Fundraising The Dead

by Sheila Connolly

  Marty and I debriefed Libby over a hasty lunch on Friday. We met in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant near the public library. It all felt very cloak-and-daggerish, and faintly ridiculous.

  “He’s all yours,” I told Libby. “I let him down gently, but no doubt there are a few pinpricks in his massive ego.”

  “He’s a man, isn’t he?” Libby said complacently, spearing the good stuff in her salad. “He just got dumped. I will be appropriately attentive. He won’t know a thing.”

  I sighed and prodded my salad. “You know, I still feel like an idiot. I can’t have meant anything to him, other than a source of information and the occasional roll in the hay. I just didn’t want to see it.”

  Libby regarded me with a mixture of sympathy and exasperation. “Oh, Nell, don’t feel bad-I’ve just had more experience at manipulating men than you have. Anyway, I never pretended to myself that this was serious, but he’s a very presentable escort, and he’s very easy to be around. So attentive, you know?”

  “I know,” I said glumly.

  “All the equipment working?” she said around her full mouth.

  “Like a charm.” I turned to Marty. “Marty, what does Phil think we’re doing? I do hope he’s not going to get into any trouble over this.”

  “Nonsense. He’s just a kid who’s good with gadgets, and he’s thrilled to have a chance to show off. Besides, he wouldn’t rat on us-I’m paying half his tuition at Penn. We’re not going to get caught. And if we do, Jimmy can fix it.”

  I certainly hoped she was right. I also hoped we wouldn’t need any “fixing.”

  Libby finished chewing and drained her Bloody Mary, signaling the waitress for another at the same time. “So, tonight’s the night. He’s picking me up at seven.”

  “You know what we need to hear?”

  “Well, if I play this right, I nudge him into declaring that he wants to spend the rest of his life with me,” she began. “Then I convince him that, despite being hopelessly besotted, I still retain a few shreds of common sense, and I’m not about to support him, and I’m sure he doesn’t want to be just a gigolo, since his job at that tacky little place downtown certainly doesn’t pay enough. So, what are his plans? And if I’m as good as I think I am, he’ll spill.”

  She winked at Marty. “I made my second husband-you remember Aston, don’t you, Marty?-sign a prenup, and I demanded full financial disclosure. So there’s a precedent on record, and Charles should know that if he’s done his homework. I could do no less with Number Three.”

  “Maybe. But remember that he’s got to trot out his ill-gotten gains somehow.”

  “Exactly. He’s got to prove he’s worthy of my affections.” She looked at us both and laughed. “Don’t worry so much, you two. I have my ways. I’ll get him exactly where I want him.”

  “Just make sure it’s not the kitchen floor, please-we only covered the living room and the bedroom.”

  “Check. Oh, I’m so glad you got me involved in this, you two. I haven’t had this much fun in years. I never thought I’d get to do something so exciting-too bad it’s a one-shot deal.”

  On Friday night, I hung around the Society doing mindless paperwork, until it was time to meet Marty. At eight thirty, the two of us were seated at a table at our restaurant, the one in proven range of our transmitter. We ate some forgettable food-which might explain why the place was half empty-and I went to the bathroom three times, because I didn’t want to have to go in the middle of the action and miss something important. Marty’s sizable tip had ensured that we could hold the table as long as we wanted. Now all we could do was wait.

  At ten fifteen, the little light on our receiver flickered, indicating it was picking up something. Marty and I exchanged startled glances across the table. We each donned our earbuds, like two warriors arming for battle. It was show time.

  Footsteps. Giggles. Murmurs. More footsteps. Marty and I were still as stone figures, staring into oblivion, trying to visualize what was happening. Someone took off a coat; there was a clank of hangers in the hall closet (Charles was a fanatic about hanging up clothes).

  “A liqueur?” Charles’s voice. He came across well, his tones smooth and mellow-maybe he could consider a job in radio broadcasting. From his jail cell.

  “Fabulous, darling.” Libby’s alto purr. “I’ll have some of your lovely Cognac.”

  The clink of glasses, more footsteps. Rustle-thump: they were on the settee. I followed them in my mind. A discreet gurgle-Charles pouring into the crystal snifters. My, these bugs were sensitive.

  “There you go. What shall we drink to?”

  “To many more lovely evenings like this one, my sweet. Thank you for that fabulous dinner-I never know what to choose, because it all sounds so wonderful. You picked just the right dishes. You know me so well, Charles.” Libby was troweling it on.

  That’s right, Libby, throw yourself into your role.

  Rustle, pant. “Oh, Charles, what you do to me… I can’t get enough of you.” Oops. Marty’s and my eyes met, then slid apart quickly. Things were going according to plan, but what we had talked about in the bright light of Libby’s library didn’t seem quite the same as sitting like a pair of perverts and listening to the reality of it. I hoped fervently that Libby could extract what we needed from Charles and we could sign off before things got too hot and heavy.

  “ Elizabeth, darling, you know you have the same effect on me, as you can see.” Oh, ick. “ Elizabeth…” His voice was husky, and the following silence was filled with more heavy breathing. Come on, Libby-get on with it. Then Charles spoke again. “I think we should consider becoming more than just lovers.” Aha! The first salvo. And Libby hadn’t even had to make it herself. Marty and I held our breath.

  A new waiter appeared at our table. Marty and I didn’t even look at him, but we both waved him away frantically. He retreated, bewildered. Okay, we were crazy ladies, but we tipped well.

  Libby spoke in her lazy drawl. “Why, Charles, what do you mean?” Come on, Libby, don’t overplay it.

  “Darling, I’ve never met a woman like you. You are amazing-smart, funny, and sexy. Damn sexy.” There followed another interlude of inarticulate sounds. Then Charles’s voice again, heavy, rough.

  “Marry me, Elizabeth. We could have a wonderful life together.”

  “Oh, Charles. There’s nothing I’d like more. But…”

  Slither-the sound of silk. And was that a zipper?

  “But what? You’re free, I’m free. We love each other. What more is there?”

  “Oh, Charles, I do love you. But… I’m afraid. Of what other people might think. That you’re marrying me for my money. You know-you’re so handsome and successful, but I’m… a little older than you are, and I know what my mirror tells me. People will talk. I know I shouldn’t care what they think, but I do.” I looked at Marty again, and I think we both would have burst out laughing if we weren’t afraid of missing something. Libby certainly had a flair for this.

  “Let them talk. You know what you feel, and what I feel. It’s no one’s business but our own. Who are they to matter?”

  “Oh, but, Charles, they do. You haven’t been here very long-you don’t know what a provincial town Philadelphia can be. And it’s my home-they’re my friends.”

  A brief silence. Was Charles weighing his chances? Would he play the next card? I didn’t dare breathe.

  “ Elizabeth, I know it’s in poor taste to talk about such things, but I want to assure you that I’m not without resources. You wouldn’t have any reason to be ashamed.” Come on, Charles, come on. We want details!

  “Well, darling,” Libby began, with just the right note of skepticism, “I know you have a nice home and nice things, but… that’s not the same as money. After all, you work.” The contempt in Libby’s voice when she said “work” was perfectly calibrated.

  A silence that seemed somehow colder. Maybe Charles wasn’t used to meeting any resistance to his wooing. Finally he chuckled-an odd sound
from him. “You’re perfectly right, my dear. I must be honest with you. I don’t flaunt it, but I assure you that my net worth is in the seven-figure range. Do you need to see documentation?”

  Ah. Well, there we were. He had the money.

  “Oh, darling. I’m sorry-I didn’t mean to imply that you were taking advantage of me. And I’m so relieved. But a girl can’t be too careful. I had to ask.”

  “And I respect you for it. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Thank you, Charles.” Another interlude as Libby soothed Charles’s wounded pride. Marty studied her nails. I refolded my napkin several times and wondered if I still remembered how to make an origami swan. After a few minutes, I broke the silence.

  “Well, we’re halfway there,” I whispered. “Charles is claiming to have a lot more money than James seems to think. Do you think Libby is going to get any more, or will she get swept away by passion?”

  “Don’t worry about Libby-she’s very focused. She’s just paving the way.”

  Right. From what I was hearing, that part was going very well. No words emerged for a while, although I wouldn’t say things were silent. Finally Charles spoke.

  “Wouldn’t we be more comfortable upstairs?”

  “Brilliant idea.”

  The settee creaked as it was relieved of the weight of two bodies. Footsteps padded away, presumably toward the stairs. Then the sounds faded… and resumed again, from the bedroom transmitter. I hoped Libby planned to do a little talking before launching into any other activities.

  There was a squeak as they sat on the bed. “Oh, Charles, marriage… it’s such a big step. I’ve been there before, as you know, and so have you. So many details-children to tell, houses to sell. My place in the city, this place, my country house. That house might be much more comfortable for the two of us. Unless, of course, the commute would be too much for you? But then, you wouldn’t need to keep working at all, would you? At that tatty little place?”

  Another silence. From what I could hear, Charles was removing his clothes, one piece at a time, and hanging up each piece. Shoes neatly aligned in the closet, pants on their hanger, shirt and socks in the hamper. Libby, on the other hand, was not moving.

  Charles spoke again. “Darling, you have on far too many clothes. Here, let me help you.” Which he proceeded to do, stopping to hang up Libby’s dress along the way. “There, much better.”

  “Oh, Charles.”

  “Darling.”

  Marty signaled the hovering waiter. “Could you get us, uh, some ice water?” She looked at me, and I nodded emphatically. “And some coffee?”

  I didn’t know whether I should remove the earbuds, out of respect for what we knew was going on, or whether to worry about missing something crucial. After a couple of minutes, I was convinced that they were beyond words, at least temporarily. I dangled the earpieces around my neck and looked at Marty.

  “Maybe she’s waiting until… after?”

  Marty nodded. “That makes some sense. Men’re a lot more likely to talk then, don’t you think? All their defenses are down. Unless, of course, they just fall asleep.” She looked at her watch. “How long…”

  “Fifteen minutes,” I said promptly. “I’ll put a five on it.”

  “I’ll take twenty minutes,” Marty snapped back. “You may know Charles, but I know Libby.”

  “We’re awful, aren’t we?” I giggled. She smiled her agreement.

  It was, in fact, eighteen minutes before the rhythmic noises of the bedsprings ceased. There was heavy breathing again, and then it slowed until it approached a normal rate. I handed Marty a five-dollar bill. “You were closer.”

  “Oh, Charles,” Libby cooed, “that was wonderful.”

  I swallowed a laugh.

  “You bring out the best in me, darling,” he replied, his voice rough. “And we could be doing this much more often, if you marry me.”

  “Oh, Charles, I’m so tempted. But wouldn’t you be bored?”

  “Sweetheart, you could never bore me. I’d love to grow old with you. But…”

  “Yes, Charles?” I wondered if it was possible to hear eyelashes fluttering.

  “May I be honest with you?”

  “Of course, Charles.” That’s right, Libby, don’t overdo it. Nice restraint.

  “ Elizabeth, I want to be worthy of you. So I want to share something with you, something I’ve never told another woman. I don’t believe my career is over-I never pretended that being president of the Society was the highest pinnacle. No, I want something more. I want to leave my mark in a bigger way.”

  Marty and I exchanged a glance, and she cocked one eyebrow at me.

  “And I’m sure you could, Charles, but whatever do you mean?”

  Marty and I stopped breathing.

  “ Elizabeth, I have a plan, something dear to my heart, something I’ve been thinking about for a long time, since the beginning of my career. I’d like to share it with you, and I’d like you to be a part of it.”

  “Tell me, Charles,” Libby purred.

  “I want to create something new, a multidisciplinary center for the study of American history-sort of a nexus where all the resources come together: museum-quality artifacts, original sources, modern references, state-of-the-art technology, the best academic minds, young scholars in training. Nothing like this has ever been done. Each discipline has been locked into its own narrow concerns, afraid to step outside of their box. I want to break out of the box, create something new, bold, exciting. Can you see my vision?”

  “You make it sound wonderful, Charles. But-what does this mean?”

  Charles’s voice swelled with a different kind of passion. “A new center, combining the best of the old and the new. Right here in Philadelphia. And where better? This is where our country was born, and the great leaders walked our streets, talking together to shape this nation. We have everything we need right here-but it will take someone with vision to pull it all together, and I believe I am that person. And you can be part of it. We would be an incredible team, darling. What do you think?”

  “Charles, I think that’s a wonderful idea. And I can see how excited you are. Mmmm, very excited. Come here.”

  I pulled off my earphones again and inhaled deeply, as did Marty.

  “Oh… my… God,” I breathed. I had known that Charles was ambitious. He was, at least once upon a time, a good historian, an honest scholar. He never falsified anything on his résumé-the search committee checked his academic degrees and his references, of course, and some of the board members asked around. But this? I certainly hadn’t seen this coming. “We were right, but we didn’t see the big picture. Charles isn’t doing this just for the money-the money is a means to an end. He’s doing it to build a national shrine to Charles Worthington. Is this even possible, or is he crazy?” I looked at Marty in appeal.

  “It looks to me like Charles wants more than the leadership of a small and fusty place like the Society,” Marty began slowly. “He wants a bigger stage-an institution that would shape the direction of modern historical interpretation, with himself at the head. And, as you well know, that would take money. Lots of money. That explains a lot.” She stopped and looked at me to see how I was reacting.

  Actually, I felt as though my head was full of Jiffy Pop. Little kernels of doubt that I had nudged out of the way when Charles and I were seeing each other now started popping, expanding rapidly. “So he’s got whatever money he collected along the way, from all those objects he stole and sold at his last few jobs, not to mention some or all of the five million dollar’s worth of items he’s skimmed from the Society’s collections. But five million plus whatever won’t be enough, so he’s going to marry the rest of it.”

  “And give himself an entree into top society in town-the ones with money. That matters, too, around here.”

  “Hell and damnation. He certainly took a long view when he planned. He’s smart, but he’s also rotten. Do you think we’ve got enough on tape?”


  “I know I don’t want to listen to any more, that’s for sure. I’ll give the guy credit-he’s got imagination.” She paused. “And stamina.”

  I started giggling and then gave up and laughed out loud. “I do hope Libby is enjoying this as much as we are.”

  “Libby always manages to get what she wants. Good person to have on our side. From what we’ve heard, I’d say she’s having a wonderful time.” She punched the Off button on our little box and sat back. “Well, I’m starving now, but I’m pretty sure they closed the kitchen down a while ago-they only let us stay because I gave the staff a whopping tip. What say we adjourn to my place and call Jimmy?”

  “Marty, it’s midnight!”

  “Oh, fine, you wet blanket. I guess it can wait until morning. I don’t think Charles will have the energy to do any more harm tonight.”

  CHAPTER 27

  I went home, but I couldn’t sleep. I hated the Charles we had uncovered-user, thief, and apparently megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur.

  I still couldn’t see where Alfred Findley had fit in. The stakes were higher than I had thought, and Alfred’s meddling would certainly have been a threat to Charles’s grand plans. But Charles had a good alibi; I was even part of it. And Alfred’s murder seemed carelessly planned. Unlike everything else Charles had done for, what-decades?-it seemed almost spontaneous, although the murderer had gotten away with it so far. Of course, Charles had enough money to hire whatever muscle he needed… and there were the pieces that Marty had seen in Alfred’s apartment-somebody had to have planted those.

  Marty called at eight Saturday morning. “Jimmy’s coming by at ten. Can you get here by then?” She sounded subdued. Maybe she hadn’t slept, either.

  “Sure. I’ll meet you at your place.” I was already ensconced in one of Marty’s armchairs when James arrived. Marty went to fetch him at the door, and they were talking intently as they came down the hall to the back of the house. He stopped dead when he saw me, sprawled comfortably.

  “James, how nice to see you again,” I said amiably, raising my coffee mug in salute.