Dead End Street

by Sheila Connolly

  “Nell, do you have a point?” James asked.

  “I think so,” I said, and was surprised; I had thought I was just spitballing. “Nobody had a professional reason to shoot at either one of them, unless maybe there’s someone in Tyrone’s organization who wants to play a bigger role. But killing someone seems kind of extreme, just to move up the ladder of a struggling nonprofit. Which leaves only one alternative: it was personal.”

  James pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair. “Say that it is. Don’t you think Hrivnak has looked into that?”

  “Maybe, but not very hard—her higher-ups won’t let her. The case is closed, more or less.”

  “And what are you going to do about it?”

  “Nothing. It’s not my job. I don’t have the skills or the right connections, certainly not in that part of town. Or the time, for that matter. I’m juggling a couple of major projects that came out of nowhere, and there’s a board meeting this week. I only wanted to sort out my own thinking. And you’re a good sounding board.”

  “Thank you. Is there any cake left?”

  We adjourned to the parlor and the television with our cake.

  CHAPTER 22

  The next morning I dressed with particular care. Silly, maybe, but I knew that Edward Perkins was in a position to do something for the Society, or at least for the Oliver sisters, and I didn’t want to offend him by appearing too casual, as if I wasn’t taking him seriously. In my position, I figured I couldn’t go wrong overdressing a bit, while underdressing might kill a deal. It was all about appearances.

  On the way toward the city, I reminded James that he was dropping me off at Marty’s house. “We’ll walk from there to Edward Perkins’s house, and then I’ll head over to the Society.”

  “Got it,” he said, watching the road. “Anything else on the calendar?”

  “Last-minute prep for the board meeting tomorrow, I guess. Nothing else scheduled, but these days things keep popping up unexpectedly. I’ll call you when I know where I’ll be at the end of the day.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “You know, you are far too accommodating,” I told him. “Don’t you have any major crises you have to handle? Can you really just walk away from your desk at five o’clock every day? That’s not the way television shows portray the FBI—you’re all supposed to be racing off to a fresh murder or a terrorist attack.”

  A corner of James’s mouth went up. “Since when have television writers gotten much of anything right? Yes, things come up. Recently I guess I’ve been given what you might call special consideration, after what happened. But it’s not necessary, and I assume it will end soon enough. In the meantime, I’ve gotten a lot of paperwork done.”

  “How exciting,” I said, and it came out a bit snarky.

  “Nell,” James began, sounding exasperated, “I just want to be sure you’re not at risk. Your detective friend may have identified the shooter, but as you suggested last night, what if he was working for someone else? That person might try again.”

  “To hurt me? That’s ridiculous. You really think a drug-dealing thug would come into Center City just to go after me?”

  “Allow me to worry about you, will you? Would you rather I didn’t?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said in a small voice. “I’m used to looking out for myself. I don’t want to be any bother to anyone else.”

  I think he smiled. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. Well, maybe for Martha, now and then. But I want to look out for you, if you’ll let me.”

  “I will. But only if you’ll let me worry about you when you’re back on full duty chasing dangerous people with weapons.”

  “Fair enough. Here we are.” He slid into a parking place outside of Marty’s town house.

  I unbuckled my seat belt, turned, and pulled him closer for a kiss, one that lasted quite a while. “Thank you,” I said. “For caring. For watching my back. I’ll try to get used to it.”

  “Do that. Call me later.”

  After he’d pulled away, I turned to find Marty leaning against her doorjamb with a smile on her face. “Nice way to start the day.”

  “I thought so. Am I coming in?”

  “Yeah, sure. We’ve got time. Edward’s place is only a ten-minute walk away. Coffee?”

  “Always.”

  Marty stood aside to let me into her home, and I walked down the long hallway to the big room at the back. She took a quick detour to the kitchen area, set off by walls that didn’t extend to the ceiling, and then joined me carrying two mugs of coffee. “Sit,” she said, after handing me one of them.

  She settled in a chair opposite me. “You read your materials?”

  “I did, yesterday. I always do my homework. Even as a kid.”

  “Suck-up,” Marty said, but with a smile. “Any questions?”

  “Not about the facts. Who’s taking the lead today, Edward or us?”

  “He hinted that he has a plan he’d like to lay out. I don’t have the details, but it sounds promising. And for some reason Eliot’s part of it.”

  That I hadn’t expected. “Really? He hasn’t said anything to you about it?”

  “No. The man is the soul of discretion. But he may be deferring to Edward, and as you may have noticed, a strong will and a full wallet will get you almost anywhere you want to go.”

  “Amen,” I said. I knew I didn’t qualify on the wallet front; where did I fall on strength of will? But I didn’t need it today: I was going to listen to Edward Perkins.

  Marty and I chatted while we finished our coffee, and then disappeared and returned wearing a handsome, colorful jacket that I hadn’t seen before. She’d dressed up, too. “Nice,” I said.

  “Thanks. You ready?”

  “Sure.”

  We strolled the few blocks to a quiet street near Rittenhouse Square. I loved walking these neighborhoods (I had to remind myself there was no point in comparing them to the sad slums not far north of where we stood—that was a different universe entirely): they were old and well maintained and beautiful. Edward Perkins’s town house was no exception. It was not ostentatiously large, but it was exquisite. Marty rapped briskly with the no doubt antique brass knocker, and I was surprised when Alice opened the door.

  “Good morning, Nell, Marty,” she said cheerfully. “Uncle Edward is waiting for you. Follow me.”

  She turned before we could ask any questions, and led us past a handsome staircase, to what must have been the back parlor according to the original floor plan. I tried to stay focused, although I really wanted to study the moldings and woodwork. When we entered the room through a graceful arch, Edward Perkins stood. Next to him stood Eliot Miller. I resisted the urge to turn to Marty to see what her reaction was. Eliot smiled broadly at both of us, and I guessed that Marty hadn’t been expecting him, either.

  “Welcome to my home, Nell. Or perhaps I should say my city home? Martha, nice to see you again,” Edward said graciously, then added, “Please, have a seat. May I offer you some refreshment?”

  “Thank you, but no, Mr. Perkins,” I said. Much more coffee and I’d have to ask to tour the plumbing facilities, although I did have some curiosity about how they’d fitted them in here. Marty shook her head as well.

  “Edward, please. Very well, then. Let us begin.”

  We all sat. Alice took a straight-backed chair outside of our circle. We waited for Edward to begin whatever it was he wanted to say.

  He did not keep us waiting. “My lovely niece Alice has been telling me very nice things about the Society since she began working there.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that,” I told him. “She’s been a great asset to us. I’d love to have more interns like her.”

  “I’m happy to know that. And I do hope you’ve recovered from your unfortunate experience last week?
”

  “I think so. It was disturbing, to say the least, but I can’t allow myself to take it personally.”

  “Goodness, no, Nell. Let us hope that the nonprofit world does not have to stoop to violence to achieve its goals.” He rubbed his hands together. “Well, I know that we’re all busy people, so I will get to the point. I have been made aware that the Oliver sisters, Phoebe and Penelope, would like to divest themselves of their lovely house, but it is their fond hope that they can preserve it in some way—in form and in substance. I have had the privilege of knowing them for most of our lives. They are not foolish women, and they recognize that the modern world places some demands on any institution, so it is unlikely that their home could be preserved forever, and they are willing to make allowances for some discreet modern modifications. But their existing resources are not sufficient to guarantee its maintenance in perpetuity, so they turned to me for assistance and counsel. And I think we have arrived at a plan that could work. Will you hear me out?”

  “Of course,” I told him. “I’m flattered that you’ve included me in this discussion, but I’m not sure I see what role the Society can play.”

  “Patience, my dear. All things will be made clear. The Oliver house lies only a few miles from Utopia College. Are you familiar with it?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t say that I am.”

  “You might have known it under its earlier name, Badger College. The change came about a couple of decades ago. It’s a small undergraduate liberal arts college with an excellent teaching staff, which is not easy to maintain in this day and age. It is also the college that Penelope Oliver attended when I first knew her. Unfortunately she was forced to withdraw after a bout of diphtheria before completing a degree. But she always retained an affection for the place.”

  Edward settled himself more comfortably in his brocade-covered wing chair. “I am proposing to make a gift to the college, with the restriction that the funds be used to acquire the Oliver home. This will not be onerous for them. The location of the house is convenient to the campus, and they are in sore need of room to expand. And there are precedents—for example, the Benjamin West House, which Swarthmore College purchased many years ago and has put to good use, all the while preserving its historical attributes.”

  I managed to find my voice. “That is an extraordinarily generous offer, Mr. Perkins. Have the Oliver sisters agreed to this?”

  “Oh, yes. They are willing to accept the transaction, as long as the building is maintained in something like its original form—not turned into a computer center or fraternity house or the like. I will ensure that my gift is adequate to provide for the care of the building, and that the funds cannot be diverted to other purposes. Phoebe, Penelope, and I have discussed this proposal, and they are willing to accept some modifications to the building, as long as they are done tastefully. They realize that the world has changed, and that they cannot control the future, so I think we have achieved a satisfactory compromise. They in turn will retire to their summer home, which is smaller and better suited to their current needs. Do you have any questions?” He sat back, looking quite pleased with himself.

  I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders: I would not have to choose between projects. It was a lovely house, but I could see no way for the Society to take it on. This way, the Oliver sisters would get their wish, and a college would reap the rewards. “I think it’s an excellent solution, Mr. Perkins.”

  “There is another component to this transaction, Nell,” Edward added, his eyes twinkling. “The Oliver sisters are in possession of the documents of many generations of their family, regarding not only the house but the family’s social and commercial activities in and around Philadelphia. They would like to make a gift of these papers to the Society, and perhaps provide some funding for the cataloging of them, something they themselves have never been equipped to do. Would your institution be interested in that collection?”

  I wanted to ask somebody to pinch me, to make sure I was really hearing this. “We would be delighted to accept such a gift, and we would be honored to provide stewardship. But surely Utopia College has some interest in it?”

  Edward shook his head. “No, their interests lie elsewhere. The college would appreciate it if you provided a summary or copies of the information that pertains to the house itself, for their own records, but they do not wish to accept responsibility for the collection. They feel the Society would be better suited as custodian of the Oliver family name.”

  “Then if they are willing, we accept.” Maybe I should run it by the board first, but I’d bet they’d be happy. And if I didn’t convince them, Marty would. I looked briefly at her, and I swear she looked gobsmacked, which was a rare state for Marty Terwilliger. Edward had pulled a fast one on her?

  And then I realized that Eliot Miller was still in the room and hadn’t yet said a word, just sat quietly with a Cheshire cat smile. And Marty was staring at him, eyebrows raised.

  There was apparently more to come.

  CHAPTER 23

  Edward Perkins did not fail to notice our glances. “As you may have surmised, my story isn’t finished quite yet. Would you like some refreshment now? Coffee? Tea?”

  Much as I hankered to see Edward’s collection of Georgian silver, I thought it might be more important to find out what other schemes he had come up with. “Thank you, but I think we’d like to know more about why you’ve brought us all here.”

  “Of course. There is another component to the Oliver transaction—its complement, you might say. This scenario involves the house in which we now sit. It has belonged to the Perkins family for generations, but at this point in my life I have no need for more than one home. I plan to move to my house in the country, if this scheme succeeds. My intention is to sell this house to my alma mater, the University of Pennsylvania, for less than its full market value. They have been looking for a suitable home for a proposed Center for Urban Transformation, and they feel that this building would suit their needs admirably, inasmuch as it is close but not too close to the main campus, and large enough but not too large for the anticipated staff. And, of course, it has a certain historical cachet, which is appropriate.”

  He paused, and I guessed it was for dramatic effect. “Professor Eliot has agreed to assume the directorship of this new institution.”

  That explained Eliot’s presence at this gathering. I am proud to say that my jaw did not drop at this news. I glanced briefly at Marty and wondered how much she had known.

  Edward went on, “I ask only that the university consider naming this new creation the Perkins Center. I think they can accommodate my vanity in exchange for this building, and they seem more than willing. The purchase price I have suggested to the university is not insubstantial. It is this sale that will provide the funds for my gift to Utopia College, which will make possible their purchase of the Oliver house.”

  I struggled to wrap my head around the complexities of this arrangement. Edward Perkins was far shrewder than I had ever given him credit for. He no doubt had worked out how to benefit from substantial charitable contributions while making everyone happy—the Oliver sisters, Utopia College, Penn, and even me. The man was one of a kind.

  “Nell, the wheels are already in motion, and I ask only that you keep this information to yourselves until the details are finalized. I’ll let you know when you can release the news. And please feel free to contact me if you have any further questions.”

  “Of course, Mr. Perkins. And I must add, this is a wonderful and generous opportunity for all concerned.”

  Eliot finally spoke. “Marty, I’m sorry I couldn’t share this with you, but Edward requested that I keep it secret while he negotiated.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Marty mumbled. I could see that she was miffed, and she and Eliot would no doubt have some heated discussions later.

  “However,” Eliot resu
med, looking at all of us in turn, “there is another element of this arrangement that you need to know about. The university possesses excellent archival resources about the city and its history, and I have reason to know that those at the Society complement them. I’d like to see the Society take an advisory role in the Perkins Center, working alongside me and our staff to capture the history of Philadelphia’s neighborhoods—all its neighborhoods, including those that have fallen on hard times. Perhaps a seat on the board of the new organization, if anyone on your staff might be interested.”

  I assumed that wow and gosh and holy cow were not appropriate responses under the circumstances. “That would be wonderful,” I said sincerely. Would there be any money involved for the Society? This was not the time to ask, nor did it really matter: it would give the Society added visibility in the local community, and drag us into the twentieth century, if not quite into the twenty-first. And that would give us a better shot at surviving in the longer term. And it would provide support for our new neighborhoods project. It was the best of all possible worlds, and I was stunned.

  Edward stood up. “Well, that is all I wished to say. I know you all have other pressing obligations, so I’ll let you go. My attorneys will keep you apprised of our progress, but they assure me that the basic elements will be finalized before the end of the year.”

  The rest of us stood as well, and I stepped forward. “Edward, I don’t know what to say. This is an extraordinary arrangement, and I’m honored that the Society will be a part of it.”

  He smiled at me. “Nell, I believe that our local history should be preserved and protected, now and in the future. That is why I have been a Society member for many years, and I believe your organization should continue to play a role in this process. Under your guidance, and that of your board, you have earned the right to a seat at the table.”