Arthur nodded slowly and backed toward the bar, his eyes sliding away before I could speak again.

“People who eat at our table don’t audit the silver, Vivian,” Eleanor whispered in my ear, her voice dropping into a flat, smooth purr.

“The Mercer Ridge transfer was forty-one thousand two hundred dollars,” I said, keeping my voice down as two county commissioners walked by.

“That isn’t silver, Eleanor.

That’s foundation principal.”

Eleanor smiled past my shoulder at the mayor’s wife, took a glass of ginger ale from a passing tray, and slipped it into my right hand.

“Drink your drink and smile, my dear.