
Ambrose thought about that for a long moment. “Conspiracyis a loaded word.”
“Yes, it is, but there is a fundamental rule for conducting an investigation in situations like this: follow the money.”
Ambrose gave her a slow, feral smile. She could have sworn his eyes heated with anticipation.
“We need some deep background on the finances of the Carnelian Sleep Institute,” he said.
“Know anything about tracking complicated finances?” she asked.
“No, but I know who to call.”
“Don’t tell me—let me guess. Calvin?”
“He’s a one-stop shop for data.” Ambrose made the call. He studied the succulents as he waited for Calvin to answer. “There aren’t any plants in my room.”
“Those don’t belong to the hotel,” Pallas said. “They’re my travel plants. I never leave home without them.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
You have gotto get a handle on this situation, Fenner.” Hugh Guthrie gripped the arms of his desk chair and pushed himself to his feet. “I can’t believe you let things get out of control like this. If the Institute’s reputation is destroyed by a drug scandal it will have repercussions that will affect the entire college.Fundingrepercussions.”
“Dean Guthrie is right.” Margaret Moore adjusted the right leg of her immaculately tailored trousers and tried to conceal her irritation. “I can promise you that if Mr.Knight hears about this he will not be pleased.”
The warning was unnecessary. They all understood the importance of not pissing off the anonymous donor they privately referred to as Mr.Knight. She had given their mystery benefactor the name in recognition of his status as the knight in shining armor who had rescued Carnelian College from impending financial disaster. As the director of the Carnelian College Foundation’s fundraising department, she felt it necessary to remind Guthrie and Fenner of the danger in which they now found themselves.
Nearly a year ago Mr.Knight had contacted her to inform her that he was prepared to make the largest single gift to the endowment fund in the history of the college. In return he insisted on the establishment of the Carnelian Sleep Institute. He had also stipulated that the fussy, irritating, obsessed Conrad Fenner be hired as director of the new clinic.
Technically speaking, donors were not supposed to be able to control how their money was spent—the administration, in consultation with the faculty council, was tasked with that responsibility. But everyone in the academic world understood that donors always had a say. The larger the donation, the bigger the say. Mr.Knight’s donation had saved the college. That meant that when it came to his pet project, the Institute, he got whatever he wanted.
None of them had ever met Mr.Knight in person or spoken to him on the phone. He had contacted her by text to make his generous offer. Aware that scammers, frauds, and pranksters were always a threat in the fundraising business, she had done her due diligence research. In the end, however, she had not been able to find anything solid. Mr.Knight was a man who liked his privacy, and he evidently had the money to buy it.
She and Hugh and the Foundation’s board of directors had all held their breath until the first installment of the promised donation was safely transferred into the Carnelian College Endowment Fund. When it arrived and proved to be real, there had been much rejoicing here in Hugh’s office. The faculty had been invited to celebrate. Champagne had been brought in for the occasion. After the guests had departed she and Hugh had had sex on the desk. It was the best sex they’d had in a very long time.
“There is no need for panic,” Fenner said. He took off his glasses and began to polish them with a small cleaning cloth. “This little brouhaha will go away very quickly.”
Margaret looked at him. “In case you haven’t heard the news, this little brouhaha includes an explosion at the home of an employee of the clinic—”
“Formeremployee,” Fenner snapped.
