Let's Play Dead

by Sheila Connolly

  But I had pitifully little to go on, and the delightful homicide detective Meredith Hrivnak was not likely to share much with me. She was probably still peeved that I’d done more than she had to wrap up the recent incident at the Society. James wasn’t going to be able to help, either. He wasn’t even involved in the case. And I had so, so much else I should be doing for the Society. When did I have time to look into this?

  Thinking of things I didn’t have time for, I also amused myself by dissecting my date with James. Had there been any chemistry between us? I’d have to say yes. But James and I were both grown-ups with busy lives, so where that chemistry might take us was anybody’s guess. When would we find the time to explore the possibilities? Most of my free time had evaporated when I took the job of president, and I didn’t see it coming back for a while. And now with Arabella’s problems…

  I went round and round with the whole mess in my head as I scrubbed and polished, and by the end of the afternoon I had a very clean house and no resolution. I took myself to the nearest market and bought fresh supplies for a sumptuous dinner for one, which I prepared, enjoyed, and cleaned up after, feeling very virtuous. Then I watched a movie on television, got bored in the middle, and went to bed.

  Sunday morning I knew I couldn’t spend another day of the same. The choices were (a) go into work, or (b) find something more distracting to do. I really couldn’t face going into work-I had to maintain some perspective and allow myself a few breaks from it, or the job would overwhelm me. What would be a good distraction?

  In the end, after an indulgent breakfast, I decided to take a drive. It almost didn’t matter where, but I found myself drifting toward Chester County and the Brandywine River: Andrew Wyeth country. I bypassed the lovely museum in Chadd’s Ford but turned north and followed the Brandywine River, along the narrow, twisting road that headed toward West Chester. Luckily there were few other people on the road today, a chilly Sunday in January. As I passed it, I saluted the Wyeth farm, familiar from so many paintings.

  I had almost forgotten about the Book Barn that lay on this road, since I rarely went roaming the back roads around there, but on a whim I pulled into the near-empty graveled lot in front. Happily it was open, and I tugged open the creaky wooden door to be greeted by a scent of wood smoke and the gaze of a sleepy cat in a battered chair close to a cast-iron stove. I raised a hand to the woman behind the desk and commenced wandering through the many disjointed floors of used books, leafing through old volumes as the spirit moved me. I loved books, both old and new, but the space limitations of my tiny house imposed their own restrictions, so I had to ration myself strictly when it came to buying still more books. But there were always treasures to be found, too irresistible to pass up. I took a quick peek at the children’s book section to see if there were any examples of Harriet the Hedgehog but came up dry. I drifted through the cookbook section-I probably spent far more time reading cookbooks than cooking from them, but it was a simple pleasure. I poked among the mysteries, but nothing caught my fancy. Then I turned to the home improvement area, and a little lightbulb went on: maybe I could find something simple that would explain to me just how wiring and electricity worked, so I’d have better insight into the accident at Let’s Play.

  Hmm… no Wiring for Dummies. The Simplified Wiring looked like it required an engineering degree. Now, I’m not stupid, and I’ve been dealing the structural problems with my own house for a decade, but even I know my limitations, and I’d left the wiring issues to professionals. All I really wanted was a basic explanation of how an electrical system worked-and what things to watch out for if you didn’t want to electrocute someone. Which might lead to what things you should do if you did want to electrocute someone. But that would be a different book.

  In the end I walked out with several books, as usual. I paid, stroked the still-sleeping cat, and climbed back into my car to head back to Route 30, the slow road home to Bryn Mawr. I arrived home before dark despite a quick stop at the decadent French bakery in Wayne, and reheated a plate of yesterday’s ample leftovers, then found an old afghan and curled up with my new old copy of Step-by-Step Home Wiring.

  Two hours later I was still confused, despite the clear language and cute line drawings in the book. Clearly there was a reason I had majored in English rather than something practical: I had no aptitude for anything mechanical. Putting it in the simplest possible terms, electricity flowed into, say, my house, and then it flowed out again. Along the way it passed through my appliances and lamps and whatnot, if the switch was opened to allow that. Or did I mean closed? If the switch wasn’t open, the current ignored that detour and kept right on going. That much I understood.

  I lay back and reviewed what I had seen of the exhibit at Let’s Play. Admittedly my memories were a bit jumbled; Jason getting zapped had driven a lot of other details right out of my mind. But I grasped the basic principles: each of the animals was, well, animated. You-or an eager child-touched them or moved a piece, and they responded with lights or movements or sound, each requiring that an electrical connection be activated by the motion. Presumably this was a simple process, and the installation also had to be both safe and sturdy-I had no doubt that an excited child would want to repeat the process over and over, and might well whack the animal if it didn’t respond fast enough. This much was obvious even to me. So what had gone wrong?

  As I understood it, the only way the electricity could pass through an innocent bystander was if he or she actually completed the circuit, diverting the current from where it was supposed to go to a different path-that is, through the person instead of the wiring. But unlike metal objects, people were not good conductors of electricity. The current really, really had to want to follow the metal, and even then in most cases the current would not be strong enough to do more than give someone a nasty shock. Of course, that alone could be enough to do serious harm to a small child or an elderly grandparent, both of whom were primary customers of Let’s Play.

  But the conclusion I had to draw, even in my state of near ignorance, was that a simple mistake would not be enough to cause major harm. Ergo, someone with malicious intent had to have altered the exhibit, for unknown purposes. At least one circuit breaker had blown out the first time, when Jason was shocked. Had it the second time? I had no answers.

  So I decided to eat dessert. Buttercream is very soothing.

  CHAPTER 12

  On the ride to work on Monday, I decided that I didn’t have time to worry about poor dead Joe. No, that sounded harsh. As a veteran of a previous murder investigation, I could provide emotional support and guidance to Arabella as needed, but as James had pointed out, there wasn’t much more I could do. And I had a museum of my own to run, which was more than enough to keep me busy.

  I stopped at Shelby’s office on the way to my own and was happy to find her already at her desk.

  “Hey, lady,” she said as I walked in. “How’s our boy Eric doing?”

  “Great, so far, but I haven’t asked him for much. I’m letting him ease into the job. How is it you know him?”

  “I know his mama, back home. And he went to school with my daughter.”

  “And mama asked you to keep an eye on her baby?”

  Shelby grimaced. “Not exactly. She’d rather not talk about him, since he’s made it clear that… he’s not going to be giving her any grandchildren.”

  I caught her drift. “Her loss,” I said firmly. “How’s he been handling the big city? It can be kind of scary.”

  “He’s had a few rough patches, but I’d say he’s pretty well grounded. I hope things work out for him here at the Society, but if they don’t, you do what you have to do. I don’t expect any special favors for him.”

  “Don’t worry, I will. I need someone who can handle the job. That position can be a sensitive one, and Eric’s kind of young for it. But he’s been handling things well so far. How about you? Are you getting a feel for things?”

  “Piece of cake. At least you
left your files in good order, and Carrie’s been a big help. She’s got something going with Rich?”

  “My, you do catch on fast. Yes, she does, but I don’t have a problem with that, as long as they do their jobs. And Rich’s position isn’t permanent at the moment-although maybe you can find funding to extend it, if that’s what he wants. Among all your other tasks. Oh, and would you please nose around and see what kind of money is available for collaborative ventures with an educational component?”

  “You thinking about that carousel project with Let’s Play?”

  “I am, or something like it. Once they get past this mess.” There had been nothing new about Joe or Let’s Play in the paper, and other, more urgent news had banished it from the front pages.

  “Sad thing, that. I do hope they find out what happened soon.”

  “So do I. Well, I’d better get down to business. Give me a shout if you need anything. Also, there’s an all-hands staff meeting on Friday at nine, before we open. Can you send out a staff email to remind everybody? Eric doesn’t have a computer yet, or I’d ask him to do it.” One more thing I needed to follow up on.

  “Will do.”

  I made my way down the hall toward my office. Eric was already in place, his desk gleaming, notepads neatly lined up. I could swear he had even buffed the old telephone. His African violet was ensconced on the windowsill behind him, adding a bright touch of color. He smiled happily when he saw me. “Good morning, Nell! Can I get you a cup of coffee? I brought in a new variety to try out.”

  I hated the stereotype of a secretary-a word now apparently banned from employer vocabulary-who fetched coffee for the boss, but I really did want a cup of coffee. “Thank you, Eric. Just remember, you don’t have to make a habit of it.”

  “Don’t you worry-I like to help.” He bounded out of his seat and vanished down the hall.

  Moving more slowly, I hung up my coat and went to my own desk, where Eric had lined up a few pink message slips. So early? I leafed through them. One was from Marty Terwilliger, who had said she wanted to stop by for a moment. Not seconds later, I looked up to find her, as if by magic, standing at my office door watching me. I shouldn’t have been surprised, since she had keys to every door in the place, and came and went at will. She walked in without waiting for an invitation-typical Marty.

  “You know, you look right at home in this office,” she said, making herself comfortable in a chair.

  “Please, come in, sit down.” I gestured grandly, after the fact.

  She tsk-tsked. “Come off it-I’ve never stood on ceremony and you know it.”

  “I do. To what do I owe the honor of this visit? Business or personal?”

  “Some of each. Can you do lunch?”

  “I guess.” I had no idea if I had anything scheduled. Did she want to pump me about my date with James?

  “Great. I’ve got some research to do, but I’ll head back up here about noon. Hello!”

  Eric had appeared in the doorway, cradling a mug of coffee. Intent upon not spilling it, he hadn’t noticed Marty. “Oh, excuse me-I didn’t know you had a guest. I’ll get right out of your way.” He carefully set my coffee on a coaster I didn’t even know I had, then backed away.

  “Hold on, Eric. Am I free for lunch today?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said promptly, without consulting a calendar. “Is there anything else you need?”

  “Nope, I’m good,” I said.

  When Eric had retreated to his desk, Marty raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Who’s that?”

  “My new assistant, Eric-I’m trying him out.”

  “He’s a lot cuter than Doris. Well, you can fill me in at lunch. See you!” She breezed out as quickly as she had appeared.

  When she was out of earshot, I called out, “Eric?”

  He returned with lightning speed. “I’m sorry,” he began.

  “Don’t be. That’s Marty Terwilliger-she’s a board member, but she kind of feels she owns the place, since both her grandfather and her father were board members, too. And she’s also a friend. You’ll be seeing a lot of her because she spends a lot of time here, including downstairs in the library and in the stacks.”

  Eric nodded. “That’s good to know. Anybody else I need to know about?”

  I sighed. “I’ll find you a board list, and we can go over it-you’ll no doubt be fielding a lot of calls from them, and I can tell you in advance which ones need special handling. And someday, all things willing, there’ll be files on your computer-as soon as there is a computer. When you have spare time, that will let you review our donor list, or if someone calls, you can check that list quickly.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  “And it appears I’m having lunch with Marty today, so you can put that on your nonexistent calendar,” I called out after him.

  Before I tackled the next item on my never-ending to-do list, I thought I should touch base with Arabella and see how she was holding up. She was such a sweet person, and seemed so ill-prepared for this kind of trouble. I was surprised to be put through immediately.

  “Oh, Nell, how nice of you to call!” she said when she picked up. “I was afraid it was another annoying person from the newspaper. Or the police.”

  “I just wanted to be sure you were all right. You’ve talked to the police again?”

  It sounded as though Arabella swallowed a sob before answering. “Yes. They keep asking the same questions. Do I have any enemies? Is there someone with a grudge against Let’s Play? I don’t, Nell, I swear. This is a children’s museum, and I thought everyone loved us. Do you think they believe this was deliberate? Because they won’t come straight out and tell me anything.”

  “The police have to look at all angles, Arabella. Don’t take it personally. For that matter, it could be directed at someone else, like Hadley Eastman. Or someone who thinks you’re exploiting hedgehogs. Or even someone who simply likes to stir up trouble.”

  “Do you really think so? Because I’ve been going over and over this in my head all weekend, and I can’t see why anyone would want to hurt us.”

  At least Arabella sounded a little less depressed, so I said, “I can’t, either. Let the police do their job, and I’m sure they’ll get to the bottom of this.” I debated about crossing my fingers to cover the white lie, but my goal was to reassure Arabella. “Have they let you reopen?”

  “Tomorrow, they said.” Arabella sighed. “Thank you for calling, Nell. It’s nice to know I’m not alone in all this.”

  “Let me know if I can do anything to help, Arabella.” We rang off. I hoped I’d succeeded in cheering Arabella up, because she sounded as though she needed it. At the same time, I was troubled: the police seemed to be edging up on labeling this a murder, and that wasn’t a good thing for Let’s Play.

  True to her word, Marty reappeared promptly at noon. I smiled to myself when I heard Eric address her by name and send her directly in. He learned fast.

  “You ready to go?” Marty asked, leaning against the doorjamb. She was dressed for research: since our stacks were more than a bit dusty, that meant jeans and sneakers.

  “I guess. Where did you want to go?”

  “How about that Israeli place around the corner?”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said, gathering up my coat. But then, almost any restaurant usually sounded good to me.

  “So, what’s up?” I asked once we were settled at one of the restaurant’s small tables. “How’s the hunt for Major Jonathan’s documents going?” Marty spent most of her time at the Society working on the Terwilliger Collection, a massive but disorganized collection of items bequeathed by her family. A number of documents that had belonged to Major Jonathan Terwilliger-Revolutionary War hero, colleague of George Washington, friend to most of the country’s founders, and Marty’s lineal ancestor-had been removed-or rather, stolen-from the Society’s collections, and we were still hoping to get them back.

  Diverse expressions raced across Marty’s face: anger, regret, deter
mination. “So-so. The Feebs are on it, as I’m sure you know, but I know the missing items better. We’re still working on it.”

  “Speaking of the FBI, I had drinks with your cousin James the other day.”

  That pleased her. “Good! Did Jimmy ask you, or the other way around?”

  “He called me, on short notice. We had a nice time, we may see each other again, and that’s the end of the story.”

  “I won’t pry. But do remember I’m kinda fond of him, so if it doesn’t work out, let him down gently, will you?”

  “What, you aren’t worried about my tender feelings?”

  “You can take care of yourself. What should we order?”

  Scanning the menu before the harried young waitress appeared occupied the next couple of minutes. When we had placed our orders, I asked Marty, “You heard about the death at Let’s Play?”

  “I did. Too bad-they’re good people there.”

  “Do you know Arabella Heffernan?”

  “We’ve met. You know I don’t have kids, so I don’t get in there very often. But my former brother-in-law was on the board for a while.”

  “During Arabella’s tenure?”

  “Sure. She’s been there at least a decade.”

  “What was his opinion of the place?”

  “He liked it, but then, he had young kids at that time. When they graduated to more serious stuff, he kind of lost interest and moved on. I think he said he was sometimes frustrated because Arabella wasn’t very interested in the financial bottom line. She was all about the displays and the programs, and left it to the board to find the money. She’s got vision, I’ll give you that. You have to believe she actually thinks like a child, and it works. Sometimes she got overextended and had to be reined in. But she means well, from what I understand.”

  “You think the death this week was accidental?”