Let's Play Dead

by Sheila Connolly

  “Why now?”

  Nolan looked away. “My health-I’ve got prostate cancer. I’ve probably got a good few years left to me, but it’s an uncertain world. I thought I should get my traveling out of the way while I could still manage it.”

  James studied him silently. I held my breath. Everything that Nolan had said seemed reasonable, and I had little reason to doubt him, but the timing was troublesome. Nolan had come back to this country for the first time after twenty years, and a few days later there had been an electrical accident at the institution run by the wife he’d abandoned years earlier. Coincidence?

  I didn’t like coincidences. Neither, apparently, did James. “At the time you left this country, you were a member of the electrician’s union. Are you still an electrician?”

  “I am. I have my own business in Bagenalstown.”

  “Are you aware of the circumstances of the accident at Let’s Play?”

  Nolan didn’t answer immediately, and when he spoke I thought I understood why-still covering for his union pals. “I might have heard mention of it, here and there.”

  “Could you rig up something like that?”

  “I don’t know the details, but I’d wager I could-sounds simple enough. But why on earth would I want to?”

  James ignored the question. “Did you know the dead man?”

  Nolan cocked his head. “And who would that be? I haven’t been reading the papers, you know.”

  “Joe Murphy.”

  “No, may the poor soul rest in peace.” Nolan shut his eyes for a moment.

  “Were you aware that your daughter’s boyfriend was injured before Joe was killed?”

  Nolan snapped to attention at that. “No, sir, I was not! I know nothing about any boyfriend, but if he’s my daughter’s choice, why would I do him harm? This whole thing’s a joke! Why would I come back to this country after twenty years and try to destroy Arabella’s business and my daughter’s happiness? You’d have to think me mad, man!” He sat back and glared at James.

  I had to admit he had a point. Twenty years was a long time to hold a grudge, and if there were a grudge to be held, that honor went to Arabella rather than Nolan. I turned to James to see how he would react. His slumped shoulders told the story. He sighed. “Mr. Treacy, I have no reason to suspect you of anything. Your former connections with Irish malcontents put you on our local watch list, and I was asked to follow through on that. I’ll choose to believe you when you tell me that you didn’t know we wanted to speak with you. I’ve spoken with you now, and I don’t doubt your story, although I would be remiss if I didn’t verify it.”

  “Of course,” Nolan said, gracious in his triumph. “I’ll be happy to give you anything else you need.”

  “I’ll ask that you keep me apprised of your whereabouts, at least until we’ve cleared this up. How long did you intend to stay in Philadelphia?”

  “I’d planned to go home in a couple of weeks. I’ve booked my flight, if you want to see that.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. Mrs. Heffernan, could I trouble you for some of that coffee now?”

  We maintained a strained civility for as long as it took to consume a cup of coffee, and then I stood up. The men politely followed suit. “If you don’t need me for anything else, I’ve got a desk full of paperwork waiting for me,” I said, to no one in particular.

  James looked surprised. “You’re going to the office today?”

  “I am. If you recall, I’m still the new kid at the Society, and I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” he said. He turned back to Nolan and Arabella. “You can stop by my office and leave me a list of names to verify your whereabouts, Mr. Treacy. I’ll let the police know I’ve talked to you.”

  Arabella was fluttering. “Nell, thank you so much for coming by. And Mr. Morrison, I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you…”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Heffernan. At least I’ve accounted for your ex-husband. Nell, let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 23

  On the sidewalk, after Arabella had closed the door behind us, James turned to me. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

  “Business?” I asked.

  “In part.” He smiled.

  I smiled back. “I guess. I drove-my car’s parked over there.” I pointed across the street. “You want to meet somewhere?”

  He named a sandwich place on Locust Street, and we split up to retrieve our cars. As I drove down Market Street toward City Hall, admiring the view, I was glad for some time alone to sort out what I had just witnessed. Nolan Treacy had surfaced in Philadelphia twenty-some years after he’d left. He told an appealing story, but was it true? If he was in fact an Irish terrorist, albeit low-grade, he would be good at making up stories, wouldn’t he?

  I parked in the lot across the street from the Society and checked my watch: there was no point in going to my office first. Instead, I got out and walked up Locust Street toward the restaurant. It was still early for lunch, and the chill in the air tended to discourage tourists, so most of the people on the street were moving quickly to get to their destinations. As did I. But James was already waiting at the restaurant when I arrived.

  He held out my chair for me, and I shrugged out of my coat. A waiter appeared and handed us menus.

  “Didn’t I just eat at Arabella’s?” I asked. I sighed and asked for coffee. James did, too, and ordered a sandwich to go with it. “So, what do you think?” I asked, once we were settled.

  James smiled. “I’m not supposed to tell you, you know. But I have no reason to believe that Nolan is anything other than what he says he is. We did a basic check: he’s a small-town Irish electrician, with the wife and kids he described. In fact, he’s got a son working for him as an apprentice of sorts. His company did pretty well during the Irish boom years, but now he’s got a bit more free time on his hands, which may be why he decided this was a good time to make this trip.”

  “Did you check his medical records, too?” I asked.

  “No, we did not. Look, this isn’t hush-hush spy stuff-we made a couple of phone calls to our counterparts over there. Nolan has no record with the Irish police, and it looks like his life is an open book. It’s true that he flirted with Sinn Fein years ago, but so did a lot of people, and we have no reason to think that he’s had anything more to do with them since.”

  My coffee arrived. I added sugar and sipped. “So he’s a dead end.”

  “No, he’s a loose end that I’ve just tied up. I get to write up a report and copy it to the police department. Not that they ever thought Nolan was a serious suspect, as far as I can tell.”

  I sighed. “Do they have any other suspects?”

  He shrugged, which didn’t tell me much.

  “Is that a no or an I don’t know?”

  “Nell, do you really want to be in the middle of this?”

  “No! But Arabella keeps calling me. And I did put you together with Nolan, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did. You’ve done your civic duty. But I’d guess Arabella would have shoved him in our direction anyway.”

  “You picked up on that, too? No love lost between them. I have to say, he did abandon her, and she has a right to be angry.”

  “Even twenty years later? After she’s done so well for herself?”

  “Well, apparently this is the first time she’s been face-to-face with him since he left. She’ll probably get it out of her system quickly.” But for a moment my heart ached for Arabella, who was being buffeted from all sides: first the death at the museum, now the wandering ex. I hoped she was resilient.

  “Let the police handle the incident, Nell. You can be a friend to Arabella, but that’s all.”

  “You’re telling me to stay out of it,” I completed the thought for him. “I’d be delighted to. Is this the end of the business part of lunch?”

  “It is. Unless there’s something new at the Society.”

  “We’re still waiting for you to find o
ur collections. And still hunting for a registrar. I assume Marty mentioned what she wanted to do about that?” He didn’t know that I knew that he had volunteered to help boost the funding for the position, and I wondered how he would respond.

  I could swear he blushed. “She might have mentioned something. We’re still working on the collections angle. Don’t worry, we haven’t forgotten. Don’t give up hope.”

  “At least I’ve made a couple of people happy. I talked to this other electrician who’s really into local baseball history, and I think Felicity is sweet on him.”

  James’s eyebrow went up. “Sweet on him? What, are you a matchmaker now?”

  “Anything to keep my staff happy.”

  James’s lunch arrived, and we bantered over it, and over another cup of coffee after. It was fun. Three months earlier I would never have guessed I’d be having lunch with an FBI agent, much less flirting with him. Flirting? I thought I’d forgotten how. Anyway, it was a weird mix of business and pleasure.

  Finally he said, “This is nice, but that blasted report should go out today.”

  “So you’re going back to the office? I should, too. I can get a lot done when the administrative staff isn’t around on the weekend-no interruptions.”

  “Would you consider scheduling something else on a weekend?”

  “You mean, with you? I could probably fit that into my calendar.”

  “I’ll call you. And I’ll take care of lunch. You finish your coffee.” He rose and headed toward the cashier. I stayed where I was and admired the cut of his topcoat. Nice shoulders under that grey tweed.

  I felt good. The feeling lasted until I got back to the Society. I came in the front door and took a quick scan of the reading room. It looked fairly well filled for a Saturday, especially considering the season and the rather cold and gloomy weather. Of course, I knew well that a truly committed researcher wouldn’t let anything deter him or her from the pursuit of a tiny but critical detail. Still, it warmed my heart that there were people here today, doing what we were here for.

  Felicity beckoned me over and said in an excited whisper, “I think I found a picture for Barney!”

  I replied in the same hushed tone. “That’s great. Are you going to call him and tell him?”

  I could swear she blushed. “I couldn’t do that. Does he have email, do you think?”

  “I can check the membership list when I go upstairs. Good work, Felicity. I know he’ll be happy.”

  “I hope so.”

  She turned back to help a patron, and I headed for the elevator. I didn’t make it, because Rich Girard waylaid me before I got there. “Can I talk to you about something, Nell?”

  Rich had been hired to catalog the massive Terwilliger Collection of documents, and had been making steady progress, with Marty egging him on. Had Marty been pushing him too hard? “Sure, Rich. Is this about the Terwilliger Collection?”

  He looked around. “Uh, no. Can we go to your office?”

  “Sure.” Mystified, I led the way to the elevator and then to my third-floor office, turning on lights as I went. As I had anticipated, none of the administrative staff was in today. Inside my office, I hung up my coat and pointed Rich toward a chair, then sat down behind my desk. “So, what’s up?”

  “It’s about Eric Marston,” he began, looking uncomfortable.

  “Eric?” I hadn’t expected to hear that.

  “Yeah, your new assistant, right? Uh, how much do you know about him?”

  Where was he going with this? “Not a lot. Shelby Carver found him for me, and so far he’s been doing a great job. Do you have a problem with him?”

  Rich wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You know he’s gay?”

  I sat back in my chair and looked at him. Rich was the last person I would have suspected of homophobia. “I haven’t asked about his personal life. Nor should you be interested in it.”

  He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Oh, no-hey, I don’t care what he does on his own time. But, well… this is complicated. When you showed him around, I thought he looked kind of familiar, but I didn’t think anything more of it. But last night, I was out with Carrie, you know? And we hit some clubs. And that’s when I remembered where I’d seen him before.” Rich stopped, apparently reluctant to go on.

  “At a club?” I really didn’t know the local club scene.

  “No, outside a place, when I was walking by. With some cops. It looked like he was getting arrested.”

  Something inside me went cold. Eric hadn’t mentioned anything about any criminal record, but then, I hadn’t asked, had I? Nor had I requested that kind of background check on him. I had trusted my instincts, because I liked Eric and he had looked like he needed a break. Shelby had vouched for him, but I barely knew her, either. Had I been wrong? “When was this?” I asked, my voice tight.

  “A while ago. Six months, maybe? I remember it was warm, so it had to be summer. Look, I really didn’t want to bring this up, because he seems like a nice guy. But I know a lot of people are looking at the Society under a microscope these days, and I wanted to be sure that you checked it out.”

  He was right, much as I hated to admit it. “Thank you, Rich. You were right to bring it to my attention. Was there anything else?”

  Relieved, he bounded out of his chair. “Nope. Cataloging’s going great, and thanks for sending Chloe our way. That’ll make things go faster, once I show her the ropes.”

  “I’m glad I could help.” I watched his retreating back, then slumped in my chair. Damn! I fix one thing, and another one pops up. How could I discreetly find out if Eric had a history with the police? Well, duh-I could ask him. But he wouldn’t be around until Monday, which gave me two whole days to stew. What was our liability if we hired people with criminal records? I had no idea, and I really didn’t want to ask anyone and send up red flags.

  Why was nothing ever easy? With a sigh, I turned to the waiting pile of paperwork. At least that I could do.

  CHAPTER 24

  I spent the rest of the weekend wondering what I would say to Eric on Monday-and wondering what my seat-of-the-pants decision to hire him said about my management skills. I hadn’t had any training or preparation for stepping into the role of president, and I had certainly never coveted the position. I had been happy doing my former job, drumming up funding for worthy projects and making sure that our members were happy enough to keep renewing their membership, and to keep giving. Every dollar counted when you were as perpetually strapped for cash as the Society was.

  Administration at the highest levels required a lot of skills, and I wasn’t sure I had them all. There were definitely some things I could manage. I could put together a budget. I could prioritize projects and delegate tasks. I could stand up in front of a crowd and make an impassioned case for supporting the Society. All good. Where I was afraid I was inadequate was in managing people as a leader. I wasn’t comfortable telling other people what to do, and frankly, I didn’t like trying to manipulate them to do my bidding. I relied on goodwill and friendly persuasion and instinct. Had my instinct let me down with Eric? I hadn’t asked him any hard questions, and had offered him the opportunity to prove himself on the job. So far as that was concerned, he was doing quite well. His lifestyle choices were his own business, unless he acted wildly inappropriately in-house, and in my time I’d seen enough extracurricular activities in the stacks to know that our policy was flexible, to say the least. As long as the work got done, administration didn’t care what you did with whom, and I supported that policy.

  But a criminal record was another matter. We were an institution that served the public, and our reputation was a very real asset. Undermine that and we were in trouble: donors had plenty of choices for where to spend their philanthropic allowances, and we were already on shaky ground after our recent scandal, with donors questioning our integrity. Employing known criminals after all that was definitely pushing the limits. If it was true. But I’d been working with Rich for the better part
of a year, and I didn’t think he would have brought this to my attention unless he was convinced that he had in fact seen Eric in a compromising situation.

  And, I had to remind myself, I hadn’t looked any more closely at Shelby, taking her at face value, too. Melanie had told me she was checking out Shelby’s résumé, but had she? I made a note to myself: talk to Melanie on Monday and find out what her vetting process was, and what she’d found out about Shelby. Or Eric.

  Stewing was getting me nowhere. I resolved to shove all Society-related matters into a closet in my head and shut the door until Monday. Everybody ran into a few glitches during transitions. Didn’t they?

  Monday I took the train in early. I liked arriving before everyone else. The old building was still and dim, taking its time to wake up in the morning. I’d always felt as though I owned it when it was empty, even before I had risen to the top job. Now it was kind of mine… along with all its responsibilities.

  I was both relieved and dismayed to find Eric already at his desk, looking all shiny bright and eager. On the plus side, I could get this discussion over with quickly; on the minus side, it might ruin his day, or week, or life.

  “Hi, Eric, you’re in early. Can I talk to you for a minute, in my office?”

  “Sure. Coffee first?”

  “No, let’s wait on that. Come on in, and shut the door.”

  He did, looking mystified and apprehensive. I hung up my coat and sat behind my desk, facing him. “Eric, I won’t beat around the bush. Someone I trust said that not long ago you were seen outside a club, apparently involved with the police. Is there something you need to tell me?”

  Eric’s face fell, and his eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He waited a moment, then cleared his throat. “A few months ago I was arrested. The charges were dropped. It was the first and only time it happened.”