Chapter 4 - The Missing Winter Fund

Some numbers are too large to understand when you first hear them. A million dollars. Twelve hundred thousand. Enough to keep Bellweather's heating system running for years, enough to give families a warm place to sleep.

Ruth steadied herself. “That money belonged to the shelter.”

Walter stared at Camille. “You had no right to discuss this.”

“I had every right,” she said. “I'm the foundation's finance director.”

I almost laughed. Camille had spent years talking about her charity galas as though choosing napkin colors counted as serving the poor. Until that night, I had never asked who approved the transfers.

“Where is the money?” I said.

“No one stole it,” Camille replied. “Funds were moved while investments matured.”

“Moved where?”

“You wouldn't understand the structure.”

“Try me.”

Daniel set Owen safely in the portable bassinet by the tree, beside us and within our view. Then he stood at my shoulder. “The financial report was supposed to be ready last week.”

Camille's confidence slipped. “Peter's working on it.”

Peter Lang, Bellweather's accountant, had been Camille's friend since college. He never attended the shelter's volunteer dinners. He drove an expensive car and told anyone who asked that he was simply good at saving.

I took out my phone. “I'm calling Bellweather's director.”

Walter reached across the table. “You will not make a spectacle of us on Christmas.”

I stepped back before he could touch me. “I just watched your daughter throw soup toward my child. We're past worrying about appearances.”

“Your child wasn't hurt,” Camille snapped.

Every head turned.

Daniel's voice sharpened. “You don't get to decide what counts as hurting him.”

My phone connected. “Mara? It's Nora. I'm sorry to call tonight. I need to ask about the winter fund.”

Mara's response came so fast that my stomach sank.

“Oh, thank God. I was about to call you. Somebody ordered us to clear the shelter by tomorrow morning.”

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I pressed the phone closer. “Who?”

“There's a notice on the door,” she said. “It has your name on it.”