Dead End Street

by Sheila Connolly

  I was not going to let myself be intimidated by strangers on my own ground. “Can I help you?” I called out, as I started up the steps.

  “You can if you’re Nell Pratt,” she said, without smiling.

  “I am. And you are?”

  “Vee Blakeney. I’m Tyrone’s wife. Vee is short for Veronica. I wanted to speak with you about what you talked about with him on Friday.”

  Was this good or bad? Should I trust her? What the heck—she didn’t look exactly menacing, and I was pretty sure that she wouldn’t spoil the sleek lines of her expensive handbag with anything as clunky as a gun. “Sure. Let me unlock the door and we can talk.”

  I did, relieved to see Bob behind the desk. Vee followed me in.

  “Mornin’, Nell,” Bob said. “This lady with you?”

  “She wants to talk with me, yes. We’ll be in the old boardroom. Unless you’re desperate for a coffee fix?” I asked the woman.

  “Thanks for offering, but I haven’t much time. I’m on my way to work, but I hoped I’d catch you here first. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but I decided only this morning, and I didn’t want to disturb you at home.”

  “It’s not a problem. Follow me,” I said, walking past the grand staircase to the room behind it. Inside I gestured her toward a chair, then sat catty-corner to her. “What can I do for you?”

  I was hoping she wasn’t about to read me the riot act about bothering her poor wounded husband, but instead she surprised me. “Tyrone described the project you suggested, and I think it’s a smart idea. I believe he mentioned I was part of the team that put together the bond issue for the Neighborhood Transformation Initiative that John Street pushed for when he was mayor?”

  “He did, and I’ve read about it as well. I was thinking of contacting you, although I don’t know if you have any current involvement. I thought it would be a good benchmark to get your take on the situation then, what it took to persuade the City that issuing municipal bonds to provide the money was a good idea, and what results you’ve seen.”

  “I was thinking along the same lines.” She reached into her sleek messenger bag—the days of briefcases were long past, but I’d guessed her leather bag would sport a discreet designer label—and pulled out a thick portfolio. “I had some copies made of the parts that I thought would interest you—you know, the summaries, the appeals, the testimony before city council, that sort of thing.” She handed it to me.

  It was a hefty package. “Thank you! This is amazing, and I’ll look forward to reading it. Can I ask you for some personal feedback? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to—I have no idea what your involvement was.”

  “It was a while ago, and I was a very junior associate. As I recall it, I spent most of my time making stacks of photocopies and carrying them to meetings. I assume you want the parts that didn’t get written down?”

  “If you can share them. You know, the off-the-record deals that people cut, the horse-trading, the behind-the-scenes stuff. How much time can you spare?”

  She studied me, and I wondered if she was trying to judge my sincerity. “I can give you the outlines. You know John Street?”

  “I know of him. I’ve only been in Philadelphia a decade, so I don’t know his early history with the city. I have done some reading about the Neighborhood Transformation Initiative, though. It sounds as though it really mattered to him. Did he have a personal stake in it?”

  “He wasn’t raised in Philadelphia, but he spent quite a few years on city council. He was no angel, but I think he saw the program as a way to put his stamp on things. Of course, there was some controversy about his plan to tear down deteriorated properties without regard to their historic significance—I’m sure you can appreciate that—but the bond issue went through. He might have had a few issues outside of his role as mayor, but he was elected for a second term. And he was never charged with a crime.”

  I almost smiled at what Vee was not saying about the man and his tenure. But after a decade, I was used to Philadelphia politics and how things worked. “Has the program been a success, in your opinion?”

  “I think so, by most standards. At least the money didn’t go straight into the pockets of fat-cat developers. Property values in the city went up, and some new housing was created.”

  “Could it happen again?” I asked.

  “Not likely, or not at the moment. You’ve seen the state of some parts of the city—there’s still a lot to be done, but those areas are so dangerous now that no one wants to touch them. It’s a shame.”

  “Someone told me that you grew up in North Philadelphia.”

  I could swear her eyes grew colder. “I did. I got out.” She didn’t elaborate.

  Apparently that subject was off-limits. Was Tyrone also off-limits? “But your husband is still involved in the neighborhood.”

  “He is.” She glanced at her watch. “I should be going. I’ll leave the documents with you—maybe you can pull some language from them that would be useful.”

  “Thank you for bringing them by. I can’t tell you where the Society may take this, but I want to explore all the angles before I give up. Do you think a collaboration between the City or another agency and the Society could work?”

  “It couldn’t hurt, and if it doesn’t, all you’ve invested in this place is time. And I get where you’re coming from: if you want your Society to survive, you’ll need to look relevant in the present, not just the past.”

  “I agree,” I said, then stood up. “Thank you for your time. I’ll see you out. And give my regards to Tyrone—it was very kind of him to talk to me, under the circumstances. Did he really go back to work today?”

  “He did. He’s a hard man to keep down.” We’d reached the front door. “It was nice meeting you, Nell. Let me know if you need any other information.”

  I carried the thick portfolio up to my office, wondering what had been included. Whenever the City did anything involving money, a lot of paperwork was generated, both official and unofficial. Had this bond issue gone through because enough people believed it was a good idea and the right thing to do? Had the force of the mayor’s personality been enough to push it through, in his first term? Had there been developers lurking in the wings with their hands out? And did any of that mean that saving the city’s neighborhoods was a hopeless idea now, more than a decade later?

  At least I knew one person who could answer one of the questions: I put in a call to Mitchell Wakeman, Philadelphia regional developer extraordinaire.

  CHAPTER 20

  I was surprised that Wakeman called me back within an hour: this was one busy man, and we didn’t exactly know each other well. But I had done him a huge favor earlier in the year, by clearing the way for a project that was dear to his heart, one that went beyond money. He knew about causes. Still, I felt mildly embarrassed because he had already done so much for the Society.

  “Nell—glad you’re not dead,” he said. Abrupt as always.

  “Why, thank you, Mitchell. How kind of you to notice.”

  He made a huffing noise that might have been a laugh. “What do you want now?”

  “I want to save the neighborhoods of Philadelphia. No, that’s sort of a joke, so let me ask for something simpler. As a hypothetical, what would it take to get regional developers—or, heck, any developers—on board with a neighborhood initiative in the city?”

  “You’re not asking me to get involved, are you?”

  “No, I wouldn’t do that—you’ve done enough. And I’ve already figured out that such a project could be toxic to anybody. This is purely hypothetical. What would it take to get them to step up and find a way to help, uh, distressed neighborhoods?”

  He thought for a few moments. I waited. Finally he said, “Money, of course. You’ve got to show that they’d at least break even. Or if they lose money, that they’ll get some other city pro
ject that’ll make up for it. Yeah, that’s kind of hard to arrange, at least publicly. But doing it because it’s the noble thing to do isn’t going to cut it.”

  “Understood. Anything else?”

  “Get the press behind the project. Make the developers look good.”

  “Already working on that. What else?”

  “They won’t bite off more than they can chew. If they make big promises and can’t deliver, they’ll look like fools. Never a good idea. Keep the project—or the first one, if you’re thinking long-term—a manageable size that can be completed in a reasonable amount of time.”

  “Does that mean looking for a small, hungry developer or group, or a big one that wants to add a dash of prestige or public service to its portfolio?”

  “Could go either way. If somebody wants to put together a group, to spread the risk, make sure they play well together. We don’t want them squabbling in public or holding things up.”

  Like I could do that: he was the only developer I knew on a personal basis. “Can you give me names of companies that would be interested, potentially? I know I can go through the phone book, but you know these people and what they’re really like.”

  A longer pause this time. “Let me think about that. What’re you doing in the middle of this, anyway?”

  “The Society still owns a property in North Philadelphia. That’s why I was there last Monday.”

  “Huh. Most people would walk away and not look back.”

  “I can’t, Mitchell. Not now; not after what happened.”

  Mitchell Wakeman was silent for a few moments. Finally he said, “I’ll get back to you. Good talking with you—stay out of the line of fire, will you?” He hung up.

  I wasn’t offended by his abruptness. Mitchell Wakeman might lack a few social graces, and he didn’t tolerate fools, but he was smart, connected, and one of the all-around good guys. And if he said he’d get back to me, he would.

  After I’d replaced the phone, I looked up to see Alice Price standing in my doorway, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. “Eric said you were free?” she ventured.

  “I am. Come in, sit down. What’s up? You’re leaving? You’ve gotten a job running a major museum in some exotic foreign country?” Alice was one of the brightest interns we had ever had, at least as long as I’d been with the Society. She had graduated from college but was taking some time off to consider her options, and we were lucky that she had decided to do it under our roof. But I knew that once she made up her mind she’d be gone.

  Alice laughed as she sat down. “That’s how you see me? I’m flattered. But no to both of those, at least for the moment. I’ll let you know if things change. Right now I want to talk about Uncle Edward.”

  I was surprised, yet not, since it was Uncle Edward who had suggested her for the job. “I could play dumb and ask you why, but I’m pretty sure you’d see through that. Has Marty talked to you about the Oliver house?”

  “I’ve talked to her. I think we’re on the same page, no matter who started it. But can we take a step back and talk about that other thing you proposed? Let me see if I’ve got this right: you want the Society to engage in an ongoing research project to assemble evidence of the lost neighborhoods of Philadelphia as they once were.”

  “In a nutshell, yes.” I stopped and waited, because I was sure she had more.

  “I’m sure you’ve reviewed all the efforts in the past to save or revitalize those neighborhoods.”

  “Let’s say I’m a quick study, after last week. I’ve done some research, yes.”

  Alice nodded her head. “I can see that what happened might give you a more personal stake in the matter. I’m glad you’re all right.”

  “Thank you. So am I. So why have you come to me now?”

  “You asked for input from the staff, and that’s why I’m here. I don’t mean to offend you, but it seems to me that addressing this problem requires more than research, more than money, more than goodwill on the part of a lot of well-meaning people.”

  “Yes, I agree. Are you leading up to something?”

  “Marty and I talked briefly about all of this. She was being very cautious, I guess you could say, but we both think that Uncle Edward could play a part in this.”

  I sighed. “There are so many ways to respond to that statement, Alice. Let’s start at the beginning. We hired you because Edward Perkins hinted there might be some financial benefit if we did. I hope you know that if you had been a galloping idiot we would not have hired you, under any circumstances. But you’re not, and you have been a real asset to the Society, and if you were to leave tomorrow I’d write a glowing letter of recommendation to anyone who asks. And, as I’m sure you know, your uncle kept his part in the unstated bargain and made a nice contribution to the Society. Our mutual slates are clean, so to speak. He has always been a good member here, and I wouldn’t presume to ask anything out of the ordinary from him.”

  “I understand. But what if there was an arrangement that would benefit everyone involved?”

  “How do you define everyone?”

  “Uncle Edward, the Society, the City, the development community, and probably a few others I haven’t thought of yet.”

  “Why are you bringing this to me? Or rather, why you rather than your uncle?”

  “As you may have noticed, Uncle Edward is rather fond of me.”

  I knew that Edward Perkins had no children of his own, and that he had taken a special interest in Alice’s future. But I had no idea what kind of influence Alice could wield over him, nor did I want to ask her to use it. “Alice, I don’t want you to sweet-talk your uncle into something based on his affection for you.”

  “Nell, my uncle is a shrewd man, and he’s not a pushover. He wouldn’t do anything just because I asked, not without thoroughly investigating the idea. And he has been known to say no, even to me. But if there was a good idea that he was not aware of, and if I presented it to him in the right light, I’m sure he would consider it. The answer might still be no, but he will have given it some thought first.”

  “And you want to approach him about this neighborhoods project?” I asked.

  “I think I can. But only if you approve. I know he’s supported the Society in the past, in a variety of ways, but this particular subject might not appeal to him.”

  “You’re a lot younger than he is. Do you think this makes sense?”

  She nodded. “I do. The Society is a great institution, but it hasn’t exactly moved with the times. It would help you if you looked more, well, relevant in the twenty-first century.”

  I sighed. She was right, and what she was saying was what I had already said to myself, one way or another. “You haven’t talked to your uncle about this yet?”

  “No, not yet. I wanted to talk to you first. I didn’t want to overstep.”

  “When were you planning to approach him?”

  “Soon, I think. Uncle Edward is not getting any younger.”

  I thought for a moment. It seemed vaguely distasteful to encourage Alice to approach her uncle Edward. Such an approach should come from me, or from the board. But Alice had come to me and volunteered, and I knew he would listen to her. “Alice, you scare me. You sure you aren’t a forty-year-old in a twenty-five-year-old body?”

  “My mother keeps saying that. No, I’m just smart. And observant. I know that scares some people. But I’m here at the Society now, and I’m happy to volunteer whatever capabilities I have to help.”

  “Thank you for offering, Alice.” I fought an urge to hug her—I guess I was still overemotional. “I wish I could say I had a plan, but I’ve only been thinking about this for a week, you know. And I don’t want to offend your uncle. He’s been more than generous with us.”

  “I can make it clear that approaching him was my own idea, which is true. And I can tell him to talk with you. I’ll
go away now and let you think—I won’t say anything unless you approve. Thank you for listening.” Alice stood up.

  “Alice, I’m the one who should be thanking you. You are an amazing young woman.”

  Alice just smiled, and left quickly. And, per her instructions, I sat and thought. Tyrone and his wife were on board (I needed to read what she’d given me). I had talked to Wakeman about the construction aspect of the problem, and he might possibly come up with some cooperative developers (it was too much to hope that he’d put his own company in the mix). Alice thought her uncle might consider financial support; did that mean that Marty and I should set up a meeting with him quickly? I ought to talk to Marty about what we should or could ask for—she knew him better than I did.

  Could we have something like a proposal cobbled together in time for the board meeting this week? Unlikely. Maybe I should touch base with Eliot again, although obviously Marty had already spoken with him. I wanted to draw a flowchart, showing who knew what and whom and how they could help. Should I go after someone at the City? Who had been Cherisse’s boss, and did I know him or her? Did Marty or Eliot? Or should I throw caution to the wind and tackle the mayor? I didn’t know him personally, but maybe some board members did.

  Could I go home yet? I felt like I’d done a full day’s work, and it wasn’t even lunchtime. As if my list weren’t already long enough, the phone rang, and Eric announced, “It’s your detective.”

  “Thanks, Eric.” I took a breath. I had no idea what she wanted. If she was going to tell me she was definitely off the case, I wouldn’t be surprised. I picked up the phone.