Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_04 Read Online Free PDF Page B

won’t be back for a week. Perhaps I can help you.”
    I wasn’t surprised. I knew where Anders Burke was. And all the rest of Belle’s children, natural and adopted. They were on Kauai, gathering as they did every year in memory of their slain sister. They’d been there when Richard died. Did Richard go to Kauai because they all were there?
    But I looked pettish, a wealthy woman irritated that her plans were thwarted. I fingered the heavy gold necklace atmy throat. It was a great complement to my navy linen dress with matching gold buttons. “Oh, dear. I’ve come all the way from Lubbock to see him. I suppose I should have called first. I’m Isabel Rushton and I wanted to find out more about the foundation to see if I might include it in my charities.”
    She sprang to her feet. “Oh, I’m sure I can help you, Mrs. Rushton. And I’ll have Mr. Burke contact you as soon as he returns. But I can give you a great deal of information about the foundation. I’m Ginger Cowan, Mr. Burke’s assistant. And I’ll be happy to show you our offices.”
    â€œOh, yes, I’d like that.” I looked around inquisitively. I pointed to the closed double doors across the hall. “Is that Mr. Burke’s office?”
    â€œNo, ma’am.” For an instant, she looked uncomfortable. “That was the office of our first director. At present that office isn’t used.”
    I raised my eyebrows, a canny philanthropist scenting possible waste and inefficiency, perhaps compounded by unstable leadership.
    Ginger plunged into explanations. “…and Anders—Mr. Burke—didn’t want to take over his sister’s office. I think it was just too hard for him. I know you’ll understand.”
    â€œMy, oh my, of course. That poor child. I remember now. As I recall, the kidnapping was never solved, was it? Of course, I understand.” I had my hand on the brass knob to one of the doors. “But may I just take a peek?” An old lady with ghoulish tendencies.
    â€œOf course, Mrs. Rushton.” She hurried to join me.
    I opened the door, stepped into an elegant room.
    Ginger flipped a switch and a magnificent chandelier glowed to life. The turquoise hangings were as rich as a New Mexico sky, the gray walls cool as pewter. White linen slipcovers looked crisp on the occasional chairs. A shiny fruitwood desk was flanked by two tall french windows. But theroom was dominated by a massive mahogany dining table covered with small plastic frames bright with color.
    I walked to the desk. Each frame contained a miniaturized poster. It was easy to see at a quick glance the projects supported by the Ericcson Foundation.
    Â 
    RUN FOR THE ROSES
    FIGHT BREAST CANCER
    Â 
    MAKE THE NIGHT SAFE
    FOR WOMEN
    Â 
    ELECT LINDA MORGAN
    PUT WOMEN IN
    THE LEGISLATURE
    Â 
    There were dozens more, supporting political candidates and themes—drug-free schools, the anti-tobacco lobby, universal medical care—and each poster had the Ericcson Foundation logo in the lower right-hand corner, a bell emblazoned with a rose. CeeCee Burke championed causes dear to many women.
    I picked up one of the plastic holders and felt the grit of dust. The line where the frame had sat was clearly visible on the table.
    Ginger ineffectually brushed her hand across the line, leaving a smear. “No one comes in here very often. Let me show you the rest of the offices.”
    But I stared at the bright posters, frowning. “No one told me that the foundation was quite so liberal .” My tone indicated repugnance.
    â€œOh, Mrs. Rushton, please, all of this is completely out-of-date. The foundation is absolutely apolitical now. Mr. Burke has totally redirected the aims of the foundation.” Ginger spoke fast. Her eyes shone.
    â€œIndeed?” I looked at her suspiciously, a conservative dowager with pots of money available for the right programs.
    â€œOh, yes. Come.