He shrugged. “It just sounds like Mab to me. She probably thought that if she put her collection on view, they’d rename the museum after her. Or one of the wings, at the very least. Although I doubt she realized just how soon she’d be requesting that honor.”

I grinned. “I was more than happy to help her with that.”

“I know you were.” Finn returned my evil grin. “Either way, I still want to know what’s going to happen to the rest of her estate. Mab had to leave all of her stuff to somebody, didn’t she?”

It was a conversation we’d had more than once since Mab’s death—wondering what was going to become of all of her earthly possessions. Oh, most of her business interests—especially the illegal ones—had already been snapped up by the other crime bosses. But her Northtown mansion was just sitting there, with all of her things still inside it. I was mildly surprised that no one had gotten it into his or her head to loot the mansion yet, but I supposed the specter of Mab still loomed too large for that.

Mab didn’t have any family that I was aware of, but that didn’t mean much. For all I knew, there might be a cousin or two lurking around somewhere, maybe even another, closer relative. But so far, Finn hadn’t been able to find out anything about what was going to become of her things.

“But we might not have to wait too much longer to learn who Mab left what to,” Finn continued. “Rumor has it that the museum director is going to read a statement that Mab had written about the exhibit—along with her will.”

“That’s strange too, isn’t it?” I asked. “Shouldn’t McAllister have done whatever he needed to do with Mab’s will by now? Why would she arrange it so the contents were announced here?”

He shrugged. “Maybe so she could have one last hurrah, even if she’s not around to actually enjoy it.”

“Or maybe she didn’t fully trust McAllister to see that her wishes were carried out.”

“Would you?”

“Good point.”

“But enough about all that,” Finn said, straightening his bow tie just a bit. “We’re at a party, the night is young, and I look fabulous.” He paused a moment. “And so do you.”

“Good to know where I stand in your list of priorities. Although I don’t know if fabulous is the word I would use,” I muttered, and crossed my arms over my chest. “I told you that I at least wanted something with sleeves.”

“And I told you that sometimes you just have to suffer for fashion.”

I gave him a sour look, which he totally ignored.