Absolutely, Positively

Trevelyan. I'll bet that I can find lots of people who can say it. Some of them probably charge a good deal less than you do, too.”

    “But will they say yes when they should say it?” he asked softly.

    “All right, so maybe another consultant will screw up now and then, and I'll make some grants to the wrong people.” She dismissed that possibility with a wave of her hand. “You know what the French say, you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. At least something will get done.”

    “Half a million dollars a year is more than a few eggs. You're assuming that you can even find another academic specialist here in Seattle who possesses the historical perspective as well as the scientific and engineering expertise to advise you.”

    She looked down her strong, assertive little nose at him. “I don't see why it should be so difficult to find someone else to do this kind of consulting.”

    Harry realized with a sense of amazement that he was actually getting angry. He quickly suppressed the sensation. He would not allow Molly to set a match to his temper.

    “You're welcome to try, of course,” he said politely.

    Molly's soft mouth tightened. She tapped the toe of one suede pump and regarded him with an expression of simmering irritation. Harry said nothing. They both knew that her odds of finding anyone else with his peculiar combination of qualifications was bleak.

    “Damn,” Molly said eventually.

    Harry sensed a minor victory. “You're going to have to be patient, Molly.”

    “Says who? I'm the sole trustee of the foundation. I can be as impatient as I want.”

    “This argument is degenerating.”

    “Yes, it is, isn't it?” Molly brightened. “And you know what? It feels good. I've been wanting to say a few things to you for days, Dr. Trevelyan.”

    “Harry will do.”

    She smiled grimly. “Oh, no, I wouldn't dream of calling you just plain Harry. Harry doesn't suit you at all, Dr. Harry Stratton Trevelyan, Ph.D., author, lecturer, and noted detector of scientific fraud.” She threw out a hand to indicate the three copies of his latest book that sat on a nearby shelf. “You're much too pompous and arrogant to be a mere Harry.”

    Harry became aware of a faint, unfamiliar staccato sound. He looked down and discovered that he was drumming his finger against the arm of the sofa. With an effort of will he made himself stop.

    He was an idiot even to contemplate trying to salvage his tenuous connection with Molly. He had enough problems in his life.

    But the thought of never seeing her again suddenly conjured up an image of a glass bridge stretched over an abyss. It was an old and terrifying mental picture. He pushed it back into the shadows with every ounce of will at his command.

    “Why don't you sit down, Molly?” he said, determined to regain control of the situation. “You're a businesswoman. Let's discuss this in a businesslike manner.”

    “There's nothing to discuss. You said no to Duncan Brockway's grant proposal, remember? And your opinion seems to be the only one that counts around here.”

    “I vetoed this particular funding request because it's clearly a scam. It's an obvious attempt to defraud the Abberwick Foundation of twenty thousand dollars.”

    Molly folded her arms beneath her breasts and regarded him with belligerent challenge. “You really believe that?”

    “Yes.”

    “You're certain?”

    “Yes.”

    “Positive?” she asked far too sweetly.

    “Yes.”

    “It must be nice to be so sure of yourself.”

    Harry did not respond to that goad.

    Silence fell.

    “I really liked Duncan's proposal,” Molly said finally.

    “I know.”

    She flashed him a quick, searching look, as if sensing weakness. “There's no hope at all?”

    “None.”

    “Not even a shred of a possibility that Brockway has hit upon a fundamentally new concept?”

    “No. I can run the proposal past a friend of mine at the University of Washington who is an expert on energy sources, if you want confirmation. But he'll back me up. There is no valid scientific basis for Brockway's concept of generating power from moonlight in any manner that is even remotely analogous to the collection of solar power. The technology he proposes to use does not exist, and the theory behind the whole project is pure bull.”

    Amusement briefly replaced the anger in Molly's eyes. “Pure bull? Is that some kind of specialized technical jargon?”

    “Yes, as a matter of fact,