Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13)

by Heather Wardell

  "But that's different. It's her. And I want to help her," I said, then I realized he was right. My smile felt much the same as his had looked. "Maybe I'm not the most selfish person on the planet after all."

  John gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Maybe not."

  Chapter Thirty

  I stood, feeling uncomfortable, amid a crowd of people outside the Toronto shelter to which I'd donated the playground money. Far too many members of that crowd were reporters and other media types and I didn't want to be recognized and roped into a 'how she's dealing with her money' interview. Right at the moment I wasn't sure I was dealing well at all.

  I hadn't made any new charity donations in the last two weeks. I was paranoid about funding another scam artist and with that on my mind I couldn't see the letters as clearly as I wanted to. They couldn't all be fakes, but even the few that felt decent didn't spur me to fight through the pain of lowering my bank balance on their account.

  Adding to my monetary frustrations, Blair had informed Tyler that he'd be going ahead with the lawsuit soon. Apparently Shane, with whom I'd had no contact since our last meeting in Tyler's office and about whom I had frequent dreams in which it was nine years ago and I had the life I'd always wanted, hadn't found the proof he needed to stop it. Now that I knew it was Blair and Liz gunning for my money rather than Shane I wanted to give it up even less, and Tyler had also told me that such a suit would certainly make the news, which would make for more publicity and yet another run of letters.

  I didn't want the publicity from that, and I didn't want to be recognized here, so I pulled my scarf higher to cover more of my face and hoped the director's long-winded speech was nearing its end. She'd already given the history of the shelter and a thoroughly detailed explanation of why they needed the new playground and how much it would help their clients, so there couldn't be much more to say.

  "Now, we'd done everything we could think of to raise the money we needed," she said.

  A shiver colder than the February air ran down my spine.

  "And then I heard about Toronto's latest lottery winner and I thought she might be able to help. I sent her a letter asking for ten thousand dollars for the playground, and the wonderful woman sent me twenty thousand instead to help fund our other programs too."

  I felt John glance at me, but I kept looking straight ahead. I hadn't told him about that. When I'd set to writing the check, right after the police had finished informing me about Sydney's plan to have me murdered, I'd been overwhelmed with shock and disgust that she'd be so greedy and guilt that I'd driven her to it. In my confusion and sadness, I hadn't been able to give only ten thousand to the shelter which did such good work in Toronto. They deserved so much more. Without Tiff's restrictions on the principal I might have given them millions.

  If I'd received their letter in my current state of mind, of course, I might not have given them anything at all, and I didn't like admitting that to myself.

  Over the crowd's appreciative murmurs, she said, "I'm sure she's not actually a saint, but I did some research and it turns out there is a saint who bears her name. This saint is the patron of the physically challenged and of people who've lost their parents, and since so many of our children have in a way lost their father to his abusive ways we have decided to rename our shelter. We will from now on be known as the Saint Angela Shelter, in honor of the saint and of our current-day patron Angela Hollingsford."

  At this, I did turn to John, my eyes wide. He stared back the same way, then his eyes widened even more when the director added, "Ms. Hollingsford is here today, I believe. She said she'd be here, and I'd be honored if she'd come up here and help me cut the ribbon to the new playground."

  I mumbled something unsaintly under my breath, but I couldn't see how to get out of it. "Come with me," I said to John, and together we began moving toward the front. When people realized what we were doing, they pushed back and formed a path for us. A long-ago Sunday school memory of Moses parting the sea hit me and I had to bite my lip hard to keep from bursting out laughing.

  "There she is," the director said, smiling at me. "Angela Hollingsford, everyone."

  Amid thunderous applause, John and I approached. When we were just a few steps away, John said, "I'll be right here," and left me to go on alone. I understood, but I missed his calm presence. Alone among everyone here, he'd known me, and liked me, before I had the money to be a patron.

  The director held out her hand. "Bless you, Angela," she said as we shook hands. I smiled, not sure what to say, and she released me so she could pick up a huge pair of scissors with a clearly plastic blade.

  "Don't cut until I say the word," she murmured, perhaps realizing I had no idea what I was doing, as she handed me the scissors.

  To the crowd, she said, "I hereby declare the new playground of the Saint Angela Shelter officially open. Ms. Hollingsford, will you cut the ribbon so the first children can explore your gift?"

  I nodded, and was fortunately able to get the big scissors to cooperate so I didn't need to hack away at the ribbon.

  The director beckoned to a small group of children standing off to the side with their backs to the audience. "Come and thank Ms. Hollingsford and then go play."

  They each came up and gave me a smile, and one cute little blonde girl grabbed me around the legs in a hug that almost knocked me over, then they went into the playground and were soon lost in the swings and slide and other fancy equipment.

  "Thank you all for coming," the director said to the crowd. "No pictures of the children that show their faces, please, for their safety, but distance shots are fine. The Saint Angela Shelter appreciates anything you can do to help spread the word about our work."

  The audience applauded, then nearly every member of it hurried to me. The director did get a few people's attention but mostly they wanted to talk to me. I'd had less attention the day I won the money.

  "What other donations have you given?"

  "Why so much for this particular charity?"

  "Why so little given how much you won?"

  I tried to answer but the questions came so fast I couldn't keep them straight in my mind. Hating this, I looked around for John.

  He came to me at once and said into my ear, "Ready to go?"

  "Definitely," I mumbled.

  "I'm afraid Ms. Hollingsford has another appointment," he said firmly, and I hoped I was the only one who could hear the wobble in his voice beneath the strong tone. "She needs to leave now."

  Several reporters thrust their cards at me with requests, and commands in a few cases, to contact them later, but they did begin to disperse.

  "Thank you, John," I said, stuffing the cards into my purse so I could throw them out later. "Thank you so much. I wasn't expecting that."

  The director came over, looking apologetic, in time to catch my last words. "Neither was I, and I hope it didn't upset you too much. I was just so grateful for what you've done for us and I didn't think of how announcing your name might go over. Can you forgive me?"

  I nodded, still feeling a little shaky. "Maybe the attention will help the shelter."

  She smiled. "That would be nice. But you've already helped it a great deal. May I show you around or do you need to get to your other appointment?"

  John glanced at me.

  "I think we can spare a few minutes," I said, then on a whim added, "since I don't actually have another appointment."

  She chuckled and John said, "I couldn't think of any other way to get her out of that crowd."

  "Smart thinking," she said.

  We toured the facility, and I was greatly impressed with the atmosphere of the place. It wasn't fancy at all but it felt like everyone there really cared about the women and children who came for help, and I enjoyed every second we spent walking through it.

  The director said goodbye to us at the back door and suggested we leave through the playground to get another look at it. As we walked along, John gestured at the kids romping and said, "This
really is amazing. You made it happen."

  "Not all of it. They had a lot of the money."

  "True. But you finished it off and put them in a great place for more of their programs. You should be proud of this."

  I looked up at him and smiled, feeling the purest happiness that I had since the win bubbling through me. "Thank you. I am."

  He smiled back, and opened the front gate for me. We'd only taken a few steps past it when several people came rushing up to me, all talking at once.

  When I managed to get them to settle a little, I realized they were all directors of other charities that needed money. I gave them each my card and asked them to send me their request, and they left with nearly identical looks of anger and frustration.

  "Did they expect you'd just whip out your checkbook right here?" John murmured when they were out of earshot.

  "I guess." I sighed, all of my bubbles of happiness deflating at once. "I did like our tour but I guess we should have run away so this wouldn't happen."

  He shook his head. "I'm sorry. You did something so nice and then this happens. But running away wouldn't have helped, since everyone knew your name."

  "Yeah." I sighed again.

  "Maybe we should change your name. How about Fluffy Magoo?"

  "It's like you read my mind," I said, rolling my eyes.

  "No? How about Fifi? No last name, of course. Just Fifi."

  "Might as well call me Annie Cranston like that girl who doesn't exist."

  "There you go."

  We chuckled, and spent our trip home making up ever-more-ridiculous names to replace mine, but the glow of what I'd done was still tarnished for me by how much I hadn't done.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  "Here she is, Saint Angela!"

  I took a swing at Kerr that wasn't entirely mock. "Do not call me that."

  He dodged away, laughing. "Hey, I mean it in the nicest way possible. Besides, how could calling someone a saint not be nice?"

  I would have agreed with him, before. Before the news articles about my donation to the shelter slapped the label of Saint Angela on me. Before the steady stream of letters I'd been receiving returned to the torrent it had been at first. Before I'd again started being recognized on the street. The last ten days had been an unpleasant rerun of the first days after my win, and I did not like reliving that time.

  Lena appeared, popping up above her cubicle wall, before I could answer Kerr. "Nice hair, Angela! I wouldn't have recognized you."

  Since my picture had again been heavily broadcast I'd reluctantly given up my long red extensions yesterday in favor of dark brown curls that reached just past my shoulders. I'd been afraid I'd hate the new look since I'd never had curly hair before but to my surprise I enjoyed the change. "Thanks. I like it."

  She shook her head. "A dye job and extensions? Again? What did that run you?"

  "More than you can afford," Kerr said, chuckling, "on what I pay you. Anyhow, Angela, I'll get you those letters and you can get us out of your fancy new hair. You don't want to be late to your meeting."

  I wasn't sure that was true. Blair had requested a final meeting before filing the legal papers to sue me for half my winnings, and Tyler had warned me that he might be up to something. Under no circumstances, he'd said repeatedly, was I to agree to anything Blair said without a private conversation with him first. The worry in my usually calm lawyer's voice stressed me out, and if I could be late for the meeting or even miss it entirely without consequences I would do it without a thought.

  But I knew I had to be there, so I said, "Okay, bring 'em out."

  Kerr said, "Terrence, a little help?" and I stared at him. "There are that many?"

  Everyone laughed as Kerr and Terrence headed off into the seldom-used conference room, and Lena said, "Oh, honey. You have no idea."

  Not keen on being called 'honey', especially in such a snarky tone, I said, "Well, I guess I will soon."

  I did, too. I watched in horror as the guys hauled a huge cardboard box each over to me, then gasped involuntarily when they went back for a second round.

  "I'm so sorry," I said when they stood panting before me and five boxes. "I hope this'll be the end of it."

  Kerr looked awkward. "I put a note on the web site to say you don't work here any more so nobody else should send letters. I wish you did still work here, of course, but since you don't..." He trailed off, looking even more awkward.

  "I get it," I said, feeling an unexpected twinge of sadness at literally being written off the site I'd had a huge part in creating. "It's okay. If any more mail shows up, let me know and I'll come get it."

  "I tried calling you last week," Lena said brightly, "to suggest you come get the first batch, but your phone number doesn't work." She held up her phone. "New one, please."

  It was a command, not a request, and I floundered for a moment before saying, "I'm actually doing everything by email these days. You have that, right?"

  Her forehead creased. "I do, but..."

  I turned away from her as if it were all settled. "Can I prevail on you guys to help me get these out to the car?"

  Kerr and Terrence groaned in unison, but they helped anyhow and we each wrestled one box into the elevator and then down to my car. I insisted on taking one of the last two, and Kerr came along with the final one.

  "Now, the phone number I have," he began in the elevator.

  I nodded. "It works, and I do use it." I sighed. "I'm just not comfortable giving the number to everyone on the planet. I don't really think Lena needs it, so I'd rather she not have it." A thought occurred to me and I hurried to add, "Unless that's causing you difficulty?"

  He shook his head. "Doesn't matter a fig to me."

  "Not a fig?"

  "Not even a raisin."

  We smiled at each other and I said, "Good to know." I gestured at my laden car. "Thanks for taking care of all these. I hope there won't be too many more."

  He shrugged. "Not like I had to feed them and take them for walks."

  I widened my eyes at him. "You didn't? The poor little guys."

  He laughed, and we hugged, then I headed off for the meeting I didn't want to attend.

  Tyler's nervous demeanor when I walked into his office made me even less interested in being there. "Remember, don't agree to a thing. Okay? If he says, 'Nice day, isn't it?' don't answer until we talk."

  I wanted to roll my eyes but his stress made me reconsider. "I get it. Do you have any idea why he wants this meeting?"

  "None. It actually seems like it could hurt him more than help him. But we'll know in a few minutes."

  Great.

  Blair and Liz stalked with matching steps and nearly matching sleek black suits into the conference room two minutes after Tyler and I had settled ourselves there, with Shane trailing behind in jeans and a navy sweater. He looked even more cowed and embarrassed than he had the other times, so maybe whatever Blair wanted wasn't at all what Shane wanted.

  Shane's lawyer and his wife took the seats across from Tyler and me, leaving Shane to sit at the end like an afterthought, and Blair said, "What's the meaning of this, Ditting?"

  Tyler frowned. "You tell me, Anderson."

  Blair ran his hand over his already perfect silver hair. "Don't waste my time. Why did you call this meeting?"

  "I did no such thing. Why did you call it?"

  I looked back and forth between them, feeling like I was watching the world's most professionally dressed tennis players, and Liz said, "Come on, Mr. Ditting. I have other things to do today, so stop playing around."

  Tyler raised his chin. "I assure you I'm doing no such thing." To Blair, he said, "My office received a call from your office last week requesting this meeting."

  Blair gave a laugh, nearly a snort. "You mean my office received a call from yours. From your receptionist Mr. Woodward."

  Tyler blinked twice, which I knew meant he was deeply shocked. Then he got to his feet and opened the conference room door. "Daphne, who c
alled last week to arrange this meeting?"

  "One moment, Mr. Ditting." I heard her lightning-fast typing, then she said, "A Mr. Woodward, the receptionist of--"

  Tyler's sharp closing of the door cut her off, and he said, "What is going on here?" as he returned to his chair. "I have no Woodward working for me."

  "Nor do I," Blair said, and there was a moment of pure perplexed silence before Shane said, "I do."

  Everyone turned to him and he stood. His shoulders went back and his head went up and the cowed air went away like he'd been putting on an act. I realized he had been.

  "You?" Liz didn't seem to notice the change in his demeanor. "Why do you have anyone working for you?"

  He gave her a smile so cold it made me long for a cardigan. "He's a private detective. And he detected plenty, let me tell you."

  Shane pulled a sheaf of glossy pages from his briefcase and spread them across the table so we could all see.

  Photographs. Of Blair and Liz. Engaging in a little lawyer-client privilege.

  Liz gaped down at the nearest picture, her in a black lace garter belt and nothing else kneeling before a naked Blair with her hand reaching for his erection, then scrambled to turn it and the other pictures over. "How dare you?"

  "How dare I? You've been cheating on me since we used this jackass's associate to buy our house last year and you're angry at me?" He caught up pictures at random and thrust them in front of her face. "What about these? Where do you get off being mad, my darling wife? Where do you get off? Oh, wait, I think I have a picture of you doing that very thing. Let me just--"

  Liz slapped him across the face, cutting off his words. The sound of the smack seemed to echo through the now-silent room. I sat stunned by Shane's crudeness and the whole situation, and Tyler and Blair didn't move either.

  After several seconds, Shane said in a slow heavy voice, "The only reason you wanted this lawsuit was so you could divorce me the second we won and walk away with half of my share of Angela's money. Isn't that right?"

  Liz stared at him, clearly wondering where her gullible mouse of a husband had gone, and didn't answer.