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“But we’re pretty sure we’re right,” adds Morgan.

Quint’s frown deepens. I can see him contemplating. Not believing me, but…wantingto.

“Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll bite.”

“Oh, thank god,” says Ezra. “The suspense was killing me.”

Quint glances at him, then at the array of champagne flutes. “Could you—”

“On it,” says Ezra, taking the napkins. “Just bring me juicy details when you’re done.”

Quint leads me and Morgan through an Employees Only door, past a break room where chefs from Blue’s Burgers are piling cheeseburgers on top of largeplatters—Morgan makes a face, but refrains from saying anything. We end up in the small corridor beside the theater’s back exit. A bag of trash is sitting in the corner, waiting to be taken out to the alley. A corkboard holds an array of required government materials, outlining discrimination and sexual harassment policies. The papers look like they haven’t been updated in thirty years.

“Well?” says Quint, crossing his arms over his chest. “Go ahead. If you didn’t steal that money, who did?”

FORTY-SIX

Quint looks pale as he finishes reading the article that Jude found online. “How could we not have known about this?”

“I’m sure she didn’t mention it on her résumé,” I say. “If your mom didn’t go out of her way to look her up, she wouldn’t have known.”

“And who’s going to bother to cyberstalk a cute little old lady like Shauna?” says Morgan. “Plus, I mean, your mom is great at a lot of things, but she’s not really a businesswoman. She wants to save animals, not worry about bookkeeping. She was probably so happy to have someone to hand those responsibilities off to, she might not have bothered to check out her credentials.”

Quint nods slowly, like this makes sense to him. He hands Morgan back her phone, then his arms fall to his sides. He looks dazed. “She’s been here since I was a little kid. She could have stolen…” He doesn’t finish. Who knows how much money she could have embezzled in that time period.

“Now, we don’t know for sure that she’s been stealing money,” I say. “We need to find a way to prove it.”

“But,” adds Morgan, “if she is doing it, there’s a good chance she’s taking money tonight, from the fundraiser.”

Quint blinks at us. “What do you mean?”

“You know how people could opt to give an extra donation when they bought their tickets?” I ask.

“Yeah, but… it didn’t work. Nobody…” His eyes widen and he pusheshimself off the wall. “No. She’s the one who told us that. She’s the one who’s been tracking the sales. She’s the one who linked the sales to our bank account.”

“So she could have linked the donations portion toheraccount,” I say.

He makes a frustrated sound, dragging his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe this. How could she? We trusted her!”

“This is all still speculation,” says Morgan. “But it seems like a good guess.”

Quint waves this comment away, and I don’t blame him. But still, I want proof. I want my name to be cleared for good.

“Is there any way for us to see how the ticket sales were linked up? If she really is having the money siphoned straight into her personal account…”

He nods, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah. Maybe. I think so. Um. Give me a minute.” He takes out his phone and walks away, not out of sight, but far enough that I can’t tell what he’s doing. Morgan and I exchange glances. This corridor shares a wall with the theater, and though the soundproofing is decent, every now and then I can catch bits of Rosa’s speech. Not what she’s saying, but the passion in her tone.

Quint holds the phone to his ear, making a call. I frown. Is he calling the police?

The crowd in the theater erupts in cheers. Morgan inhales a long breath. “Dinnertime.”

I nod. Nothing will be resolved tonight. We should let Rosa enjoy the gala. We don’t need to make a scene.

But I want to enjoy the gala, too. I want to be here, to be a part of this. I don’t want people to look at me and see the selfish girl that took money from animals in need.

And, if Shauna is guilty, I really don’t want her to get away with this for a minute longer.

It seems like Quint’s conversation goes on forever. He keeps his voice low. There’s a lot of uh-huhing, a lot of okaying, and a lot of numbers, which doesn’t make any sense to me.