Absolutely, Positively

anyway?”

    “Just one more point on which we differ,” Harry said equably as he sat down. It would probably be a good idea to remind himself more frequently of how little they had in common, he thought. It would help restore a certain crucial distance. “I like New England-style clam chowder. You prefer the red kind which amounts to nothing more than some clams and potatoes floating around in tomato juice.”

    “A matter of opinion,” she said loftily. “Any luck with the grant proposals?”

    “No. It's going to take time to find what I'm looking for. If I have to go through all of the proposals it could take several days. The sort of details I'm after aren't obvious. They're subtle.”

    Molly tapped her plastic spoon impatiently against the rim of her chowder cup. “Days?”

    He looked up from his chowder. “You'll stay with me until we nail the bastard.”

    “I will?”

    “Do you really want to go back to that big old spooky house by yourself every night and stay there all alone? Wondering what the son-of-a-bitch's next little trick will be?”

    “It's not spooky.” Molly closed her eyes and shuddered. “But, you're right. I'm not sure I want to stay there alone at the moment.” Then she eyed him through her lashes. “I could stay with my aunt.”

    “And draw the prankster's attention to her house?”

    A shocked expression lit Molly's eyes. “Oh, my God. I can't do that.”

    “You'll be safe at my condo. The doormen are on duty twenty-four hours a day. They won't let anyone into the building who isn't supposed to be there.”

    “If you're sure,” she said hesitantly.

    “I'm sure.”

    “Well, maybe just until we identify the prankster,” she clarified.

    “Right. Until we know who's behind this.” It was settled. She would stay with him. Harry suppressed a rush of pleasure. “I'll start looking for our rejected inventor immediately.”

    “You really think you can pick his work out of that pile of grant proposals?”

    “Given time, yes.”

    Molly shook her head. “Amazing. It'll take hours of work.”

    “I know you're not the patient type,” Harry said quietly.

    “But you are?”

    He shrugged. “It usually pays off.”

    “Just another little example of how different we are?” she asked smoothly. “Like our different tastes in clam chowder?”

    “Out of curiosity, which type of chowder does Gordon Brooke prefer?” Harry asked before he could stop himself. “Red or white?”

    “Gordon?” Molly wrinkled her nose. “Red, I think.”

    “Naturally.”

    “Why do you say that?”

    “It strikes me that you and Brooke have a lot in common.”

    “Not really,” she said much too swiftly.

    “You're both entrepreneurs.” Harry knew for certain now that he was on to something important. “You both sell similar products to a similar market base. Seems like you two would have a lot to talk about.”

    “Like what?”

    “Business problems,” Harry suggested. “Taxes. City government regulations on small businesses. That sort of thing.”

    “Okay, so we have some business problems in common. Big deal.”

    “You're both single,” Harry pointed out.

    “So?”

    “So, I sensed a certain informality between the two of you,” Harry said dryly.

    “What is this? The Trevelyan Inquisition? All right, Gordon and I have known each other for a couple of years. We don't have so much in common, however, that I intend to loan him fifty grand from the Abberwick Foundation.”

    Damn, Harry thought.So that's what this is all about. The sucker is trying to use her . He ripped open a tiny packet of pepper. “Fifty thousand?”

    “Uh-huh.” Molly concentrated on her chowder.

    “That's a lot of money.”

    “Gordon needs cash. He got overextended. He says he's in financial trouble. He's already had to close two of his espresso bars.”

    “Talk about raw nerve.” Harry dumped the pepper onto his chowder and tossed the empty packet aside in disgust. “He actually tried to convince you that his business plans qualify as an invention worthy of the backing of the Abberwick Foundation?”

    “Something like that.” Molly's brows drew together in a small frown. “He's been after me for several weeks now, but he didn't tell me that he was actually on the brink of bankruptcy until today.”

    “He probably saved the sob story for the last-ditch effort.”

    Molly's fingers tightened on the handle of her spoon. “He must be desperate to confess that he's