I winked at him, folded the paper, and tucked it into my pocket.

“It says, ‘I want to be a secret agent, too,’” he whispered, and I gently kicked him.

Afraid that he might say something else, the rest of the meal seemed agonizingly slow. I just hoped Harriet and I could glean what we needed from the Feed the Need records tomorrow morning and then act before Carlos accidentally clued in the murderer that he was aware of my investigation. I didn’t want him to be in any danger.

I was feeling more and more certain that the financial funny business that Wendell had uncovered at Feed the Need was the root cause of his murder. Someone had been stealing money from the nonprofit organization by privately selling assets, terminating staff, and cutting costs. Wendell had caught them when he realized they were selling properties around the world and then diverting the proceeds. The question was, who had been doing it, and where was that money now? I was working out a theory, but I needed more evidence to support it.

“Sidra,” Marion said suddenly, raising her glass of juice, “I must tell you how pleased I am that you and Carlos have joined us for dinner tonight. We have been missing you at the table.”

I could see Sidra color slightly before she replied.

“We’re here out of respect for Wendell,” Sidra said. “Family is still family, especially on the day of burial.”

I glanced at Derek, who was looking at Sidra with deep emotion. She went back to eating, but Derek continued to watch her.

“Sidra,” he said finally. “May I speak with you privately, please?”

She seemed about to protest, but she looked up at his face, hesitated, and simply nodded. Together, they rose from the table, and I could see him take her elbow as he guided her from the room.

“I wonder what that’s about,” Marion said once they were gone.

“Probably more of their shenanigans,” Judith said, taking a bite of roast. I felt a surge of anger toward her, which quickly dissolved into disgust. Carlos jabbed me under the table, and I gave him a stern glance that I hoped would shut him up.

“So Marion,” I said, grasping for something, anything, to change the subject. “I’m sorry I haven’t yet extended condolences on behalf of my boss. I know he would’ve wanted to be here with you at this time if he could.”

Marion paused in her eating, her face surprised.

“But Callie,” she protested. “He was there.”

“Who?”

“Tom.”

“There where?”

“At the cemetery.”

“Tom was at the cemetery?”

“Yes. He sat right behind me, dear. You mean you didn’t speak with him?”

I was too embarrassed to admit that Tom and I had never actually met in person, that I wouldn’t have known him even if I had seen him.

“No—”