“It is pricey, unless you’re a member,” I admitted. “They do open for free one day a month.”
“How nice of them,” Shelby said with a trace of bitterness.
“I know what you’re saying, Shelby, but they must have massive expenses to cover. It costs about half as much for someone to use our library, and still our members and visitors complain if we try to raise admission by a dollar—and you know how much we need the income.”
We were all silent for a moment, contemplating the irony of trying to juggle our admission prices to both cover costs and allow more people to enjoy what we had.
Finally I said, “So, next steps. Marty, give Shelby whatever notes you’ve made, or set up a time to sit down with her and go over the rest of the list. Then maybe you can take a harder look at the Art Museum list. Shelby, dig up what we’ve got in the Society files on the Forrest Trust. As for me, I guess I’ll take the Society list. If I don’t know all the people on the list, I should, so it will be a good exercise for me. I’d hate to think the Society figures in this problem.”
“Not all the victims have been associated with the Society,” Shelby said.
“If we are looking at victims rather than coincidences, or suicides,” Marty responded promptly. “Maybe there are other connections. Maybe Benton and Freddy were working behind the scenes to close us down, without our knowing it, and the killer thinks he’s doing us a favor by shutting them up, permanently.” Marty folded her arms and sat back in her chair, challenging me. Shelby just looked distressed, as though she was a child watching her parents argue.
I chose my words carefully. “Marty, I recognize the validity of your arguments, and I’m appalled at how easy it is for you to come up with a variety of possible explanations. But I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We’ve been looking at this for only a day, and we’ve barely scratched the surface. Let’s fill in some more of the blanks before we start weaving together pretty theories. It may turn out to be nothing, after all.” I hoped. But somehow I didn’t believe myself. Maybe James’s bad feeling was contagious.
“Are we done here?” Shelby said. “Because I can see I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
I nodded. “We all have our assignments. Let’s plan on getting together like this again tomorrow morning.”
Marty and Shelby stood up and headed off together toward Shelby’s office, leaving me sitting alone at the table.
I hadn’t been raised in Philadelphia or even its suburbs, so I hadn’t been absorbing this kind of who’s who knowledge through osmosis since childhood, the way Marty had. As development director for the Society, I had done enough research to know who the power brokers and players were these days, and a bit about the elite citizens of the past. For a long time in the twentieth century, Philadelphia had looked like a dowdy cousin compared to its nearest competitor, New York. Part of that might have been due to the lingering Quaker influence in Philadelphia, which condemned ostentation. Then the city had suffered from the flight of much of its industry to the growing suburbs, starting in the 1950s, and as a result had faced serious financial struggles.
But the city had fought back. It had created a world-class convention center to draw in visitors, and a new venue for its sports teams. The Constitution Center had filled in a gap across from Independence Hall. New high-rises like Liberty Place I and II had attracted high-end shops in a central location. Things were definitely looking up for Philly.
But despite my research, I still couldn’t match Marty’s hereditary and encyclopedic knowledge of the people we were looking at. Thank heavens I knew more than Shelby did, or I would really feel like a dope. Having southern-bred Shelby as part of this team forced us to put a lot of social assumptions into words, which could also be helpful. All the information she would acquire would also make her much more useful as a Society employee.
I made my way slowly back to my office. Eric looked up and said, “Something important going on? You keep disappearing into all these little meetings.”
I smiled at him, glad he was at least observant. “Nothing you need to worry about, Eric. Just an impromptu research project that I’ve asked Shelby and Marty to help me with.” Then a thought struck me. “Eric, do you know who Edwin Forrest is?”
“No, ma’am. Is he a member here?”
“No, he’s been dead for more than a century—although that might be said for some of our current members. He was an actor born in Philadelphia who went on to be quite famous in the nineteenth century. It seems fame doesn’t last very long. Anyway, that big statue downstairs next to the elevator—that’s Edwin, in all his glory. Anything else on my calendar?”
“Just the usual: board reports and that kind of thing. I left some letters on your desk for your signature.”
What a relief: nice, simple, boring, and predictable things that didn’t involve anyone dying. “Then I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.”
I wasn’t surprised when at the end of the afternoon, Marty walked in and dropped into a chair.
“You look frustrated. Have you been working with Shelby all day?” I asked.
Marty scrubbed her fingers through her short hair. “With a quick break for lunch. The good news is, she’s got the hang of this research, and she’s really into it now. The bad news is, she doesn’t know the kind of details I know, so it’s been kind of slow, going back and forth and filling in the spreadsheet. The worse news is, we still don’t have anything conclusive, so we haven’t been able to eliminate any group. Heck, I’m scared we’re going to find more possible connections. Like former members of the Merion Cricket Club or members of the committee for the Devon Horse Show. You know, I thought the Terwilliger family was kind of tangled, but a lot of these people overlap in the most unexpected ways. And how far should we go? If two people sat next to each other at a mayor’s banquet in 1993, does that count as a connection?”
“Well, maybe one of them spilled red wine all over the other, and the spillee has been nursing a grudge ever since.”
“Very funny.” Marty sighed. “You know, the problem is not knowing whether some piece of information is important or if we’re wasting our time. And the Society’s.” She stared pensively at my ceiling. “Did all three take the same medicine when they overdosed?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask. Do you think it matters?”
“Maybe. If the police assumed the death in each case was natural, they might not check prescriptions. Of course, there are plenty of over-the-counter medications that can kill you if you take too much, particularly if you’re old or have other underlying conditions. Or if you mix them with alcohol. Why the heck does toxicology take so long in the real world? On these television shows, you get results in about three minutes. If these are murders, a whole lot more people could get killed before anybody even sees the first reports. Stupid, isn’t it?”
“I can’t argue with that. But everything costs money, and a lot of police departments or government agencies don’t have as much as they need, and the labs are underfunded and understaffed.”
“True enough,” Marty said. “I’ll take this stuff home with me and go over it again tonight. You going to talk to Jimmy?”
“I . . . don’t know. I’d rather wait until we had something solid to tell him.”
“Good luck with that. See you in the morning.”
CHAPTER 8
All the way home, I wrestled with whether to call James. And then wondered why I was reluctant. Okay, I’ll admit it—I wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to reassure myself that we were actually together in some way, shape, or form, and I wasn’t just fantasizing about a relationship with a hot FBI agent.
But maybe part of the problem was precisely that he was an FBI agent. I felt flattered that he considered me a good resource for certain information, and I was happy to help, but almost every time he called me, I had to ask whether it was for business or pleasure. I felt like a frustrated teenager. Does he like me? Really like me?
It would be a lot easier to look at this Forrest Trust, because the Society had a direct connection. I should know more about it, since the Society currently had possession of some of its objects and money, but since there had never been any problems with the arrangement, I suppose we had mainly ignored it. I didn’t know how much the trust was worth, but it couldn’t be large, and I doubted that the trustees had much to do. Why kill any of them? There was neither power nor money to be gained.
I went home, threw together an uninspired dinner, then settled down in front of the television for some mindless entertainment. Then the phone rang: James.
“Hey there,” I said articulately. “I hope you’re not calling because someone else is dead.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Have I violated any laws?”
He chuckled. “Not that I know of. Have you?”
“Nope. I’m a sterling, upright citizen. But I’m glad you called.” I pulled my bare feet under me on the couch, and we talked happy piffle for a while. Nice. Maybe I was too old to be doing this, but I didn’t care. Neither, apparently, did James. Maybe he’d had a romantically stunted youth, like I had.
It wasn’t until we’d begun winding down that he said, “You’re still looking into the boards?”
Back to business, then. “Yes. Marty and Shelby are making great progress. I didn’t want to bother you with the lists until we found something significant. I hadn’t realized how interconnected Philadelphia society was and still is. Although I don’t know why I’m telling you—you grew up with it.”
“And I hated the snobbery of it all. Sure, I went to the right schools and knew the right people, but I joined the FBI because I wanted to do something with my life, not just have lunch at the Union League. The rest of my family still hasn’t forgiven me.”
There was a hint of bitterness in his tone. I felt for him: how peculiar to be forced to apologize for doing something good and useful. “Marty respects you.”
“Marty thinks I’m still a snoopy, snot-nosed kid.”
“Were you ever?”
“Snoopy, yes. Snot-nosed? I hope not. Although we did have one cousin . . .”
More piffle. In the end I had to end it. “We’re meeting again tomorrow morning. Maybe we’ll have something for you then. You’re still not officially involved?”
“Nope. Like you, I’m waiting until I have more than a vague suspicion before I ask to be invited to the dance. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Nell.”
“I’ll call you no matter how our meeting goes. Good night.”
The next morning found Marty, Shelby, and me huddled in the boardroom before nine o’clock. Eric had beaten us in and made coffee. No matter what I said or didn’t say, he seemed to sense that there was something going on, but he wasn’t going to pry, bless him.
I surveyed my colleagues in . . . what was it we were doing? Crime solving? FBI research? I settled on “board candidate analysis,” which was nice and neutral sounding and non-incriminating, just in case anybody asked. Thank goodness we didn’t have to account for our hourly productivity at the Society, as I’d heard some businesses required, because we were throwing a whole lot of hours at this project, which might end up with little result.
“So, what have we got?” I asked.
Marty and Shelby exchanged a glance; Shelby nodded at Marty to proceed.
“Not a whole lot,” Marty said flatly. “Or maybe too much.”
“Which means?” I prompted.
“Based on our combined input, we have thirty-seven people who are linked to either two or three of the institutions in question, or by other external factors such as club memberships or location of vacation homes. And a lot of other variables that I won’t bother you with.”
“Isn’t that good news? It’s a shorter list than yesterday’s.”
“I suppose. But I don’t know what to do with it.” Marty really looked deflated.
“Maybe you’re too close to all these people, Marty,” Shelby suggested. “I don’t know most of them, so I can be objective. Nell, I think Marty’s reluctant to look at any of her friends as killers, potential victims, or suicidal. I know I would be, if I knew any of these people.”
I nodded. “Makes sense. No reflection on you, Marty, but maybe Shelby’s right. Maybe this is too personal for you.”
Marty sat up straighter in her chair. “Well, if we don’t find out something soon, any one of my friends or relatives might be the next victim. I can’t just sit here and wait to see who the next person is to die. Maybe even me.”
That stopped me. I hadn’t considered that she might consider herself a target. Was Marty Terwilliger actually afraid? “But you’re not affiliated with the Art Museum or the trust.”
“Don’t be so sure. My father gave a nice Degas to the museum. And you should know by now that the Society and the trust overlap. They’ve given us money and collections.”
“So you’re three for three. I see your problem.” Though I didn’t see what to do about it.
There was a rapping at the door. Eric called out, “Agent Morrison is on the phone for you.”
I felt a chill. Was he calling with more bad news?
I turned back to Marty and Shelby. “I have to take this; I’ll be back in a few.” Before they could answer, I shut the door behind me and went to my office and shut that door, too. I took a deep breath and picked up the phone. “James? Is . . .”
“Is anyone else dead? No. But I wanted to pass on one piece of news. The three people who died? In each case, the cause was an overdose of a medication that had been prescribed for them. But the numbers don’t match up.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know when you pick up a prescription, you get a certain number of pills, and the pharmacy keeps a record of that?”
“Sure, and that’s why I get reminders from them that I’m running out, as if I can’t tell by just looking at the bottle. So?”
“In Adeline Harrison’s case, she had called in her prescription but hadn’t picked it up yet. The bottle she had at home should have had only one or two more pills in it, but her blood level showed far more. Where did those pills come from?”
I turned that over in my mind. “Did the pharmacy say that she was scrupulous about refilling her prescription on schedule?”
“They did, and all her other prescriptions tracked closely. That’s why this one stood out. The one that killed her is the only anomaly.”
“Could she have been hoarding them, planning on using them to kill herself?”
“Interesting theory, but in this case, unlikely. She’d seen her doctor recently, and he’d given her a clean bill of health, as far as possible for someone of her age. No terminal illnesses, not even arthritis. She took a number of medications for various complaints, but none of them was life-threatening. Adeline Harrison took good care of herself.”
“What was she taking medication for?”
“Low blood pressure. Not unusual in
older people, and she wasn’t taking a very large dose. Doubling it unexpectedly could cause real problems.”
“And you think that means . . . ?” I waited almost breathlessly for his answer.
“That somebody else gave her those pills. Someone brought enough to do the job. That person hadn’t counted on the refill still sitting at the pharmacy.”
I felt both glad and saddened at the same time. It was progress, at least. “So does that mean you’re officially on the case now?”
“Not yet, but it’s a step closer. I’ll still need more. How’s your meeting going?”
“Marty and Shelby have whittled things down to a short list of other possible names who fit the victim profiles, but it’s still got close to forty people on it. James . . . maybe I shouldn’t tell you, but I think Marty’s scared. She’s on that list.”
“Because she’s connected to so many things? Maybe she’s right to be scared. Tell her not to accept candy from strangers.”
“James, this is serious!”
“I know,” he said gently. “I care about Marty. I’m doing the best I can. Tell her to be careful, will you? I’d prefer you didn’t tell her and Shelby about the pills, but you can tell them it wasn’t suicide. That’s the best I can do at the moment.”
“It may help. Wait—do you know how the pills were administered? Orally, by injection, inhaled?”
“Not yet. I’ve got friends at the labs where the analyses were done, so they tipped me off. But I didn’t get the full reports, or maybe they haven’t finished the analyses.”
“Okay. Look, I think we can clean up the spreadsheets and get them to you later today. That is, if you still want them?”
“I do. I promise I won’t blow your chances of fundraising.”
“You’d better not, or you’ll have to write a check to make up for it. Do you have six figures in the bank?”
“Uh, no comment. Can I come by around five and pick them up?”
Monument to the Dead Page 6
