PRAISE FOR
The Dani O’Rourke Series
“Wickedly funny . . .” - Kirkus
“Smart, surprising plot . . .” - Booklist
“Fresh, fast-paced and great fun . . .” - Library Journal
MIXED UP
WITH MURDER
A Dani O’Rourke Mystery
By Susan C Shea
Mixed Up With Murder
Published by Reputation Books, LLC
reputationbooksllc.com
Copyright © 2015 by Susan C. Shea
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission from Reputation Books, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, contact the publisher at [email protected].
Book Design: Lisa Abellera
eBook Design: Mary C. Moore
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidences are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-0-9862031-3-8 (paperback)
ISBN 978-0-9862031-4-5 (ebook)
First Edition: February 2016
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To Candida, my sister and hero,
and to Tim, forever.
CHAPTER 1
I was feeling lucky, sitting in the taxicab on Monday morning, having checked into a tidy inn in Bridgetown the evening before. I loved this part of Massachusetts, only an hour from Boston but loaded with small New England coziness. I hadn’t been here since my divorce, and not often when I was married. Late spring was the perfect time to be visiting a pretty college town complete with a white-steepled church and carefully preserved clapboard houses dating from the early nineteenth century.
I peered out as we drove through Lynthorpe College’s stone gates and onto the campus with its paved walkways, open lawns, and stands of leafy, deciduous trees, the kind I don’t see in my San Francisco neighborhood of eucalyptus and Monterey cypress. The air was warm with a fragrance I didn’t quite recognize, mixed with the smell of fresh cut grass.
Young women and men strolled down the paths in groups, laughing and talking, most carrying backpacks, some dressed so casually that I wondered if I was looking at pajamas and slippers. I’d be lying if I said it took me back to my college days. I went to a determinedly urban university in New York City, its only patch of lawn fenced in so students wouldn’t be tempted to take their shoes off and walk on it when the sun reached down between the buildings to briefly warm it. No one would have shown up for class in flip-flops and baggy shorts. We were far too serious, destined for Wall Street or Oxfam, swathed in long sweaters and longer skirts with black tights or panty hose. I glanced instinctively at my bare legs in Jimmy Choo heels, reassuring myself I had left the 80s far, far behind.
Lynthorpe College’s president, the man I was here to see, occupied the most impressive building on campus. The sign on the façade said it was built in 1809, which had given the ivy plenty of time to climb to the mansard roof. There were administrative offices on the first floor and a handsome staircase up to the suite of offices he and his staff occupied. President Rory Brennan’s middle-aged assistant told me the great man would be free shortly. “Shortly” turned out to be fifteen minutes, at which time the door to his office opened abruptly and a red-faced man carrying about thirty extra pounds and a large file folder steamed out, passing the sofa where I sat without a glance.
Suddenly, the man stopped, pivoted, and came back to where I sat scanning a glossy color brochure about Lynthorpe. “Ms. O’Rourke?” he said in a gravelly voice and stuck out his hand. “Larry Saylor. You don’t know how glad I am that you’re here. I need your support on this business.” Before I could do more than mutter a greeting, Saylor hurried out of the office, giving off waves of irritation or distress, I wasn’t sure which.
The assistant pretended she hadn’t been staring. She told me the president was free.
“Ms. O’Rourke? I’m Rory Brennan.” The deep voice came from a tall, powerfully built, middle-aged man who stood smiling at me in the doorway. He shut the door behind us as he shook my hand. Light streamed in tall, arched windows and made a halo of his smooth-combed silver hair. He strode to his desk and pointed to the coffee pot on the credenza behind him, raising his eyebrows.
“No thanks,” I said. “I’m coffeed out. The hotel where you put me up is exceptionally hospitable.” There were rows of folders lined precisely along both edges of the massive, burnished mahogany desk, a lot of folders. His eyes flicked to them as he sank gracefully into his chair, then came back to meet mine.
“We do a lot of business with them,” he said. His voice was hearty, upbeat in a noncommittal sort of way. Maybe the same way you sound when you’re checking out a potential donor at the Devor, my inner voice said. Point taken.
“Congratulations on the upcoming endowment Mr. Margoletti is giving the college,” I said. “That’s quite a coup.”
I meant it. Vincent Margoletti, Lynthorpe Class of 1970, had offered his alma mater twenty million dollars and the bulk of his contemporary art collection. I was here because Geoff Johnson, the board chairman of the Devor Museum of Art and Antiquities in San Francisco, where I was chief fundraiser, was also on Lynthorpe’s board and had recommended me to Brennan. They needed some consulting help to assure a gift this size, with so much original art, was accepted without legal hiccups.
President Brennan tipped his head in acknowledgement and tented his fingers. “Yes, indeed. I’ve been talking with Vince about this for quite some time. You know how it is.”
Interesting. The way Geoff told it, Margoletti had approached the college out of the blue four months ago, taking everyone by surprise. Geoff had told me Margoletti had never given a big gift to dear old Lynthorpe before now, even after he joined the college’s board.
I smiled back at the president. “The collection will turn heads in the museum world, and the money he’s giving to build a new art gallery for it will mean your campus becomes a destination for scholars and the public.”
He frowned and the cleft in his chin became more pronounced. “Yes, and that’s why we can’t let anything cause problems, Ms. O’Rourke.”
“Dani, please,” I said, seeing where he was going. “I think that’s why Geoff hoped I might be of some help, to make sure this goes smoothly and that all the details about the gift are transparent right up front. The last thing you want is to find, for example, that any of the artwork has any competing claims of ownership pending at the time of the transfer.”
“God forbid,” he said sharply, as if it had only now occurred to him. “I’m sure Vince would never put us in that position.” He paused. “I’m afraid he might be insulted if we even mentioned it to him.” He looked and sounded far less pleasant all of a sudden.
“This is all routine, President Brennan. My guess is his lawyers, who are doing the valuation of the artwork, are way ahead of me on this.” If Vince Margoletti’s lawyers were half as aggressive as he was, the gift contract they were preparing was likely to have as few moving parts as a steel trap.
“I hope so. Vince surprised me the other day. Told me he absolutely wants this wrapped up right now for tax purposes. I’m afraid you have less time than we originally planned when Geoff Johnson and I first talked about having you help us out.”
****
Geoff had called to invite me to lunch a few weeks earlier. “I need to ask you a favor,” he had said on the phone. “I’ve already spoken to Peter about this, and he’s fine with it.” Peter Lindsey is my boss and the museum’s
director, and I was intrigued at what Geoff might have felt needed his approval.
“Lynthorpe College has been around a long time. I’m on the board there, you know.”
I did. I make it my business to know a lot about what our major donors do with their time and their disposable income. “You set up several scholarships and helped raise money to expand the business school, didn’t you?”
“Seemed only fair,” he said.
Fair enough, since he retired as the CEO of a Fortune 500 company a few years ago with a golden parachute, and lives pretty well. If Geoff’s undergraduate education had helped him get there in any way, some payback was in order.
“Something big’s about to happen to Lynthorpe,” he said. “Not public yet, but, frankly, it has the potential to change the college’s reputation, at least in the higher education world. So, are you free for a quick lunch?”
When the board chairman invites me to lunch, the only answer is yes. We met in the museum café. His smile was a bit strained and I heard him sigh.
“Something wrong?” I said. “You look a little down.”
“Ah, nothing to do with our meeting. A guy I knew jumped under a train down on the Peninsula. You never know what makes a person so desperate they’ll do something like that. I think a lot of people who knew him are sad and confused today.”
“I’m sorry. Anyone I’d know?”
“No, I don’t think so. Not a philanthropic guy so far as I know. Anyway, that’s not why I wanted to see you. I just got back from a board meeting at Lynthorpe. Everyone’s doing high fives, but I don’t think they’ve thought through some of the nuances of this gift.”
I speared a piece of lettuce from my salad. The lines on his face, part of being a veteran of the international business world, were etched a bit deeper today.
“All the way back on the plane, I was thinking about what they need right now. Dani, they need you.”
My mouth opened of its own accord, fortunately after I had swallowed the lettuce, but I didn’t say anything even though he seemed to be waiting for a response. In the awkward silence, I tried to decipher his meaning. He couldn’t mean I should quit the Devor and go to Lynthorpe, could he? Peter wouldn’t be okay with that, would he? Or, would he be glad to get rid of someone who seemed to attract trouble? It wasn’t fair—
Geoff interrupted my thoughts. “I’d better explain. The donation Lynthorpe is about to receive is coming from Vince Margoletti.”
“The Vincent Margoletti?” I said, finding my voice. “Silicon Valley attorney to the tech wizards, midwife to the hottest companies in the Valley?” And, added my always-prowling professional self, possessor of two of David Smith’s beautiful metal sculptures and a shocking and scandalously expensive piece by Damien Hirst? “Wasn’t he the subject of a hostile article in Forbes or Fortune last year?”
“The same.” Geoff sighed. “A classmate of mine at Lynthorpe and a fellow board member. He’s close to becoming a billionaire by now. Started collecting art recently.”
“I’ve heard a little about his acquisitions, of course—we all have. He has a handful of pieces Peter and the curators here would love to get, even on loan. You know becoming a collector at this stage of a successful career isn’t unusual,” I said. “Guy makes his fortune early, gets bored with the accumulation and starts looking to spend.”
Geoff put his untouched sandwich back on his plate. “We don’t move in the same business circles. My guess, though, is that he collects for investment purposes, rather than as a passion.”
“I get a sense he’s not your favorite person.”
“My friends in the tech industry imply he’s more feared than liked. Was one of the first in Silicon Valley to see the huge potential in hooking up with brilliant, young innovators, and became almost a good luck charm for a few of the biggest names in the new technologies. People say it went to his head, that he now believes he can do anything, and pushes some pretty questionable deals. He doesn’t scare me, but he’s not a guy I’d choose to go fishing with.”
“I don’t see where I fit into Lynthorpe’s situation, Geoff. I’m happy at the Devor, and I’m not a lawyer, much less plugged in to the tech world.”
“The president of the college and the dean of the liberal arts school have stars in their eyes and no experience handling a mega gift like this. I’d say the art alone is worth somewhere between eighty and a hundred million dollars, mainly because of a few celebrity works like the Hirst animal in formaldehyde. I thought you could consult with them, make sure everything’s as it should be before they accept Margoletti’s generosity.”
“I work in the museum world. Not the same thing as academia.”
Geoff gave me the look I’m betting he hit his own managers with in his days as a successful CEO. I still wasn’t sure what I could add that the college’s own staff couldn’t, but I was pretty sure I’d be visiting the campus. Since Geoff gives the Devor a six-figure gift and lots of social endorsements every year, I was willing to bet Peter would go along with anything short of sexual slavery or a three-month paid sabbatical.
“Is there something in particular that’s worrying you?” I said.
“This stays between us,” he said, pushing his plate away and tossing his napkin down.
“Of course.”
Geoff toyed with his spoon for a minute before looking up at me. “I admit it’s my prejudice that’s driving this request, Dani. Vince cut corners even in school. If there’s an angle to play on this gift, something that’s to his advantage but not necessarily to Lynthorpe’s, I’m sure he’ll play it.”
“Like what? Reneging on a pledge? Retaining partial ownership past a reasonable time?”
“I have no idea, but I think someone has to be watching the school’s back.”
My stomach muscles were tightening. “You don’t think something criminal’s going to happen, do you?”
“No, I can’t imagine what that might be, but I’d feel a hell of a lot better knowing you’ve walked the college’s staff through the process of accepting a gift this large and complex. You have the experience they lack.”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “First, the board needs to be sure he has the ability to write the big checks they need up front to revamp the art building so it can house and protect a world class collection. Second, the art needs to be guaranteed as to legal ownership and value for insurance purposes. You know how to do those things, while the president and the dean are too intimidated by Vince—and too eager—to be paying attention to the details.”
“We get that here too,” I said. “Even Peter occasionally gets impatient with me when I want to slow things down a bit before we accept a painting or promise to name a gallery.”
Geoff chuckled. “I remember one or two of those skirmishes, and that’s why I want you for this assignment. Lynthorpe’s financial vice president’s a solid guy. Spend some time with him and help us look the gift horse in the proverbial mouth. He’s agreed to my idea, and the college will pay your way and a reasonable consulting fee. You’ll love the campus. It’s small and quiet, set in the middle of rolling hills an hour from Boston. Beautiful this time of year.”
“So Peter’s okay with that?” I said, thinking about what I could do with some extra cash, like a week at a spa in Napa or the mouthwatering Gucci hobo bag that was in every fashion magazine this year.
“He says he can spare you for a week or two, which ought to be plenty.”
I stared at my coffee cup, thinking fast. I hadn’t taken any of my accumulated vacation for over a year. I wouldn’t be trekking in some remote area where my office couldn’t reach me. As long as my downstairs neighbor wasn’t planning a trip back to her native Quebec, she’d feed my cat every day if only in anticipation of the present I’d bring her back from Boston. A week at a quaint New England college in the full blush of an East Coast spring doing some straightforward due diligence on a transformative gift being offered by someone I probably wouldn’t even meet?
<
br /> “I’d love to. It’ll be a nice break from the routine.”
CHAPTER 2
President Brennan was still speaking. “Our own attorney isn’t concerned. Of course if someone like Geoff wants an extra pair of eyes looking at it I have no problem.” In other words, said my inner voice, he is going along with this only because Geoff’s pushing for it, not because he really believes it’s necessary.
Brennan and I chatted for another ten minutes, most of which was spent with him reminding me indirectly not to screw this up and me assuring him that I wouldn’t. He worried that the donation—what was being given and what not—might not have been properly spelled out in Margoletti’s letter of intent and hoped I’d take care of that discreetly. He looked relieved when the intercom on his desk buzzed, signaling that our meeting was over. As we exited into the reception room, a short, slender woman in her twenties with dark hair worn in a ponytail jumped up from the sofa and all but danced over to me, her hand outstretched.
“Ah, here she is. Dani, this is Gabriela Flores. She’ll be at your service while you’re here. Gabriela’s a researcher in the development office and she’s also a graduate of Lynthorpe.”
We said our hellos and left the president ushering in the next visitor in the same warm tones he used with me when our meeting began.
“So, how did your meeting with Mr. Saylor go?” the young woman asked me as I retraced my steps down the stairs and to the path outside the building in her wake.
I must have looked a little confused because she said, “He was going to be there, I thought.”
“He was leaving when I arrived. He introduced himself, but seemed in a hurry.” I wondered why he hadn’t stayed, and why Brennan hadn’t mentioned him.
Gabriela didn’t seem too concerned. “We’re all so glad you can help with this project.”
“All? I’d be surprised if everyone’s glad to have a consultant horning in right when things get exciting for the staff,” I said, laughing.
Mixed Up With Murder Page 1
