She ignored my question. “Can you come in and talk to me, say, eleven?”
At least she’d asked rather than ordered. “I’ll be there.” She hung up before I could say anything more, like ask her where the heck her office was. Luckily I know how to use my computer, and I quickly verified my first guess: Homicide Unit, Police Headquarters. Walking distance.
I looked up to find Eric hovering in the doorway. “Everything all right?” he said anxiously.
“You mean, will I be arrested before your first day is over? Don’t worry. This is about an electrical accident that happened at the Let’s Play Museum-it was in the paper this morning. There was a minor one when I was there earlier this week, but this time someone died.”
“Oh no! How awful-for them and for you! Can I get you anything?”
Tea and sympathy? “I’m okay. But the detective wants to talk to me at eleven. You can put that on my calendar-if you can find it.”
“I’m guessing it’s on the computer, wherever that is.”
Oh… sugar. The last computer used by the president’s assistant had… well, the bottom line was, it was gone and I didn’t think it would be coming back anytime soon. And there were no electronic records for Eric to go through and familiarize himself with, although I assumed they were all backed up somewhere and therefore retrievable. Of course, there were always the paper copies. “I’ll talk to human resources about getting you set up with something.”
“Hey, if it’s a problem, I can bring my laptop from home,” Eric offered.
“Wait until I see if we’ve got anything you can use. We’ll have to replace that one anyway. Why don’t you go through the paper files and see if you can get a sense of what goes on here?”
“I’ll do that. You sure I can’t get you something? A cup of coffee?”
Poor boy, he really was trying hard. “Sure, and get yourself some, too. It’s an honor system, a quarter a cup, just so we get something slightly better than swill.” As he bounded off toward the break room, I tried to gather my scattered thoughts. So much for the morning-I hadn’t counted on a trip to the police station. I wondered if I should try to call Arabella as I had planned, but then decided she was probably besieged at the moment.
The phone rang again, and since Eric was still fetching coffee, I picked up. “Nell Pratt.”
To my surprise, it was Arabella. “Oh, Nell, I’m so sorry to have to call you like this. You’ve heard?”
“Yes, I read about it in the paper this morning. What happened?”
“I can’t really talk now, but I wanted to apologize. You shouldn’t find yourself in the middle of our mess. But the police said they might want to talk to you, since you were there when Jason…”
“Yes, they’ve already called, and I’ll be talking to them this morning. It was a homicide detective who called. Does that mean they don’t think this second event was an accident?”
“I don’t know, Nell. But they talked to poor Jason this morning, and his head is still kind of fuzzy. I don’t think he remembers much about what happened.”
“Arabella, I hate to ask, but didn’t you tell me that you’d had someone look at the wiring?”
“Of course,” she said indignantly. “And not just the person who’s been doing the installation for us-I got in touch with a friend of mine who has his own company, and he’s all properly licensed and approved and whatever. He said he didn’t see anything wrong. I made sure that he looked at all the animal figures, too, just in case. And he said they were fine!”
“When did you talk to him?”
“Yesterday, in the early afternoon. He did me a big favor, coming over on short notice, but I didn’t want anything else to go wrong. But it did anyway.” She ended with what sounded like a sob. “What am I going to do, Nell? The police said we can’t open today. The children will be so disappointed.”
That was the least of Arabella’s problems. “That’s terrible, but you know the police have to do it. Just take it one step at a time. Find out what happened last night first, and then you can figure out what to do next.”
“You’re so calm,” Arabella sniffed. “I guess I’ll have to be, too.”
“Arabella, you’ve done all the right things,” I said firmly. “I’m sure no one will blame you.” Although I wasn’t sure I believed that-but Arabella needed to hear it.
“You’ll let me know if the police tell you anything?”
“Of course. I’m sure this will all be sorted out in no time. Take care.” I rang off. I didn’t need to share with Arabella my lack of confidence in the local police, after seeing how they’d dismissed my concerns the last time we’d met, just a couple of months ago. But they were certainly better equipped than I was to investigate whatever had gone wrong at Let’s Play, accidental or… planned?
I checked my watch: less than two hours before I’d have to leave to meet Detective Hrivnak, and who knew how long that conversation would take. What could I do to fill that time usefully?
Eric appeared, cradling a mug of coffee. “Sorry it took so long-I made a fresh pot. The old stuff looked nasty.”
I accepted the mug happily. “That happens a lot. People will leave a quarter inch in the bottom of the pot, just so they can claim it wasn’t empty.”
Eric shook his head. “You look like you need that coffee. Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“Not unless you know something about wiring and/or criminal investigations,” I said glumly. I tried the coffee: at least Eric had made it strong enough for my taste.
“Negative on both counts, I’m afraid.”
“Then this will have to do. Thank you. Why don’t you start by finding a manual for the phone, so at least you know how to transfer calls?”
“No problem about the phone. I’ve been temping long enough that I’ve probably seen every model on the market-and quite a few that aren’t even sold anymore. I’ll also see what office supplies I can scrounge up. Do you know if you have anything else scheduled for today, apart from that police person?”
I racked my brain and came up empty. A million little things, but no big thing. “Not that I know of.”
The phone rang again, and Eric dashed to his desk to pick it up. He came back in a moment, apparently having mastered the Hold button, and said in a bewildered voice, “It’s an Agent Morrison from the FBI?”
“I’ll take it, Eric.” I picked up the phone. “This is Nell Pratt,” I said. I wasn’t sure whether this call was official or personal.
“Ms. Pratt,” Special Agent James Morrison replied. “You’ve heard about the death at the Let’s Play Children’s Museum?”
So this was an official call. I wasn’t surprised, but I’ll admit to being a little disappointed. “I have. I told you I was there earlier this week when a similar but nonfatal event occurred. But isn’t this kind of thing outside of the FBI’s jurisdiction?”
He hesitated a fraction of a second before answering. “It is.” He lowered his voice. “Are you okay?”
The icy block that had formed in my stomach when I’d read the paper melted just a little. “I think so. Except I have an appointment to meet with our friend Detective Hrivnak in a couple of hours. James-does that mean it’s homicide? She wouldn’t tell me.”
He sighed. “Probably. Once is an accident; twice, it may well be deliberate. I’m sorry you have to be involved.”
You and me both. “Thank you. I really don’t know a lot, but I’ll do whatever I can to help.” I paused before adding, “I’m glad you called.”
“I was worried. We can talk later.” He hung up.
Eric appeared in the doorway, looking concerned. “Everything all right?”
“Just fine. Don’t worry-I don’t usually get calls from the police and the FBI in the same day.”
“I’m very glad to hear that.”
CHAPTER 9
After clearing a few of the more pressing items on my desk, I emerged from my office to find that Eric had taken care of all the pap
erwork for human resources and located at least the minimal office supplies, including stapler, tape, notepads, and a pencil holder. Too bad it wasn’t as easy to find him a computer. “Want to take a walk around the building and meet some people?”
He stood up quickly. “I’d be happy to.”
“How much do you know about the Pennsylvania Antiquarian Society?” I asked as we headed toward the collections management area to the rear of the building.
“Just what Shelby’s told me. I haven’t visited many of the museums around here.”
“How is it you know Shelby?” I asked.
“I knew her daughter, Melissa, in school in Virginia, and we’ve sort of kept in touch-we’re Facebook friends. She’s the one who told me her mama lived up here now.”
“You said you’d been living in Philadelphia for over a year now?”
“Yes, I have.”
“What’s your impression of our city?” I was honestly curious. He was young and from a different part of the country, and I wondered what had drawn him here.
“I like it. I thought about moving to Baltimore or Atlanta, but then I figured I should go someplace really different, at least for a while. Since I didn’t have any attachments or anything.”
“Have you been looking for a full-time job?”
“Yes and no. I kind of liked temping, at least at first-I got to see a lot of different places, sort of like a job sampler. Although if something had opened up when I was at any one place, I’d have considered it. But I get by.”
We’d reached Latoya Anderson’s office, down the hall from mine. She looked up from her desk when I knocked on the open door. “Latoya, I’d like you to meet Eric Marston. Eric, this is Latoya Anderson, our vice president of collections. Eric’s auditioning for the role of my assistant.”
Latoya didn’t get my joke but extended a hand anyway. “Welcome, Eric. I’m sure Nell can use your help.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
Latoya quirked an eyebrow at the ma’am but rallied. “I hope you’ll enjoy working here. It’s an interesting place.” She turned her attention to me. “Nell, when you have a few minutes free, can we talk?”
“It’ll have to be after lunch. Say, two, in my office?”
“That’s fine. Nice to meet you, Eric.”
We were dismissed. Latoya and I were still working out the wrinkles in our professional relationship, and her basic personality was a bit peremptory even on a good day, but I needed her in the job. Up until a couple of months ago I had been lower down the staff ladder than Latoya was, and as a vice president she’d had the ear of the president, which meant I was seldom the first to hear collections news. Now our roles were reversed and I was her boss. Still, I didn’t want to alienate any staff members right now, and I did respect her abilities. I wondered what she wanted to talk about. “Let’s go, Eric-there are more people to meet.”
I made the circuit of the third floor: personnel, finance, and my old stomping ground, development, where we waved briefly at Shelby. Carrie, the membership coordinator, was clearly happy to see someone close to her age, and welcomed Eric warmly. “Hey, you want to have lunch today? And I’ll see if maybe Rich is free, too.”
Eric looked at me. “Well, sure, that’d be great, unless you need me, Nell?” I shook my head. “And you can show me where to eat around here. Who’s Rich?”
It was becoming easier to forget that Eric had only just arrived. “Rich Girard is a grant-funded cataloger,” I told him, “just out of college, so about your age. He’s a nice guy.”
“I’d love to meet him, too, then, if he’s free. I’ll come by about twelve, Carrie. Nice to meet you!”
Back in the hall, as we waited for the elevator so we could go downstairs, Eric asked anxiously, “Are you sure you don’t need me to man the phone over lunch?”
I laughed. “Of course not. I think you’ll find we’re not a terribly formal place, and there are some really great people here. Carrie’s sweet-she used to work for me. Well, I guess she still does, but now she reports to Shelby. I’ll have to find you an organization chart so you can see who’s who.”
We rode the elevator down to the ground floor. “So this is the catalog room, and the big room next door is the reading room. You can probably guess what they’re used for. There’s another reading room upstairs. Let me introduce you to our librarians.”
We stopped and chatted with all the staff members we encountered, who all seemed charmed by Eric’s good manners and eagerness. I was encouraged to see that he was fitting in so well, although I hadn’t really seen him do any work. Of course, to be fair, I hadn’t exactly given him any assignments yet, either-or a computer, for that matter.
When we’d made the rounds, I checked my watch. I still had a few minutes. “Are you overwhelmed yet, or do you want to see the stacks?”
“Stacks?” Eric looked bewildered.
“The storage areas, where all the collections are. I don’t have time to show you everything right now, but I can get you started, and you can browse a bit on your own-I don’t want you to feel chained to your desk. It’s important that you understand what we do here.”
“That sounds great to me, Nell.”
We went back to the third floor, and I fished out my keys and let him in by the door at the rear, past the elevator. Once inside, we paused for a moment. I always enjoyed prowling in the stacks, although I had less and less time to do it-and less reason now that I wasn’t writing grant proposals. I hoped Shelby would enjoy that part of her job as much as I had.
The stacks occupied the upper half of the building, with some overflow in the basement, where less fragile items were kept. The ceilings in that part of the building were high, the windows painted over (too much light could damage old books and documents), and ranks of sturdy metal shelves marched off in all directions. The air smelled of old paper and leather. Apparently no one was shelving or retrieving documents at the moment, so it was very quiet. I sneaked a look at Eric and saw that his eyes were shining.
“May I?” he asked.
“Touch them? Of course-that’s what they’re here for. Just don’t take them out of the building-and don’t remove them from the stacks without signing a slip. There’s a pile of slips on that shelf there.” I pointed. I’d been guilty of forgetting that myself on more than one occasion, but I was trying to mend my ways. “There’s some wonderful stuff here, both famous names and ordinary documents about daily life. I love coming in here.”
Eric slid out a volume at random-early nineteenth century, by my semi-educated guess-and opened it reverently, cradling its spine and leafing through the yellowed pages with a cautious finger. Watching him, I felt something inside me relax: he was showing all the signs of a true believer. Not that it was essential in an administrative position, but it certainly helped if you cared about history and preserving it.
It was close to ten thirty when we tore ourselves away from the stacks, but I had a date to keep, and I didn’t want to tick off Detective Hrivnak by being late. I escorted Eric back to his desk and retrieved my coat and bag. “Look, Eric, I probably won’t be back before you leave for lunch, but you don’t have to rush. Not today, at least. I can’t promise you any long lunches when things get busy, but I’m not a clock-watcher.”
“Thank you, ma’am. You can trust me.” He smiled, showing dimples. “I’d say, have a nice time, but I don’t think that applies to police interviews, now, does it?”
“Not likely!” I laughed. “See you later.”
In Philadelphia, the police headquarters building is known as the Roundhouse, because, well, it’s round. As a local historian, I also knew that the Philadelphia Police Department was the oldest municipal police agency in the country (founded 1751, or so their PR materials said), and the fourth largest. Luckily I had never had occasion to enter the building before, although I had walked past it plenty of times since it was close to Independence Hall. Homicide, as I understood it, was a special unit. I entere
d the building, submitted to a search of my bag (physical) and person (electronic), and found my way up to Detective Hrivnak’s office. As it turned out, she did possess a first name: Meredith, according to the plaque beside her door. Not a good fit, but what did parents know?
She kept me waiting, but only fifteen minutes. She came out to escort me into her inner sanctum, pointed to a battered wooden chair, then settled into her chair behind an equally scarred desk. She stared at me wordlessly for several seconds. I couldn’t think of any good opening line, so I returned her stare with as much composure as I could. After all, this time she had called me.
“Jason Miller,” she said at last.
“Yes,” I said intelligently.
“You were there when he was zapped, right?”
“I was.”
“Why?”
“I’ve met Arabella Heffernan a few times, so she’d called up to welcome me to the upper ranks and invited me to preview her new exhibit. I assume you’ve talked to Jason?”
Detective Hrivnak shrugged. “He couldn’t remember much. He touched something, then blam, he was knocked out. Or so he says.”
“Will he be all right?”
“Yeah, sure. No permanent damage. Now, Joe Murphy, on the other hand…”
“That was a terrible thing. I assume that’s why I’m here? Do you think his death was deliberate?”
She ignored my questions. “Run me through the time line of your visit, will you?”
I did, from Arabella’s spontaneous invitation until the time I left with Joe, followed by Arabella’s visit to the Society the next morning. I watched the detective make a few notes, but not many. “That’s really all I can tell you.”
Detective Hrivnak sat back in her creaking chair. “So you knew the dead guy?”
“I wouldn’t say I knew him. I’d never met him before that day, but he saw that I was upset and we had coffee after… Jason’s accident.”
“He have any ideas about what happened?”
“No. He told me he was an electrician, and he’d been working on the wiring, but he had no idea how it could have happened. He told me everything had been thoroughly checked.”
Let's Play Dead Page 7
