Fire Engine Dead

by Sheila Connolly

  “You sound frustrated.”

  “Shouldn’t I? Look, James, I want to help, really. But I like these people, and everybody likes firemen. Nobody’s admitted to being strapped for cash, at least any more than usual. Everybody is good buddies with everybody else, and there’s no skullduggery going on anywhere. And that’s all I can tell you. Tell me you have something better. Is an arrest imminent? Are you hot on the trail of an arsonist?”

  “I’m sorry, Nell.” His voice was curiously gentle. “I wish I could say I was. And I regret putting you in a difficult position. The police department has been working hard and cooperating with us, and we’re all still coming up dry. We’ve got a few more things to follow up on. What can I do?”

  “Tell me I can go back to my normal life. We’ve got a lot of documents here to process, thanks to you, and that’s our business.”

  “So are you off the hook? If you think you’ve talked to everyone that you have access to, then yes, you’re done. You get a gold star in your file.”

  “Well…”

  “What?”

  “I haven’t really talked to Jennifer, except briefly at that foundation event. Has anybody talked to her?”

  “Obviously the police talked to her, since she knew where the collection was stored. She didn’t really have an alibi for the time the fire started—she was one of the home-alone-with-a-book group. In the video we saw of the theft, none of the figures looked like a woman—she’s small, and the guys shoving the fire engine around weren’t. And you were with her when she got the news of the fire, right?”

  “Right, at that luncheon. In fact, we were at the same table when she got the news, and she looked shocked. She and Peter were both there, and they both reacted the way you would expect. Did she say anything else to the police?”

  “All she told them was that she had worked for Peter for five years, and he was very upset about everything. The police didn’t ask anything else.”

  “And of course they didn’t ask about the theft.”

  “They didn’t know about it.”

  “Do they now?”

  My question was met with silence on James’s end, and I jumped to the obvious conclusion. “You haven’t told them?”

  “Nell, they have enough on their plates, between the string of arsons and the death. And we have no proof that anything was stolen.”

  “No, just the strong suspicion of a couple of people like me and Marty.” I didn’t bring up the fact that Eric and Shelby had also agreed on first sight, but that wouldn’t add much credence to the claim anyway. Besides, I already knew James agreed with me, too. “But you’re pursuing it?”

  “The FBI is looking into the fraud aspect, yes. Quietly.”

  “Doesn’t it go to motive for setting the fire and killing the watchman?”

  I could hear his sigh even over the phone. “Nell, the FBI has been officially involved only for a few days. I’m still reviewing the police files on this. Will I tell them about our suspicions? Probably. But high-dollar fraud would be our responsibility, not theirs.”

  “And here I thought you guys cooperated these days,” I muttered under my breath.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. So, do you want me to buddy up with Jennifer and see if she’ll tell me anything?” Which was a ridiculous idea—I might be a professional schmoozer, but I’d never been very good at girl talk, and prying personal information out of a virtual stranger was far beyond my comfort zone.

  “We’ve got it covered. Nell,” James said patiently, “I think you’ve done all you can do. We’re grateful for your assistance.”

  “Well, I guess I should thank you for letting me off the hook. You’ll keep me informed?”

  “As far as I can.”

  I recalled that he had said we weren’t going to see each other socially until this was resolved, although maybe we’d already broken that rule. I decided to make a move of my own. “When can I ask you to dinner?”

  “Are you free tomorrow night?” he responded quickly.

  Saturday—date night for most of the world. “Yes.” I wasn’t in the mood to play games. “Is it a date?”

  “It is. I’ll make the reservations and pick you up.” Which was generous of him, considering I lived way out in the boonies. “And, Nell? If anything else occurs to you, let us know, will you? I promise I won’t cancel because of that.”

  “Deal. See you tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it.”

  After we had hung up, I sat back. Part of me was relieved to be out of this mess, but another part of me knew that there was more to the story and it wasn’t over yet. But now I could get back to my own job, including figuring out what to do with the massive collection the FBI had handed us. Even if we weren’t keeping it permanently, it had to go somewhere, at least for a while. And I didn’t think the FBI was going to move very quickly on resolving the ownership issues—didn’t they have to wait some period of time for the original owners to come forward?—so that while could be long. We were already crammed to the rafters at the Society; besides, after what had happened to the Fireman’s Museum, no way was I going to consider off-site storage. We’d just have to muddle through somehow. At least we had too much rather than not enough.

  Maybe it was time to talk to the kids again. Maybe they’d discovered a time-space warp and stuck all those boxes into a parallel universe so they could process the materials at their own pace. If only.

  Eric was at his desk when I emerged from my office. “Hey, Nell, you’re in early.”

  “Lots to do, Eric, and every time I start something, something else pops up. You know that carnival game whack-a-mole? Well, that’s what my job feels like some days.”

  “You need coffee?” he asked.

  “Not right now—I thought I’d stop by the processing room and see how the sorting is going for the FBI collection. Darn, we’re going to have to find something better to call it. The stolen collection doesn’t sound any nicer, does it?”

  “The found collection? Heck, maybe we should name it after you, if we get to hold on to it. Doesn’t the Pratt Collection sound good?”

  That was something I’d never even considered. It did sound rather nice, but before I could start designing tasteful brass plaques with my name on them, there were a lot of hurdles to clear. “Keep that in mind. Right now I’ve got to see if they’ve created order out of chaos yet.”

  When I walked into the processing room, I was glad to see that Latoya was already there, perched on a tall stool with the youngsters grouped around her, and I could swear they were all laughing. I almost turned around and left so that I wouldn’t upset this happy moment, but then Alice spotted me and waved.

  “Morning, Nell. Come join us and we’ll give you an update.”

  I joined them around one of the long tables. “Good morning, all. How are things going?”

  “Just look around,” Rich said, grinning. “The first pass is done. We were just discussing with Latoya how we should approach the next phase.”

  I pulled up my own stool and sat. “Latoya, what’s your take on this?”

  She turned to me, and I was struck by how happy she looked. “From what we’ve seen, the main emphasis is on Civil War materials. Whoever collected them had a good eye, and he chose well. Since that’s the primary focus of what he assembled, I’d recommend processing that material first, as a cohesive unit. Then we can follow up with the other odds and ends.”

  “That sounds like a plan. Do you have any idea where you want to put them?”

  “I’d like to ask Rich to sort out the Terwilliger Collection first, and then that can go back into the vault downstairs. That will free up space up here, and I think we can accommodate the rest more easily then. We may find a quiet corner for the nonrelated materials, at least in the short term. And, Nell? I may take charge of some of those myself—there’s a cache of information on the abolitionist movement that complements my research very well.”

  Aha! That explained why Latoya
was in such a good mood. I knew that she had originally joined the Society because we had such a strong—and uncataloged—collection of abolitionist records, which were her particular interest. She’d even wangled a four-day workweek so she could do research on the other day, although that had fallen by the wayside, at least temporarily, since we’d lost our registrar. It had never occurred to me that buried somewhere in all the FBI boxes were materials that would interest her, but I thanked the gods of collections that she had struck pay dirt. “That sounds like an excellent strategy. So Rich will concentrate on the Terwilliger papers first, while Nicholas and Alice tackle the FBI materials. Then Rich will join them after the Terwilliger papers are reinstalled?”

  “That’s about it,” Latoya said. “And if you need any help negotiating with the FBI regarding stewardship, please ask.”

  “Of course. I’ll leave you all to get to work. And thank you! You’ve done a great job in a short period, and I’m truly impressed.”

  I left before the moment of cordiality could evaporate. I hadn’t been exaggerating: they’d done an extraordinary amount of work in only a few days. Maybe it was their youthful energy, or maybe they were trying to impress me and/or outdo each other, but whatever the cause, it was getting the job done.

  The glow of satisfaction carried me back to my office and then burst like a bubble when Eric greeted me. “Nell, there’s a Jennifer Phillips waiting to see you in the lobby. She said she just needs a minute.”

  So much for staying out of the Fireman’s Museum problem.

  CHAPTER 22

  When I reached the lobby, Jennifer was standing and staring intently at the few books we offered for sale, in a hanging rack on the wall, without seeing them.

  “Jennifer?”

  She turned quickly. “Hi, Nell. Look, I’m really sorry to bother you. You have a minute to talk?”

  “You want to go up to my office?”

  “Oh, no, that’s too much trouble. Is there a quiet corner down here? It won’t take long.”

  “Sure, there’s a room under the stairway there, where we can talk privately.” I led her in that direction.

  “I’m so jealous,” Jennifer said. “You have so much space here! Our building used to be a firehouse and was never intended as a public space, so we’ve had to make do for a lot of things.”

  “If we thought we could get away with putting shelves everywhere, we would, but people expect certain things when they visit us.” We reached the room, and I ushered her in, closing the door behind me, then pointed her to a chair. “As I remember your museum, I think you did a wonderful job in fitting in exhibits, given your space limitations. You must have had some interesting discussions when you were planning for the renovation.” Maybe it was tactless to bring up the lost collections, but that had to be related to why she was here.

  “I kind of sat and listened for most of those discussions. And took notes, of course. Peter and Gary hashed out what they wanted, and I told them what I’d seen when we had tours in—what worked, what didn’t.”

  “That can make a difference. You don’t have a background in museum management?”

  “No. I took the job because I needed it, and I was lucky to get it, since I really didn’t have any skills back then. I’ve learned a lot along the way. It’s a nice place. Peter’s a good guy, and everybody loves Gary.”

  “Do you deal with the board much?”

  “I take minutes at meetings, but that’s about it.”

  “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  Jennifer twisted her hands nervously. “Nell, this is awkward.”

  I was holding my breath and making internal side bets about what would come out of her mouth next. She had finally figured out there had been a theft? She was one of the rare female arsonists and had set all the fires herself?

  “I need your help, or, no, well, I think Peter needs your help. He’s falling apart.”

  Okay, that one I hadn’t foreseen. “What do you mean?”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “I never met him in person until after the fire. I knew who he was, of course, but I wouldn’t have recognized him on the street.”

  “So you haven’t seen how much he’s changed since the fire. Look, I’ve worked with him for over five years now. He’s always been a great boss—easy to get along with, calm, reasonable. He knows he’s not a world-beater, and he wasn’t using the Fireman’s Museum as a stepping-stone to any other post. He likes his job, and he loves firefighting. Up until the fire, I would have said that everything was great.”

  “And all that’s changed?”

  “Yes! I swear, he must have lost ten pounds since last week—I’m not even sure he remembers to eat. He’s had a couple of asthma attacks for the first time in a long while. He spends time staring into space, and I have to remind him when he has a meeting to go to or something has to be completed or turned in. I swear, he looks haunted.”

  “I’m sure he feels terrible about what happened to the collection. I mean, to lose so much, all at once—that must be hard.”

  “But it’s just stuff!” Jennifer protested. “Yes, it was a nice little collection, and the exhibits were popular, but most of it is easy to replace. In fact, we’re almost back to where we were. Everybody we know in the firefighter community has chipped in, so it’s not like we have nothing to put in the cases.”

  “And the fire engine?” I asked cautiously, curious to see what she would say.

  “Well, okay, that’s an important piece, but there are others around. To tell the truth, I’m kind of glad it’s gone.”

  I hadn’t expected to hear that. “Why?”

  “For one thing, it took up a lot of space—space that we could use to exhibit other things, or maybe for rotating exhibits. Second, it was a real liability. You know we get lots of school groups?” When I nodded, she continued, “We always had to keep an eye on the kids to make sure they didn’t start climbing on it. And since we usually rely on volunteer docents, they don’t always know how to handle children. I can’t tell you how many little guys I’ve pulled off that engine, after their group moved on to the next exhibit.”

  I had to laugh—hadn’t James said something like that? “That’s a problem we don’t have here. We don’t get a lot of children at all.” The moment of humor faded quickly. “Was the fire engine insured?” When she nodded yes, I went on, “Does that mean you have a choice of replacing it or using the money in another way?”

  She looked away. “That’s a laugh. We’re all living from check to check these days.”

  That wasn’t what Gary had told me. “I thought the renovation was pretty well covered. Were there construction overruns?”

  “When aren’t there? And even if the city or outside donors pick up that cost, the project has dragged on and on, so we’ve lost a lot of admissions revenue. Usually the city has ponied up the difference, but they’re feeling the squeeze now, too. I mean, if they can’t pay for cost-of-living increases for garbage collectors, why should they bail out a small museum? Think about it”—she held her hands out, palms up, as if weighing the possibilities—“cost-of-living raises versus dusty fire helmets in a case. Which one are constituents going to think is more important?”

  She had a point. “Jennifer, I’m sorry to hear all that, and I can understand why you and Peter are stressed out about it. Is he worried that the city or the board is going to seize this opportunity to close you down, now that you’ve lost your collection?”

  “That’s part of it, and it’s a real possibility. But I think it’s more than that—something’s eating him up. I think he blames himself for losing the collection, and even for the death of the watchman. If he hadn’t been forced to cut corners, maybe the collection would have gone to a more secure facility. I won’t say it’s his fault—it was the board that pushed for the cheaper solution. They didn’t think it really mattered, but they’re not museum people.”

  And maybe whatever board faction wante
d to see the museum go under had engineered the destruction of the collection, sticking it in a vulnerable, out-of-the-way storage facility. It was an angle that I thought deserved consideration, based on what I’d heard from Gary and Jennifer. Could this get any more complicated? “What is it you want me to do?”

  “Talk to Peter. Please? You’ve had some rough times here at the Society, right? Tell him that there are ways to work things out. You’re his equal, and he knows you understand, because of what you’ve been through here. He won’t listen to me.”

  That seemed simple enough, and certainly my heart went out to Peter. I knew what it was like to face public scrutiny, and worse, criticism, for your institution and your management of it. “Of course, if you think it will help. Should I call him?”

  Jennifer glanced at her watch. “I’m headed back there now. He’s out at a meeting with the builders, but he’ll be back later this afternoon. Why don’t I tell him you’d like to talk with him? Maybe about the collection? I don’t want him to think we’re planning an intervention or something. How late will you be here?”

  “I can stay after closing, if you like. Call me when you know when he’s coming, or have him call.”

  Jennifer stood up. “I’ll do that. Thank you, Nell. I know this is asking a lot from you, but I really hope it will make a difference. He’s been so depressed lately.”

  “I understand, believe me. Let me see you out.” I led her back to the front door and watched her leave.

  That had certainly been interesting. As I walked toward the elevator, I reviewed what she had said. Nothing she had told me suggested there was anything more to her concern than that of a friend and coworker, and maybe someone who was worried about keeping a job she needed—if the job and the place survived. And if Peter was truly depressed, he might not even acknowledge that he had a problem, and he certainly wouldn’t be likely to reach out to me for help, beyond the professional issues we had already covered. Jennifer was right: I had experience in this area. Maybe I could help. It looked like I might have a chance to find out.