Let's Play Dead (17 page)

“I am. Barney, good to see you again.”

Barney stood out of courtesy but said, “I think I’ll hang around for a while. Nice to meet you, Nell—and I’ll be coming around soon to check out your records!”

The next morning I was editing the agenda for the Executive
Committee meeting when I looked up to see Marty Terwilliger slouched against the door frame.

“You busy?” she asked.

“I’m always busy these days, but I can make time for you. Do you need something?”

Marty came in and sat down with a thunk that had me worrying about the chair. “We need to talk about the Executive Committee meeting.”

That was something I’d been putting off. Since I’d only held this job for a couple of months, I wasn’t exactly settled into a routine yet. The Society’s full board met quarterly, and the last one had been a doozy; most board members had gone away stunned and baffled. The Executive Committee was a subset of the board, made up of the core members who actually got things done, including Marty, and I had scheduled a committee meeting for tonight. Marty was right: we needed to talk about progress or lack thereof; I hadn’t even finished my reports. It was going to be another busy day.

I sighed. “In general, or you have some particular issues?”

“Both.” Marty laughed at the look on my face. “Relax. You’re doing as well as anybody could have expected, under the circumstances. But the board needs reassurance, and there are some specific issues we need to review. Assuming, of course, that you don’t waste a lot of time on the Let’s Play problem?”

“Why would I? Although Hadley Eastman dropped in on me, with steam coming out of her ears.”

“Why?”

“Why was Hadley here, or why was she steaming? She thinks I told Arabella that I thought
she
might have been the target of the incident, which I didn’t. Well, not exactly.”

Marty snorted. “Hadley Eastman apparently thinks everything is about her and her damned hedgehog. From what I’ve heard, she’s a real drama queen. She’s gone through three publicists in the last couple of years.”

“And you know this how?” I was always amazed at what and who Marty knew. She was definitely plugged into a lot of social networks—the kind that predated electronics.

“One of my nieces worked for her for a short while. She quit. Said Hadley treated her like a slave and never even said thank you.”

“Based on my very short acquaintance, that doesn’t surprise me. That’s how she treated Chloe, the assistant who was with her when she came to my office. But she
is
successful.”

“Maybe.”

I cocked my head at Marty. “Maybe? Have you heard something?”

Marty shrugged. “A friend of mine said that her books aren’t selling as well as they used to. Publishing is fickle—one day you’re hot, the next day you’re not. Maybe this whole mess is a boost for her sagging career.”

“Marty! Are you saying she electrocuted someone just to sell books?”

“Gets her name in the papers, doesn’t it? Look, I’m only guessing. But from what I’ve heard, I wouldn’t put it past her. Of course, she wouldn’t get her own hands dirty, but I’m sure she could find someone to do it for her.”

“Well, I assume the police will look into that. She said they’d paid her a call.”

“Good for them. That Hrivnak woman isn’t stupid, even if she lacks tact. Uh, there’s one other thing . . .” Marty glanced over her shoulder, then got up and closed the door. “It’s about Arabella.”

Now I was really curious. There was something to know about Arabella that required closed doors? “Is this something I need to know?”

“Maybe. I just thought I’d fill you in on some of the background, in case it comes up in this investigation. I think I told you already that she’s divorced, and the split was messy?”

“Yes. And I’ve met her daughter.”

“The divorce happened, oh, about twenty years ago, I guess.”

I laughed. “Marty, I was in high school then. Even if I had been here, I wouldn’t have paid any attention to Philadelphia gossip.”

“Oh, right—I forget you’re just a baby. Anyway, it wasn’t pretty. Arabella was married to a blue-collar guy, and she was working in some low-level position at Let’s Play. Like front desk, or maybe it was the gift shop. Her daughter was pretty young. The guy left her, and she was stuck with the kid and the mortgage. She really struggled for a while.”

“So how did she end up running Let’s Play?”

“I’ll give her credit—she hauled herself out of the pits, without any help. I can’t imagine how she managed, but she kept the job and worked her way up. She took night classes in business administration, to fill out her résumé. She worked damned hard—and made friends with all the board, which didn’t hurt. I’ve got to say I admire her. She may seem sweet, but she’s got some real grit.”

I tried to read between the lines of what Marty was saying. “Are you telling me she’s a phony?”

Marty shook her head vehemently. “No, not at all. From everything I’ve ever heard, she really is a nice person. But you see the sweetness up front—there’s some steel behind it.”

“You think she had something to do with what’s happened?”

“No, I’m not saying that. She’s worked too hard to make the place what it is, and no way would she jeopardize it. It just doesn’t fit. Just keep in mind, she’s a lot tougher than she looks.”

“Has she made enemies along the way?”

“Maybe. There’s always somebody whose nose is out of joint about what’s being done, or what’s not. Look, Nell, you’re in a position to know something about all this. You’ve worked at several different places, and you know people at others. Isn’t there always some malcontent on the staff, someone who thinks he or she got passed over or isn’t getting enough attention? That kind of thing can fester. Maybe that’s what happened.”

I nodded. “I can see that, I guess. It just seems so incongruous, when you apply it to a children’s museum. Everything there is supposed to be cheery and happy.”

“That’s the way they want it to look, and believe me, they work hard to keep up that public image. But it’s a business, like any other. Have the police decided whether the death was accidental or deliberate?”

“If they have, they haven’t shared it with me. But the very fact that Detective Hrivnak is looking into it says something. She is a homicide detective, after all. By the way, I talked to an electrician—I’ll fill you in on what he said about the Society’s wiring—and he told me how the accident could have happened. I say
could
because he’d have to have more details to be sure. But how do we know if the person who set it up was thinking about murder? Maybe he just wanted a nasty accident, but not a death. Assuming, of course, that it wasn’t just sloppy work. Still, I could see one mistake, but two separate events? That has to be deliberate, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe. Anyway, that’s not something we should worry about. So—the meeting. What’ve you got on the agenda?” And we turned to the business of the Society. I was happy to tell her that we had no new problems since I’d taken the helm, but unfortunately most of the old ones were still with us. Marty outlined what she thought were the most pressing issues at the moment, most of which I’d already included on my agenda—they didn’t change much from one meeting to the next. Then we went over the one-page agenda I’d prepared, and Marty agreed with my priorities.

When we were wrapping up, I added, “We need a new registrar.”

“I know. I haven’t forgotten. You’re looking?”

“I’ve talked to Latoya and Melanie, our human resources coordinator, and Melanie says she’s posted the listing, but there’s a snag.”

“Money,” Marty said bluntly.

I nodded. “Yes. We were lucky with Alfred—we got away with underpaying him for years. We’re going to have to offer more if we want to attract qualified applicants. And that will probably throw the entire senior staff scale out of whack. You have any suggestions?”

Marty sat back in her chair. “Welcome to senior management. You know as well as anyone that salaries here are low, but we haven’t had the budget to meet even cost-of-living adjustments. That’s why the turnover’s been so high, particularly among the junior staff—they stay a year or two to get the experience, and then they move on to someplace that pays better. There are no easy solutions, you know, unless you find an angel.”

“You mean a major donor? This is the kind of funding we can’t make up through grants, even if anyone were making them these days.”

“Have you thought about recruiting new board members? A couple of our current ones are making noises about retiring, especially after the last few months. Not what they signed up for. They thought they were joining a sleepy historical institution, and instead they’ve gotten nasty headlines and drama.”

“Marty, I’ve only been in this job for two months. I haven’t had time. Of course I know what our budget problems are. I just haven’t come up with any brilliant ideas—yet.”

“I know, it’s early days. And I know you’re doing your best, Nell. I’ll see what I can do about Alfred’s position. I seem to recall promising you I’d guilt-trip the family into creating an endowment in his honor—maybe that could make up the difference? You should have reminded me.”

I grinned at her. “That’s what I just did—didn’t you notice?”

She nodded her approval. “Smooth. You’re learning fast.” She stood up. “Well, I’ve got something to follow up on in the stacks.”

I rose as well. “Let me walk you out—I want to talk to Felicity anyway.”

Marty and I chatted as I escorted her to the elevator. She went up; I took the stairs down, to seek out librarian Felicity Soames, who knew where everything in the collections was. I found her at her post at the high desk in the reading room.

“Hi, Felicity,” I whispered. “Do you have a moment?”

Felicity looked around the room: it was moderately busy for a weekday. She nodded to her assistant, who was circulating with a rolling cart, collecting documents for reshelving, and she parked it and headed for the desk. “Where do you want to go? Is this hush-hush?”

I suppressed a laugh. “No, I just wanted to ask a favor. Can we just step into the lobby?”

I could swear she looked disappointed. “All right.” She led the way to the lobby, and we found two chairs near the monumental grand staircase. “What’s this about?”

“I’ve been doing a little horse-trading. After what happened at Let’s Play, I wanted to make sure our wiring was in good shape, but I didn’t want to have to pay for a full review. So I found an electrician who was willing to look over the last report and tell us if things were up to par, but he had a price.”

“And how does that involve me?”

“He’s really into Phillies history, and he wants some help looking through our archives.” I stopped, since Felicity’s face had assumed a strange and wonderful expression. “What?”

“The Quakers?” she said.

“Yes, I think he mentioned those. Why, do you know about them?”

Felicity produced as close to a grin as I’d ever seen on her. “It’s my secret vice. I
love
sports history, but nobody else here seems to share that. I’d be happy to help him.”

“Great! I said I’d give him a complimentary membership, so he can come in when he has time. I’ll send him straight to you.”

“Thank you! Do you know if he’s done a lot of research?”

“He said he’s checked out some of the other local collections, but he’s looking for something more specific, and he thinks we might have it.”

“Wonderful.” Felicity sighed. “I love a challenge. Was that all?”

“For now. Thanks for helping out, Felicity.”

“My pleasure. Really. Well, back to work.”

She headed back to the reading room, and I went to the elevator. One more stop and I could settle my debt to Barney. I dropped in at Shelby’s office on the way to my own.

“Hey, lady,” Shelby greeted me. “What’s up?”

“If you recall, I promised Barney a free membership, so he could work on that Phillies stuff. Can you process that?”

“Sure will. Definitely a good trade.”

“I thought so. And I just talked to Felicity, who is apparently a secret sports fan, so she’ll be happy to help him out. I’ll write a cover letter for you, so you can send him his membership card.”

“Felicity’s the head librarian, right? I love it when a plan comes together. Don’t you? And that Felicity has hidden depths.”

“I do, and she does. Thanks for bringing Barney in.”

“My pleasure. And I’ll get right on that membership.”

I went back to my office with a feeling of accomplishment. As I walked toward my door, Eric waved a message slip at me.

“Agent Morrison, that FBI guy? He wants you to call him. You want me to place the call?”

I snagged the slip from him. “Thanks, Eric. I’ll do it myself.”

Back at my desk, I looked at James’s message. It was his
work number, rather than his cell phone, which surprised me—trouble? Or good news? I dialed, then waded through a couple of layers of receptionists until I reached him.

“Hello, Nell,” he said when he picked up, all business.

“James,” I replied in the same neutral tone. “You called?”

“Yes. Thanks for getting back to me. I need to talk to you about something.”

“Business?” I acknowledged a small feeling of disappointment, then squashed it.

“Yes. Can you meet me after work?”

If he could be businesslike, so could I. “Sorry, I can’t—committee meeting tonight. Lunch?”

He hesitated a moment before answering. “No time. Coffee?”

“Okay. Where?”

“How about the Doubletree again? Half an hour?”

Not his office, not my office, but the very public hotel down the street. Interesting. “Fine.”

“See you then.” He hung up before I could add anything more.