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some of Herbie's old business buddies.  And, yes, I did hit them up on

Townsend's behalf, and, yes, they responded generously.  I'm good at

fund-raising.  That is, after all, why I was helping Townsend."

"And what about Diane Curtin?  And what about the MTK Group's Railroad

District projects?"

She laughed.  "If you think I have any idea what Herbie's friends

actually do to earn the money I help them spend, you are terribly

mistaken.  As for Diana Curtin "

"Diane," I corrected.

"Whatever.  It sounds familiar, but you're going to have to give me

more information."

"You told me you hadn't heard of Gunderson "

"And I hadn't until just now, that is," she said.

"Diane Curtin's his daughter, and she and her husband, Thomas, are also

among your generous contributors."

"Well, that explains where I've heard of her, then."

"So why don't you tell me why Gunderson's daughter just happens to

write a fifty-thousand-dollar check to Townsend days before Clarissa

rules in his favor?"

She looked at me incredulously.  "I like you, Samantha, I really do.

But you are seriously pissing me off right now."

I shook my head and had to laugh.  It was hard not to like her back.

"Not a nice feeling, is it?"

"No, it's not," she said, laughing as well.  "I don't know what you

think I know, but you're totally off base.  And you're lucky I'm not

easily offended."

"And you're lucky I'm not either.  There are too many coincidences

here.  I think you knew Gunderson through Herbie and his friends, and

that you might have thrown Clarissa and Town-send his way when

Gunderson didn't get the license he needed.  If we get this squared

away, it doesn't need to be messy.  But if it drags out, you can bet

that Jackson's defense attorney will do everything he can to haul each

and every one of you into court."

She looked at me, mulling over what I'd said.  "There might be

something, but it's not what you're suggesting, at least not my part of

it.  In fact, I didn't even realize the possibility of it until just

now when you were talking about MTK."

"So explain it to me."

"What about Townsend?  He'll lose everything.  His hospital

appointment, his reputation.  He could even lose his license."

"And all that's still going to happen if this comes out at Jackson's

trial.  But if we take that road, Jackson might go free."

She swallowed before she spoke next.  "Gunderson," she said.  "You say

there's some connection between him and MTK?"

I nodded.

"About a year ago, Carl Matthews he's the president of MTK "

I nodded again.

"You have done your research," she said.  "Carl Matthews and Herbie

were friends from way back, and when Carl and his wife had a party

about a year ago, I took Townsend and Clarissa so Townsend and I could

talk up the new hospital wing to Carl.  There were a ton of guests

there.  Maybe Gunderson was one of them.  Townsend could have met him

then."

I pulled the photograph of Gunderson from my briefcase.

"Maybe he looks familiar," she said.  "It was quite a while ago, and I

really wasn't paying attention, but he might have been there."

So much for a conclusive ID.  "Was your husband involved in MTK?"  I

asked, tucking the photo away.

"Sure," she said, seeming to assume that I'd already known.  "He was

the K. Matthews, Tykeson, and Kerr.  The boys made lots of money back

in the day.  Tykeson's retired, and Herbie s gone, of course, but the

letters live on through Carl."

"So are you part of the company then?"

"Oh, God, no.  The estate handled all that stuff, but Carl essentially

bought Herbie's interest in the company after he died."

"Did you know that MTK had a judgment against Gunderson's old company

'back in the day," as you say?"

That seemed to take her by surprise.  "Like I said, I've never heard of

Gunderson.  But I can see why you said there were so many coincidences

here.  Maybe I was wrong about that dinner party, then.  I can't

imagine Gunderson would pal around with someone who sued him, right?"

"Not unless they've put the bad blood behind them.  The judgment was

taken right before Gunderson filed bankruptcy.  I guess he's worked his

way up since then."

"Well, that makes a little more sense.  I mean, if a guy's going to

file bankruptcy, it doesn't hurt if his partners are at the front of

the line."

I hadn't thought about it from that perspective before.  If someone

knew he was about to go under, high-dollar civil judgments against him

would help soften the blow for his business buddies by helping them

recover at least some of the money through the bankruptcy court.

"I can give you Carl Matthews's phone number," Susan offered.  "I'm

sure he wouldn't mind talking to you about Gunderson."

"Susan, I just got done telling you Matthews might also be part of

this."

"Or maybe he's not," she said.  "You won't know until you ask him, will

you?"

No longer on the defensive, Susan Kerr was back to taking care of

everybody.  She was jotting down a phone number from the Rolodex on her

kitchen counter.  "I can also print out a list of all of the donors I

know about for the hospital project."

"Sure," I said.  "I've got one already, but yours might be more

up-to-date."

"And I've got a bunch of Herbie's old files and books and things

downstairs if you've got any interest in them.  Who knows, maybe he's

got something on Gunderson, right?"

She started toward the basement, and as I trailed behind her down the

stairs, I wondered when the tide had shifted.  Talking to Chuck, I had

been convinced that I would be leaving this house with a cooperating

witness, armed with the substantiated facts I'd need to build a case

against Gunderson and whoever else was involved.  Now, I was tiptoeing

through Susan's basement, trying not to lose one of my fancy new shoes

in the construction chaos, on my way to leaving with nothing but yet

another pile of documents.  How did that happen?

I checked out the basement while Susan began dredging through some old

file cabinets in the corner, pulling out piles of paper and stacking

them next to her.  From what I could tell, she was completely

refinishing the place into a home gym and a walk-in wine cellar.

"Wow," I said, peeking in.  "There must be room in here for a thousand

bottles."

"Twelve hundred actually.  Go ahead.  Check it out."

I stepped into the room, stroking the smooth mahogany cubbies.  "This

is amazing," I said.