Absolutely, Positively

finance someone's grant proposal.”

    Harry stared at the road ahead as it all started to come together in a rush of crystal clear perfection. The theory assumed form and substance with such speed that he could only marvel at how he had overlooked the obvious for so long.

    “Last night,” he said carefully, “when I walked into your shop, you were assuring Brooke that you wouldn't be idiotic enough to turn control of the foundation assets over to anyone else.”

    “Darn right.”

    “Molly, what does happen to those assets if you're out of the picture?”

    “Huh?”

    “You heard me. If something happened to you, would Kelsey become the trustee of the Abberwick Foundation?”

    “Not until she's twenty-eight. I drew up the papers that way because I didn't want her to get stuck with the burden of running the foundation until she'd had a chance to finish school and get started on a career.”

    “Who becomes the trustee if you're gone?”

    “Aunt Venicia.”

    Harry whistled soundlessly. “I should have seen it from the beginning.”

    “What on earth are you talking about? Surely you aren't about to accuse Aunt Venicia of plotting to murder me? That's ludicrous. She could care less about running the foundation.”

    “Not her. The man she's going to marry.”

    Molly stared at him, stunned. “Oh, my God. Cutter Latteridge.”

19

    Molly panicked. “Stop the car. I have to get to a phone. I've got to warn Aunt Venicia.”

    “Take it easy,” Harry said. “Venicia is safe enough for the moment. Cutter isn't married to her yet. If he harms her now, she's useless to him. He needs her alive until after the wedding.”

    “That's true, isn't it? He doesn't stand a chance of getting his hands on the foundation until after the marriage.” Molly closed her eyes in a silent prayer of gratitude. “Thank heavens Aunt Venicia insisted on a big wedding that takes weeks to plan.”

    “Yes.”

    “But what are we going to do?”

    “Nothing for the moment.” Harry's elegant hands flexed on the wheel. “We haven't got a dime's worth of proof that Latteridge is behind this. We need background information on him. If he's an expert, he'll have a history. I'll get Fergus on it immediately.”

    Molly began to calm down. As soon as she was thinking clearly again, the questions descended in a flood. “This is wild. How on earth could Cutter have planned and carried out such a bizarre scenario?”

    “Whoever he is, he's set up elaborate schemes before. This isn't the work of an amateur. He knows how to take care of the details.” Harry's expression became very intent. “At least when it comes to the window dressing part. He's not so good at murder.”

    “For which we can thank our lucky stars.”

    “All right,” Harry continued, “we're dealing with a professional con artist. As I said, he's probably got a record of some kind. We'll find it and use it to focus the attention of the authorities on him.”

    Molly considered. “He knew about the Abberwick Foundation. Only someone who is familiar with the world of inventors and invention would have been aware of my father and the fact that he had made arrangements to establish the foundation.”

    “True. He could have met your father or your uncle at one time.”

    “I doubt it.”

    “Why?” Harry asked. “I certainly knew about your father's work long before I met you. A lot of people involved in the commercial application of robotic devices were aware of Jasper Abberwick.”

    “I suppose so,” Molly agreed.

    The storm that had been threatening for the past few hours finally struck. Rain splashed on the windshield. Harry switched on the wiper blades.

    The drive toward Portland continued in silence for several miles. Molly glanced at Harry from time to time, aware that he had fallen into one of his thoughtful moods. She knew that he was examining the problem of Cutter Latteridge from every possible angle. She could almost feel his razorsharp intellect dissecting the situation.

    “When, precisely, did Latteridge first appear on the scene?” Harry finally asked.

    “I told you, Aunt Venicia met him on a cruise that she took in the spring. Why?”

    “I'm trying to figure out the timing,” Harry said. He lapsed back into silence.

    A few miles later he spoke again. “I think I've got enough to give Rice. I'm going to find a phone.”

    A short while later a gas station loomed in the mist. Harry slowed the car and eased it off the road