Dead End Street

by Sheila Connolly

  I didn’t need to ask what she was talking about. “How’d you guess?”

  “Trouble seems to find you. You all right? Is Jimmy there?”

  “I’m managing. And yes, James arrived in time to scrape me off the pavement—literally—and hold my hand at the police station, and guide me home.”

  “I’m glad,” she said, uncharacteristically softly. Then she ramped up the volume again. “So, what the hell were you doing in that neighborhood at all?”

  “Society business. Something you and I need to talk about, and probably have to take to the board.”

  “You’re kidding. Aren’t you?” Marty asked anxiously.

  “I wish I was. Even I know enough to stay out of that part of town, unless there’s a really good reason, but this kind of was. The shooting part was unexpected. I have no idea whether it has anything to do with the Society, but it seems unlikely.”

  “The news says somebody was killed. Who was it?”

  “A woman named Cherisse Chapman. Do you know her?”

  “Sounds familiar . . . Wait—she worked for the City? Short, in her thirties, smart?”

  “That’s right. How do you know her?”

  “She was . . . oh, now I get it. She was working in neighborhood redevelopment, handling vacant properties. That’s why you met her?”

  I had long since given up being surprised that Marty knew everybody in Philadelphia and what they were doing, and half the time, what their parents and grandparents had done. “Exactly. We were looking at a property that she said the Society owns. Yes, before you interrupt, we all thought we’d gotten rid of all of those, but something got fouled up years ago, and we’re still the owner of record. Of a place that’s about to collapse, in the middle of a dangerous slum. And Cherisse is dead.”

  “What a waste,” Marty muttered. Then she collected herself. “Well, you must be a wreck. I’ll come by the Society tomorrow and we can figure out what happened. You going to produce a press release?”

  “Oh, shoot—I meant to work on that tonight, so I can send it to Eric and he can get it out first thing in the morning. Although I have no idea how coherent I can be, and how much I can say.”

  “Hrivnak on this one?”

  “Who else? I seem to be her special project, and I’m keeping her busy these days. I’d better go draft that release. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  I hung up, suddenly exhausted, before she could say anything more. Somehow James was behind me again.

  “Want me to unplug the phones?”

  “We can just ignore them. Unless it’s our favorite detective, calling to let me know that they’ve solved the case and everything is taken care of. But I think that’s beyond even her superpowers.”

  “Then come upstairs.”

  “I’ve got to draft a press release so Eric can get to work on it.”

  “Saying what?” James asked. “That you were a witness to a shooting that had nothing to do with you? That’s not exactly the kind of news you want to announce.”

  “What if it did?”

  “Involve you? Why on earth would you think that?”

  “Because that’s the way my luck works? I don’t believe I’m the center of the universe, but I do seem to keep stumbling into dangerous things. And they don’t exactly involve me, more often the Society, but in a way I am the Society—the public face. I’m responsible for what goes on there, both inside and outside.”

  James grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him squarely. “Nell Pratt, somebody tried to kill you today. It doesn’t matter whether he knew who you were, or was aiming at you, or just liked the noise his gun made when he pulled the trigger. You could have died. Don’t try to brush that off. If it doesn’t matter to you, it does to me.”

  “Oh,” I said. I couldn’t meet his eyes. He was right, in a way: I was being selfish by trying to pretend it didn’t matter that I’d come within inches of dying. I hadn’t taken his feelings into account. If he loved me (If, Nell?), he would have been deeply hurt himself. I’d laid my life on the line when I’d stopped his attacker a few months earlier, and I had no doubt he would do the same for me. He was probably angry with himself that he hadn’t been there on that street today to protect me, even though that was ridiculous.

  Damn, this relationship stuff was tricky!

  So inside I let something go. He was right: the stupid press release could wait. Right now we needed each other. “I love you, James. I’m just still trying to get my head around being ‘us’ instead of just me. I’m sorry.”

  “We’re learning together, love. Now come upstairs, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  We spent some time celebrating life. After, I lay awake for a while, watching James sleep. I’d been happy on my own, hadn’t I? Not long before, I would have said yes. Now . . . well, it was a whole new world. He was a good man—smart, capable, strong. And he loved me. And I loved him, thought I didn’t say it enough. Something else to work on. I drifted off to sleep . . .

  * * *

  The next morning James had turned off my alarm but woke me with a cup of hot French roast coffee. He sat at the foot of the bed, watching me sip it. “You’re going to work, I assume?”

  “I thought so. Why? Do you think I shouldn’t?”

  He gave the question some thought. “Part of me would like to lock you up until we figure out why yesterday happened at all. I realize that is ridiculous, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling that way.”

  I smiled. “That’s all right. Part of me would like to crawl into a cave—preferably with you—and wait it out. But we’re grown-ups, so we can’t do that. And I do have obligations that involve this incident that are going to be more pressing than they were yesterday morning. Are you going to be involved?”

  “It’s unlikely that Detective Hrivnak would enjoy my participation.”

  “Hey, she didn’t bite your head off yesterday.”

  “No, but you will notice I kept my mouth shut. I was there to support you, not to solve a crime. I can see only one circumstance that would even suggest the FBI’s involvement.”

  “Which would be?”

  “If this was determined to be a hate crime.”

  Much as I would like his active participation, I didn’t see much chance of that. “Black men shooting at a couple of black people in a largely black neighborhood. I don’t think I was the target.”

  “You’re saying you think the only kind of hate crime involves race?”

  “Oh. Well, no, not exactly. But this is Philadelphia, so it’s never far away. What else qualifies?”

  “Congress has defined a hate crime as ‘a criminal offense against a person or property motivated in whole or in part by an offender’s bias against a race, religion, disability, ethnic origin, or sexual orientation.’ Civil rights violations may also fall in that category, but the FBI can investigate only if it applies to an individual, not a group.”

  “I don’t see how any of that fits, but who knows? I’ll keep you informed if anything pops up.”

  “Are you okay with going in today?” he asked.

  “I’ll be all right, James. But thank you for worrying.”

  “I’m driving you to work.”

  “I won’t argue. Now, let me get ready, will you?”

  I took a shower, then chose my clothes with an eye to appearing on camera, although I hoped that wouldn’t happen. I was not the news here—the bright lights should focus on Tyrone and Cherisse and the cesspit that was North Philadelphia. I was sure the police would make all the right noises and would put on a show of looking for the shooters. I had little faith that they would find them. But right now I had a smaller, simpler task to focus on: what to do with that cursed property.

  CHAPTER 6

  James dropped me off in front of the Society. If there had been a parking space open, I had no
doubt that he would have escorted me into the lobby and handed me off to Front Desk Bob, who had once been a cop. As it was, he had to content himself with a serious kiss, and then he stayed at the curb, idling, until he saw me walk in the door. Apparently yesterday’s events had really rattled him, which surprised me. And moved me: he really was worried about me.

  Inside it was cool, clean, and peaceful. Bob was already at his desk. “You all right, Ms. Pratt?” he asked.

  “I’m fine, Bob, just shaken up.”

  “Bad part of town,” he said. I realized I didn’t know exactly where he lived. I doubted it was in that part of town, but as a former cop he would know exactly how bad it was there.

  “Yes, it is. I guess I hadn’t realized how bad. Thanks for asking.”

  I went through the main reference room and headed for the elevator. If Bob’s solicitous reaction was any indication, it was going to be a very odd day.

  My arrival in front of Eric’s desk confirmed my suspicion. I was afraid he was going to jump over his desk and hug me. While I considered us friends, we weren’t exactly on hugging terms, but I braced myself just in case. Luckily he settled for jumping out of his chair.

  “Nell, are you all right? I heard the news, and then when you didn’t call or leave an e-mail or a message or anything, and you weren’t on the late news, I really started to worry.”

  “I’m sorry, Eric. It never occurred to me that other people would be worried. Well, Martha Terwilliger called, but she’s a special case. I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought about sending you a draft of a press release, in case the public is interested, but I decided it could wait until this morning. We’re only a footnote to the story.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll go get you some coffee right away.” He hurried down the hall, leaving me feeling both guilty and amused.

  Shelby arrived next, and she didn’t hesitate to hug me. “What were you thinking, lady? I’m pretty new to Philadelphia, but even I know better than to wander into North Philly.”

  “It was business, Shelby,” I said feebly. “I wasn’t exactly sightseeing. And I didn’t know where they were going to take me.” Although I probably should have guessed, after what we’d discussed.

  “Business, my butt. And you gave me the address yesterday, remember? You should have known.”

  “Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean I recognized where it was. I don’t know every street in the city. Especially in neighborhoods I’ve never seen.”

  “Well, next time you go off like that, do your homework, will you? Or better yet, send a large lawyer to handle it. We need you here. Did Mr. Agent Man swoop in and save the day?”

  “Kind of, after the fact. After the shooting stopped, I called the cops and then I called him. And he got there fast. He was so sweet.” His simple kindness brought new tears to my eyes.

  “You’ve got a keeper there, Nell. So, what happens now?”

  “With what?”

  “That blasted property that started the whole thing.”

  “I haven’t a clue, and I haven’t had time to think about it. But I’m here, and I’m going to look into it.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Shelby rolled her eyes, then winked at me. “Let me ask you this,” Shelby said. “Do you have any reason to think that this shooting had anything to do with you, the Society, or that particular property?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. It could have been a random event, and that’s what the police are likely to think. I suppose there’s a slim chance that it was directed at either one of the other people in the car with me. I don’t know anything about them, although Marty seems to have met the woman. But that’s for the police to look into, not me. James and I went over to police headquarters yesterday and I gave them my statement, which I still have to sign, and that may be the end of it, at least for the Society, and for me. You didn’t happen to find anything interesting about the house or the street, did you?”

  “Not yet, but I’ve just started. Not that I’m expecting much. But I’ll keep looking, and I’ll check with the business office to see if they have anything on file. At this place you never know what might turn up.”

  “Thank you, Shelby. I was wondering if I should get the staff together and tell them what happened, in case anybody asks them about it. Even simple questions like What was Nell Pratt doing there?”

  “I think you should, just so everybody can see you’re still alive and kicking. People were worried, you know.”

  I fought back more tears. I was beginning to wonder just how long I’d feel so emotional, but as James had told me, I had the right to be upset. “That’s really nice of them. Okay, I’ll ask Eric to tell people to gather in the boardroom at ten so I can get this out of the way.”

  “Sounds good,” Shelby said. She wavered a moment, then dove in for another hug. “I’m so glad you’re all right—this place wouldn’t be the same without you.” Then she fled to her own office.

  I went back out to Eric’s desk and said, “Could you send out a staff e-mail and ask everyone to gather in the boardroom at ten? I might as well get the story out, in case any patrons ask about it. I haven’t dared look at the paper this morning—is there any mention of me or the Society in the news coverage?”

  “Way down at the bottom. You were described as a witness.”

  “Well, that much is accurate, I guess. Tell the staff I’ll keep it short, will you?”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  Back in my office, I sat down in my damask-clad antique mahogany chair and tried to think. My mind was blank. Whatever I’d been doing yesterday seemed incredibly trivial right now, but I needed to get my head back in the game.

  Much as I hated to think so, Tyrone and Cherisse had made a good point yesterday, when they came to see me. The Society had a measure of status in the Philadelphia cultural community, not to mention a wealth of varied resources—and not all high-end silver and genealogies of famous people. We also had accounts from small businesses, and architectural histories, and shipping and bank records. I realized that it would be easy for us to pull together a sort of profile of almost any neighborhood in the city, based on our own collections. Which, as Tyrone had suggested, would make the Society a very useful partner in any redevelopment project. I was somewhat surprised that no developer or neighborhood group had approached us before now, looking for ammunition to use in their own efforts. It would be a smart move, to craft an appeal not just to community activists but also to the higher-end movers and shakers who cared about the city and its past but weren’t familiar with what had happened to the old neighborhoods because they didn’t want to see it and were looking the other way. In other words, a lot of our members and donors. Tyrone and Cherisse had no doubt wanted to recruit me as an ally, and they were right to do so. We could help, if the project they had described was going to go on.

  Which of the two had been the prime mover, Tyrone or Cherisse? They had made a good team, because they approached the problem from different directions, and each of them was in a position to know the real issues. But alliances between the City and private organizations were rare. What had brought them together? What were the specific details about the project they had most likely intended to pitch to me, if our tour hadn’t ended in disaster?

  By the time I was done wading through this thought process, it was time for the meeting I had asked Eric to arrange. I marched down the hall to the modern boardroom (far less formal, but also less attractive, than the former boardroom on the ground floor) and walked in to find the majority of the staff was already assembled—and they burst into applause at my entrance. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “Thank you, I think. I didn’t do anything but duck, but I seem to do that pretty well.”

  “What happened?” Felicity Soames, our venerable head librarian, asked. “The news reports were kind of vague.”

  I
launched into a brief description of the visit by Tyrone and Cherisse the day before, which had culminated in the tour of the dying neighborhood, and the events that followed. When I was done, our relatively new registrar, Ben, asked, “What were they hoping to accomplish, dragging you down there?”

  “Ben, I think they wanted to drive home the point that that part of the city was once a vital neighborhood, and now it’s a disaster area. I’m sure you all know better than I do that we’re talking about a large area within a short walk of some of the nicest and most visited parts of town.” I turned from Ben and looked at each of the others around the table. “Before you start protesting, I know that it’s not our responsibility to take on all the problems of the city of Philadelphia. We’re scrabbling to keep up with what goes on within these walls. And we’re not in any way a political organization. But we are the keepers of the city’s history, and we can provide a wealth of information about any part of the city. I think that was all Tyrone and Cherisse wanted, although we never had a chance to get to the details. And maybe they were on the right track: we should be more proactive about it, instead of waiting for some of the activists out there to stumble over us. I’m betting that a lot of those activists are not among our regular patrons. But we as an institution need to broaden our reach and increase our visibility if we’re going to survive.” I stopped, surprised at myself. Where had that speech come from?

  Latoya Anderson, our vice president for collections, who happened to be a black woman, had come in while I was speaking. I was trying hard not to sound racist, and many of the neighborhoods of the city had flourished under a wide range of ethnic groups, but I knew Latoya could be prickly and occasionally defensive.

  I was pleased when she said, “I think you make an excellent point, Nell. I know in recent years we’ve focused most of our energies on keeping this institution viable, financially and physically, and that’s an ongoing challenge. But we may have lost sight of our mandate along the way. We do have an obligation to all populations in this city, both past and present, and this might be an excellent way to fulfill that.”