Chapter Nine
“Uh-oh,” breathed Luna. “Now what did we do?”
I frowned. “Is he . . . smiling?”
Wilson was. In fact, he was positively beaming. Never having seen quite such a delighted expression on his face, I wondered if he’d had a small stroke.
“The phone call I just took was someone interested in making a donation,” he said.
Luna groaned. “Don’t tell me. A complete collection of National Geographic magazines again.”
“Or, perhaps, several hundred Reader’s Digest condensed books?” I suggested.
Wilson shook his head, eyes glowing. “You’re both wrong, for once. No, she wants to donate money.”
“Money?” chorused Luna and me.
Wilson said, “Money. A real gift, too. Substantial.” He frowned. I’ll have to figure out where those old gift record forms are. And the receipts for donor tax dedu
