Absolutely, Positively

it is.” Harry was thrown off-balance by her sudden shift of mood. “Very useful jargon. It can be applied to any number of situations. Save the foundation's money for a more deserving applicant, Molly. This Duncan Brockway character is trying to take you for twenty grand.”

    Molly gave a resigned-sounding groan and threw herself back down onto the sofa. “Okay, I surrender. Sorry I lost my temper. But I'm really getting frustrated, Harry. I've got a lot of things to do. I can't spend all of my time trying to get grant proposals past you.”

    The storm was past. Harry did not know whether or not to breathe a sigh of relief. “Being a trustee of a foundation is time-consuming.”

    “Brockway's plan seemed like such a brilliant idea,” Molly said wistfully. “Just think, a battery that can generate power from moonlight.”

    “Con artists aren't brilliant. They just have an incredible amount of audacity.” Harry eyed her with sudden speculation. “And charm.”

    Molly winced. “All right, so I liked Duncan Brockway. He seemed very earnest and sincere when I interviewed him.”

    “I don't doubt that.” So the bastard had tried to sweet-talk her into giving him the money, Harry thought. It came as no surprise. Nevertheless, it annoyed him. “Brockway was very earnestly and sincerely trying to get twenty thousand dollars from the Abberwick Foundation.”

    Molly scowled. “That's not fair. Duncan's an inventor, not a con man. Just a dreamer who wanted to make his dreams come true. I come from a long line of such people. The Abberwick Foundation exists to help them.”

    “You told me that the mandate of the foundation is to fund serious inventors who can't get government or corporate backing for their projects.”

    “I believe that Duncan Brockway is serious.” Molly lifted one shoulder in an elegant little shrug. “So maybe his plans were somewhat overenthusiastic. That's not unusual in an inventor.”

    “And he seemed like such a nice man,” Harry muttered.

    “Well, he did.”

    “Molly, if there's one thing I know, it's con artists. You hired me to weed them out for you, remember?”

    “I hired you to help me select the best grant proposals and to choose funding applicants who present innovative concepts.”

    “And to ferret out the scams.”

    “Okay, okay. You win. Again.”

    “This isn't supposed to be a battle,” Harry said wearily. “I'm just trying to do my job.”

    “Sure.”

    “I know that the foundation money is burning a hole in your pocket, but there will be plenty of opportunities to give it away.”

    “I'm beginning to wonder about that.”

    “You don't want to be too hasty. Selecting legitimate applicants takes time. It should be done cautiously and deliberately.” The same way a man should select a lover, Harry thought.

    “Uh-huh.” Molly glanced at the crammed bookcases that covered two walls of the large living room. “How long have you been doing this kind of consulting?”

    “Officially? About six years.” Harry frowned at the sudden change of topic. “Why?”

    “Just curious.” She gave him a sublimely innocent smile. “You've got to admit it's an unusual career. There aren't a lot of people who specialize in detecting fraudulent grant applications. How did you get started?”

    Harry wondered where this was going. The woman changed directions faster than alternating current. “A few years ago an acquaintance who was overseeing a government-funded project became suspicious of some of the test results. He asked me if I would take a look at the methodology the grant recipient claimed to be using. I did. It was immediately clear that the outcome of the experiments had been rigged.”

    “Immediately clear?” Molly's eyes widened with sudden interest. “You realized the guy was a fake right away?”

    “Yes.”

    “Just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

    Harry did not want to go into a detailed explanation of just how it had become evident to him that an elaborate fraud had been perpetrated. “Let's just say I have a feel for that kind of thing.”

    “A feel for it?” Molly sat forward, obviously intrigued. “You mean you're psychic or something?”

    “Hell, no, I'm not psychic.” Harry grabbed the teapot and forced himself to pour more of the Darjeeling into his cup. He was pleased to see that not so much as a single drop splashed on the glass table. His hands were as steady as ever. “That's a crazy thing to suggest. Do