Fundraising the Dead

by Connolly, Sheila

  “You gonna do body searches?” One of the newer members threw this out; he had been recruited more for his checkbook than for his personal charm.

  Charles gave this person a withering glance. “I am well aware that option raises serious issues—not least of which is reluctance among current staff members to undertake such activities. But I think that we need to make it known that this is a possibility. We need to post our rights more prominently—including the right to search all items and, yes, persons. We need to let the public know that we are serious about this and that we will prosecute offenders, not just send them on their way with a slap on the wrist.”

  As a general rumbling broke out among the people around the table, Charles raised his hand once more, asking for silence.

  “I realize that you will need time to reflect on this and that we will need to draft more specific guidelines for your review and ultimate approval. But let me emphasize that I do think this is important and that we should act on it sooner rather than later. I would suggest that, at this time, we pass a general resolution to effect near-term improvements to collections security, and that we empower the Collections Committee to create and implement specific guidelines. I would like to see this done within the next two weeks.”

  In the glacial world of the Society, this was truly precipitous. I looked at Marty, but her expression gave nothing away.

  “Moreover,” Charles pressed on, “I would like to have these new policies in place as soon as possible, so that we can observe the results and make any necessary revisions at the next board meeting in three months. Do I have a motion?”

  Somebody muttered, “So moved.”

  “Second?”

  Two or three people said, “Second.”

  The members voted unanimously if unenthusiastically to support the measure.

  “Doris, please note that the resolution has been made, seconded, and approved, and that the Collections Committee will meet to draft improved security measures.”

  Giving the responsibility to the Collections Committee made sense, and taking this action would mollify Marty. Plus it was a standing committee—trying to create a new committee at this point would just delay action. And I had to admit to myself that Charles’s strategy was masterful: he appeared concerned without being alarming.

  But a nagging little voice in my head was also noting that Charles had carefully distanced himself from any mention of the potential thefts, should they go public. He had made it look as though it was his adept management that had uncovered the problem—rather than his obliviousness or shortsightedness that had permitted it to occur. I glanced across the table at Marty and found her staring at Charles with a look that combined speculation and skepticism. She hadn’t said anything yet, pro or con, but I had no doubt that she wouldn’t hold her tongue if she found something she didn’t like. As if she had heard my thoughts, she turned her gaze to me, but her expression did not change. I met her look squarely, but I really wasn’t sure what she was thinking.

  The meeting wound down quickly after that. I escorted some of the board members downstairs, and Charles stayed behind for a few minutes, then joined me in the lobby. It was getting late, and people were not disposed to linger. When the last person had gone, Charles and I were left alone. I found I still had mixed feelings about his strategy.

  “So, Charles, you elected not to warn the board that we may have a serious problem?”

  He regarded me levelly. “Nell, we aren’t sure if there is a problem, or what the scope of it may be. I bought us some time to investigate more thoroughly, while at the same time implementing what may be the first in a series of new security measures. I don’t think we need to stir up any panic at this point.”

  An irrational thought flashed through my head: So when should we schedule the panic? What would be a good day?

  “Let me handle this, Nell,” he went on. “I have things under control, and it seems Marty is on board with our plans. I think I have done what is necessary for now.” He looked at his watch. “Is it that late already? I’m meeting a friend for dinner—I have to dash. Thanks for all your help, Nell.”

  And with that dismissive comment, he turned quickly and headed back to his office to retrieve his coat. I made my way to my office more slowly, thinking as I went. Something did not feel right. But what could I do about it? It wasn’t my department, and Charles had made it clear that he didn’t want me meddling in it. I sighed. I certainly had enough to do without going looking for problems in other departments.

  I wasn’t exactly surprised to see Marty waiting for me in my office. “I thought I hadn’t seen you leave. So, what just went on in there?” I asked as I made my way around the desk to my chair.

  “Charles is dancing around the issue and covering his own ass.”

  “That’s about what I thought. Are you happy with that?”

  “Wait and see.”

  CHAPTER 21

  With the board meeting behind me—and with the memory of Charles’s evasiveness fresh in my memory—I took stock. Agent James Morrison had his plan, Marty Terwilliger had her plan, and I was darn well going make some small contribution of my own to untangling this mess. It was all well and good to do everyone else’s bidding, but my self-esteem was at stake. I had to make up for misjudging Charles the Snake, if only to myself. I had time to think on the train ride home—and came up with some ideas.

  As Marty had suggested, I told Carrie that I’d be out the next day beating the bushes for contributions, which was close enough to the truth. Friday I pulled into the parking lot at Chez Henri a few minutes before my scheduled luncheon with Marty and her friend. I sat in my car trying to collect my thoughts. I had done a quick search of our donor cultivation records about Marty’s friend Elizabeth Farnsworth, aka Libby. She was the widow of one of the great industrial magnates of Philadelphia and had inherited beaucoup bucks, although I seemed to recall reading that some of her late husband’s children by an earlier marriage had tried to break his will. My impression had been that there was plenty to go around. I knew she had to be Marty’s age, since Marty had said they had been at school together. I also knew that she had a nice townhouse in the city and a sprawling estate in the Chester County horse country. Charles had mentioned in passing that he had escorted her to an event or two. I had never met her, but I had made sure that the Society had a complete file on her, in case we ever had the opportunity to ask for a contribution from her. I would never have anticipated the contribution that Marty and I were planning to solicit. Oops—maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words.

  With a sigh, I got out of the car and headed for the door. I was waiting in the restaurant lobby, admiring its warm colors, earthy tiles, and the glowing light bathing the yellow walls when Marty and her guest arrived. Libby Farnsworth was much as I would have imagined her—relentlessly slender, deeply tanned, her hair artfully colored yet casually arranged. She wore her clothes carelessly, but the chunky gold jewelry at her ears and wrists was obviously real. Marty pointed to me, and Libby gave me a sharp look before extending her hand.

  “I’m Libby Farnsworth. So you’re our partner in crime?” Her handshake was firm and decisive.

  “Eleanor Pratt—Nell. Guilty; or maybe I shouldn’t say that under the circumstances.”

  One of the many hovering flunkies arrived to escort us to our table, located in a reasonably private corner, and with a flourish, handed us elegantly engraved menus. I tried not to look at the prices, and wondered how much room I had on my credit card. Since the meal appeared to be prix fixe, I decided to splurge on a glass of Chardonnay—the chef’s taste in wines was legendary. Once the waiter had bustled away, the three of us sat back and contemplated each other.

  “I guess we should get started.” Marty looked positively gleeful. “Nell, I didn’t have time to fill Libby in on the details—so you can help me out as we go. Libby, the FBI is looking at your boyfriend for grand larceny and violating God knows how many federal laws. Oh, and Nell, Li
bby already knows you’re another woman scorned.”

  Great. Could I be more pathetic? I took a swallow of the excellent buttery Chardonnay and almost forgot to answer. “Well, I certainly feel like a fool. Yes, Charles and I have been, uh, involved since shortly after he took the job at the Society.”

  “Come on, sweetie, he’s been boffing you, right?”

  I nodded but couldn’t meet her eyes. “I didn’t have any illusions that we were madly in love, or that it was going to go anywhere. But, looking back, I can see that he was using me all along, and I didn’t even realize it. I made things a lot easier for him—and then he turned around and tried to pin the thefts on me. Marty told you about those, right?” I finally managed to look at Libby, whose glance combined amusement and sympathy.

  “She sure did. Oh, Charles is a charmer, all right. Knows just what to say, and how and when. It takes a strong woman to resist the package. Kudos to you, Marty.”

  Marty sighed. “Wish I could say I saw through him, but he was the one who cooled it—told you, I’m not a big enough prize. Although I think he milked me for a heck of a lot of information about who’s who in Philadelphia. No, I didn’t feed him you, Libs—he can read the society column and a credit report. But I gave him a jump-start, so to speak.”

  Libby took a healthy sip of the large martini that had materialized at her place. “Oh, goody. He was getting a bit tiresome—although I must say, if he’s really been doing what you say, it makes him much more interesting. Hidden depths and all that. What’s the larceny deal?”

  “Well, we think he’s been making off with some valuable items from the Society, but the FBI’s looking for proof of that, so don’t worry about it. But we also know for a fact he’s been running through the Blue Book widows for the last year and more. My guess is, he’s angling for a new wife—someone who will support him in the manner to which he’d like to become accustomed. So we want to get him where it really hurts,” Marty said with a sly grin. “And of course I thought of you, dear.”

  Libby cocked a well-groomed eyebrow at her and grinned as our first course arrived. While listening to the conversation, I admired the artful composition of the food on my plate, the lovely plate itself, and the silverware that flanked it. I even admired the crisply pressed napkin that more than covered my lap. Then I tasted the food. I stopped listening to the conversation and diverted all energies to my taste buds. Amazing. I wondered if I was purring out loud.

  When the second course appeared, it was more beautiful than the first course, almost too pretty to eat. It was with sincere regret that I turned my attention back to the other women.

  “Libby, has Marty told you what we’re thinking of doing?” I said.

  Libby seemed oblivious to the wonders on the plate in front of her. “I gather you want me to seduce him and wrangle all his secrets from him, after I’ve, uh, softened him up?”

  I had to laugh at her turn of phrase. “Well, more or less. Anyway, we’d really like to see if he’ll talk about his assets—financial, that is.”

  “And maybe record him,” Marty added.

  Libby’s eyes sparkled. “Ooh, does that mean I get to wear a wire? Like on TV?”

  “I don’t know the technology, but something like that,” I said, glancing at Marty for corroboration. She nodded enthusiastically.

  “And I’d be working for the FBI?” Libby asked.

  I frowned. “Well, indirectly. They don’t know about this, and we aren’t exactly planning to tell them, but we’ll turn over anything we find out to them.”

  “Don’t worry—my cousin Jimmy is an agent in the Philadelphia office,” Marty added.

  “What, little Jimmy Morrison, the one who couldn’t swim?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Will wonders never cease. So now he’s a G-man?”

  “He grew up.”

  “I always wondered what happened to him. Government snoop certainly seems to fit.”

  Marty looked mystified. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you remember that time he spied on me and Arthur, oh, what’s his name? We were exploring the, um, wonders of nature in the boathouse one summer. I must have been about sixteen, which would make Jimmy, what, nine? He got a real eyeful. Maybe that’s how he got started on this FBI stuff.”

  Marty laughed. “I’d forgotten about that. So he won’t hear anything he hasn’t heard before, if we tape you and Charles?”

  “Ooh, Martha, you are bad. But you’re right. Nothing like keeping it all in the family, eh?”

  As I swirled a piece of the excellent crusty French bread around my plate to capture the very last of the extraordinary sauce, I contemplated the bantering women before me. I wondered if they came from another species. Growing up with both money and connections, they seemed to have a different view of the world than I did. Not that they were putting on airs, and they were both being quite open about what had gone on between them and Charles, and that club now included me. I decided that overall I liked them. After all, it wasn’t their fault that they had been born rich. I could deal with that, as long as the fallout included meals like this one.

  Dessert arrived, along with excellent coffee. Once again, I gazed in awe at the splendid composition on the plate before me. Was I really supposed to sully it with a fork? What a shame. But I managed. Libby and Marty were talking about various people I had never heard of. Yes, I could get used to this life . . .

  Libby gestured imperiously to a passing waiter to refill her coffee cup, then said, “Okay, what specifically do you want me to do?”

  Marty took the lead. “You’ve been seeing Charles on a fairly regular basis?”

  She nodded. “It’s not like we have a standing date every Tuesday or anything like that, but yes, I’d say once or twice a week, depending on the social calendar.”

  “Purely public dates, or have you met in private?”

  “I’ve been to his place a couple of times, and he’s been to my place in the city once.”

  “Where does he seem more comfortable?”

  “His place, definitely.”

  “Have you taken off your clothes there?”

  Caught by surprise, I stifled a laugh. Libby tried to look outraged but failed, and ultimately gave in to laughter. “Yes, Marty, we’ve done the deed there.”

  “You slut, you.” The two old friends smiled at each other. “Well, if you spend time at your place, we could wire the place rather than you. If you have to go to his place, and if you take off your clothes, it gets more complicated to hide any microphones.”

  “So it’s more than just your prurient interest, I gather. All right. Look, I’m not all that familiar with your high-tech doodads, but I can tell you, since I have reached a certain age, I prefer to preserve a bit of mystery. In other words, I wear a nightgown. Oh, by the way, Nell, that white silk number was yours?”

  I stared at her. “Uh, yes.”

  “Charles thought he’d hidden it, but I’m a snoop. It’s very nice.”

  “Thank you.” I blushed, then decided it was time to divert the focus away from the physical to the technical. “Uh, ladies, what about these listening devices? We can’t exactly call up James and ask to borrow a few.”

  Marty waved a hand dismissively. “My sister’s eldest son is into that high-tech stuff. I’m sure he can set us up with what we need. I’ll give him a call later.”

  I was not convinced but decided to wait and see. Then another thought struck me. “You know,” I began slowly, “I’ll bet I could get the bugs into Charles’s place.” I liked the idea. I could kill two birds with one stone: plant the bugs and break it off with Charles.

  Marty stared at me. “I hadn’t thought of that. But what’ll you say to him to get you in the door?”

  “Oh, I guarantee it’ll be a conversation he won’t want to have on the stoop.” I gave a moment’s thought to falling into Charles’s bed again and gagged. No, not after what I had learned over the last few days; not after what he’d do
ne, or tried to do, to me. But I could go and tell him that whatever we’d shared was over. “I think I deserve one grand farewell scene. Besides, Libby reminded me that I want my nightgown back. That way I’d have the perfect excuse to get into the bedroom—to collect the stuff I left there. I could probably stick a bug somewhere in there.”

  “What if he doesn’t let you in?”

  “Well, it’s worth a try, isn’t it? If he won’t let me in, then Libby can take a shot at it. But I think he would be polite, at least. He’s never been deliberately rude. And I’ll bet he has a great farewell speech drafted already.”

  “Might work. But it’s got to be soon. I’d better get those bugs, so we can figure out how they work.”

  Libby faced us. “Assuming we get the thingamajigs to work, what is it you want to hear him say?”

  Marty grinned at her. “Well, it’s going to look a bit odd if you drag him straight into bed and start trying to wheedle information out of him. String him along a little—turn up the heat bit by bit, let him think he’s making progress. Then turn the tables and ask him about his intentions—which should lead right into discussing his financial standing. He’s not stupid, he’ll have done his homework, and he’d expect you to ask that kind of question. Get him to lay out his portfolio. Think you can handle that?”

  “Not a problem.” Libby stared over our heads, thinking. Finally she said, “But can I keep the heavy-breathing part to a minimum? I don’t want to become a legend at the local FBI stag parties. You do trust Jimmy, don’t you?”

  “Oh, he’s the real deal,” Marty replied complacently. “His mother was horrified when he went to work for the government rather than his father’s brokerage firm. But he’s done quite well, from what I hear.” She looked at her watch. “Well, ladies, I have to go help Cousin Althea start making her infamous fruitcake for Christmas—it has to be soaked in rum and mellow for a couple of months, which is the only reason anybody will eat it. Libs, I’ll talk to you as soon as I get a line on the bugs.”