Razing the Dead

by Sheila Connolly

And I melted into his arms. Playing house did have its moments.

  CHAPTER 11

  “This is great,” James said, as he all but inhaled the dinner I had prepared. He must have been fully recuperated: his appetite was back. “You haven’t said much.”

  I poked what was left of my dinner around the plate. “Just thinking. I’m still getting back into the swing of things at work, and it must be even harder for you. Look, there are some things we should talk about.”

  “That always sounds ominous,” James said cheerfully, as he topped off my wine glass. “Such as?”

  Brave man, to jump straight into the fray. I decided to start with a less-personal item. “This case you’re on, for one thing. This is all kind of weird. Look, if I didn’t happen to be standing in the middle of the crime scene when you arrived, would you have been able to share any information with me? Talk about it at all? I’m not sure what the guidelines are.”

  His expression turned serious. “That’s a good question, Nell. Normally agents are discouraged from talking about any open case. I’m not saying that agents don’t go home and share with whomever they’re with, but we aren’t supposed to go blabbing at a bar, for instance, no matter how important it makes us feel to show off. But you’re special.”

  “Thank you, I think. Are you talking from the FBI perspective?”

  “Yes, for the moment.” He smiled. “You have amply demonstrated that you are both trustworthy and discreet, so if there was an FBI seal of approval, you’d have it. And personally, I value your opinion. Particularly in matters—all right, crimes—that involve the cultural community.”

  “Which this one does, if one step removed. Look, I was there, and I’ve already got a public profile for finding myself in the middle of murder investigations, so de facto I am part of the cultural community and thus the cultural community is already involved. I should have stayed at work and sent Lissa to deal with it.”

  “No, you were doing your job, cultivating someone who could turn out to be a major supporter.”

  He was right, of course. I took another sip of wine. “You know, in the heat of the moment I didn’t think about it, but how did you end up there so fast? I mean, aren’t there procedures to be followed? Local police get first crack, and then they decide whether to ask anyone else for help?”

  James looked pained. “You’re right, in general, but Wakeman pulled rank. He was on the phone to the higher-ups before the first squad car arrived on the scene.”

  “That must make for a lot of unhappy campers among the police on the case.”

  “You’ve got that right. The FBI will assist any local force that requests help, but nobody likes to have us jammed down their throats. The Chester County detectives were not pleased, so in addition to whatever investigating I’m doing, I have to smooth ruffled feathers and make nice.”

  “Welcome to my world. So Wakeman knows important people—no surprise there. Had you two ever met before?”

  James shook his head. “No, not before yesterday. He’s never been directly involved in any crime that I know of.”

  “Is that an evasive answer? Directly involved? That you know of?”

  “I didn’t mean it personally—I was just being careful. I have no reason to believe that he has ever been involved in anything that he shouldn’t have. Of course, the construction industry isn’t exactly as pure as the driven snow.”

  “Okay, you can stop waffling. What’s your personal opinion of the man?”

  James sat back in his chair and thought a moment. “Abrupt. Used to getting his own way. Doesn’t play games. What about you?”

  “I’d agree with what you said. But I’d add something: I spent a couple of hours with him on the site, before we found the body, and I think he really cares about this project. I know he’s made a lot of money, but he’s built some things that really made a difference, in a good way. And it’s not all about ego, either—although I suppose that putting up tall buildings has a certain symbolic element. But I think he wants to do good, as opposed to doing well.”

  “How far would he go to eliminate anything or anyone who gets in his way?” James asked quietly.

  I considered. “I don’t know. Maybe I should know—after all, what if poor Lissa finds something that the great man doesn’t like, and he tries to suppress it? That’s my responsibility, in a way.”

  “So she’s going to be working on it?”

  “He gave the go-ahead this morning. Has the crime scene been cleared?”

  “Yes. Everybody’s forensic people have crawled all over it. Not much to show for it, unfortunately.”

  “Has anybody figured out where the man died yet?”

  “Nope. I think there was some talk of bringing dogs in to search the rest of the property. It’s a pretty big parcel, and, I might mention, liberally sprinkled with cow pats.”

  “Oh, you city boys. In case you didn’t notice, Wakeman loaned us some muck boots, in case of mud or more likely cow pats—he’d been there before so he would know. So the FBI has dogs?”

  “We know people who have dogs. The local force knows more people who have dogs. So we can get into a dogfight about dogs.” James stood up. “You want coffee?”

  “If you make it. Oh, and you can do the dishes, too, since I cooked.”

  “Later.” He went to the kitchen, or rather, the kitchen corner, all of five feet away, and put the coffee on.

  “I assume there’s more you want to talk about?” he said, keeping his eyes on the coffeemaker.

  “Yes. How are we planning to go about finding a new place?” That large elephant in the room.

  “How do you want to go about it?” he said cautiously.

  This was not going anywhere fast. “I don’t know. I haven’t been in the market for a long time, and I’m sure things have changed. But don’t we need to figure out our parameters?”

  James waited until the coffee was done, then filled two cups and brought them to the table and sat down. “Such as?”

  “Like how much we can afford. I have no idea how much money you make or how much you’re willing to spend. How much does this place cost you?”

  He named a number that was larger than my monthly mortgage payment, for a one-bedroom walk-up in a middle-aged building. I had been out of the market for a while. “Ouch.”

  “I can afford more, if you’re worried. I’ve stayed here because it’s convenient and there hasn’t been any reason to move. Until now. Were you assuming that we’d split the cost of whatever we choose? Or pay proportionately to our respective incomes?”

  I realized I hadn’t even considered that. “I haven’t even thought that far. I’m guessing that I don’t make that much less than you do, since you’re a government employee and I work for an impoverished nonprofit, and I’m sure we could adjust if we needed to. If we pooled what we’re paying now”—I named an approximate figure—“what would that get us?”

  “Where? City or suburbs?”

  “I like the suburbs,” I said, just a bit defensively. “Is that a problem for you?”

  “I . . . don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought. But be warned: I’m not a mow-the-lawn, paint-the-house kind of guy.”

  “Noted. Rent or buy?” That was a big issue, since it was kind of symbolic about the level of commitment, and I sort of held my breath waiting to see how he responded.

  James regarded me with an expression I couldn’t read. “You really don’t trust . . . us, do you?”

  That hit me in the gut, but he was probably right. I took a deep breath. “I . . . I don’t trust anyone easily. Look, I’ve known you less than a year, and under some pretty strange circumstances. And the last month has been . . . really eye-opening. James, I trust you as much as I’ve ever trusted anyone. And I’m pretty sure I love you, although I haven’t had a lot of practice. But this is a big step for me. No one would
say that we’re rushing into anything, and we’re not young—or stupid, I hope. But I’m still feeling my way here. Look, we can say, let’s find something we like, run the numbers, and make the decision based on the best financial outcome? But that’s not what we’re really talking about here, is it?”

  “No.” A long pause. “Look, Nell, if you’re not ready to deal with this, I’ll just renew my lease. No big deal.”

  I couldn’t sit still any longer, so I got up and started pacing in the small space. “No, it is a big deal, because I want to make this decision. I just want to get it right.”

  He stood up and came over to me, and put his hands on my arms. “Nell, there are no guarantees. In some alternate universe, either one of us could have been killed one way or another in the past year. We weren’t, and here we are. I know what I want: to live with you. But I don’t want to make you miserable. It’s your call.”

  Damn, why did I have to fall for a guy who was not only smart and good-looking, but also empathetic and patient? He made me feel small. “Where do we start?”

  “Online Realtors,” he said promptly, which led me to guess that he’d been looking already. “You can virtually walk through just about any place these days.”

  I leaned into him and laid my head on his chest. “You are unbelievable.”

  He tilted my head up. “No, I’m not—just practical. Saves time.”

  “And no doubt you want to show me six places you’ve already bookmarked?”

  “Yup.” He grinned.

  “The coffee’s getting cold.”

  “Let it. I have a microwave. And an idea . . .”

  Which led to the bedroom. I went happily. Whatever our living arrangements, some things worked very well between us. Later, in the dark, I ran my hand lightly along the scar on his arm. It would take some time to fade; the memories of how he’d gotten it would take longer. I’d come so close to losing him, before I even knew what we had. “So, city or suburbs?” I murmured into his chest.

  “Both? There are some pretty nice places on the periphery of the city. Old place or new?”

  “That should be obvious: old. I work with history, remember? And I like old buildings.”

  “Fine. Nineteenth-century houses have a nice sense of scale—high ceilings, big rooms.”

  “No closets, though. You don’t want a yard, so we don’t need much land to go with it.”

  “Nope. Garage?”

  “Shoot, we’ll have two cars. We need a big garage with a small house? That could get complicated. Oh, and don’t forget—near a train line. I do some of my best work on trains.” I rolled over to face him. “Do you want me to look online? But not at work, I guess—bad example for the rest of the staff, and I’ve taken enough time off lately as it is.”

  “Maybe tomorrow, after work, we can look together. That way we’ll both get a feel for what we like.”

  “Okay. Oh, Ben’s starting tomorrow. Things are moving fast. I told the guys in the processing room to expect him, but I didn’t say anything about . . . the wheelchair. Obviously they’ll figure that out quickly.”

  “Yes. But as I told you, nobody has to coddle him. He doesn’t want pity.”

  “I can understand that—I wouldn’t, either. He should be judged on the quality of his work, period.”

  “Amen. Did you say something about dessert?”

  “Ah, you know me too well. Yes, there’s dessert, and I don’t mean me.”

  Back in the kitchen, eating chocolate cake with an inch of mocha buttercream, washed down with lukewarm coffee, I said, “I don’t know if we ever settled what we started out talking about. Your case, I mean. I’m not officially involved beyond being a peripheral witness. Of course I’m interested, but I don’t feel I have the right to ask for day-by-day updates. And I don’t want you to feel you have to report everything to me. So how do we work this out?”

  “I’ll tell you what I can. And you and Lissa should tell me whatever you find out, if you think it’s relevant.”

  “Before we tell Wakeman?”

  “How about at the same time? Unless you find a bloody weapon with the initials MW etched on it—then you should call me first. But he doesn’t have to know you’re reporting to me.”

  “It’s not like we’re going to come up with a lot of confidential information about a block of land.”

  “You never know. And, objectively, if you were to find something that threatened the project in any way and word got out, it could have a serious financial impact on Wakeman et al., and you and the Society could be liable. So be careful. And remind Lissa, too.”

  “Got it. You finished with that?” I pointed toward his dessert plate, which looked polished. “And you’re still doing the dishes.”

  CHAPTER 12

  James and I carpooled to work the next morning. Would we do that when we lived together? Our schedules were so unpredictable and erratic that it probably wouldn’t work, except on rare occasions like today. Did FBI agents ever go anywhere by train? That didn’t really mesh with my mental image of them emerging from unmarked dark sedans with unusually powerful engines.

  When I arrived at work, Latoya was waiting for me, as was a cup of coffee, thanks to Eric. I smiled at him as I led Latoya into my office.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “As you know, Ben Hartley is starting this morning. I wondered if you’d like to show him around, introduce him to people.”

  I took a few seconds to think about that. Did Latoya just want Ben to get off to a good start, with my apparent blessing? Or did she want to make it clear to the rest of our staff that Ben was my hire, not hers? “Why don’t we just take him around together?”

  “All right. I’ll bring him up when he arrives.”

  I sat at my desk and sorted through papers and messages until I’d finished my coffee. Latoya arrived with Ben, who looked marginally less—what, hostile? Wary?—than he had the last time I’d seen him. He said quickly, “Thank you for this opportunity, Nell.”

  “Ben, we need someone with your skills, period. I’m glad you could join us. We’re going to throw you straight into it, but first I’d like you to meet your colleagues. This way.”

  I led the way around the office, introducing Ben to our staff—Shelby in development; Felicity, our head librarian; even Front Desk Bob—then took him to the processing room, where Rich and Alice were already at work. I was surprised to see Lissa there, too, talking with Rich, who was explaining some document he had laid out on one of the work surfaces. “Hey, guys,” I said, and waited until I had their attention. “I’d like you to meet our new registrar, Ben Hartley. He’s starting today. I know you’re all busy, but I’d appreciate it if you could show him how we do things here. Latoya, have you set him up with computer access?”

  “Of course,” Latoya said formally. “He’ll be using that desk when he’s working with physical objects in here, right?” She nodded toward the one in the corner that our former registrar had staked out, and I felt a pang—I had no idea if it would work with a wheelchair.

  “If you need a different configuration, Ben, let us know,” I said. I made the introductions. Lissa spoke up. “I’m short-term, Ben, but pleased to meet you. Uh, Nell, is it all right to talk about, you know . . . ? I haven’t said much yet.”

  “It’s already been in the news, and I mentioned it to Rich and Alice yesterday.” I turned back to the others. “Lissa is working with Mitchell Wakeman on the historical background of a piece of land in Chester County, where he’s planning a new development. She’ll be here full-time for three months or so, unless she’s out in Chester County. I know, this place just keeps getting more crowded all the time. Ben, you have any questions?”

  “I need to familiarize myself with the computer and software setup. Latoya, you’ll walk me through the computer procedures?” Ben asked.

  “I will—a
s far as I understand them. I’m no computer expert myself, but I hope what you’ll find in your space is current and clear.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  “Well, then, back to business. Ben, you want to have lunch today, sort of a welcome? Latoya, can you join us?”

  Latoya shook her head. “I have a prior commitment, but I’ll be spending time with Ben this morning. You two go ahead.”

  We all scattered to our respective workstations. Eric handed me a stack of papers and together we sorted through them, assigning priorities or handing them off to other staff members to deal with. It was a productive morning that passed quickly, and I was surprised when Ben appeared at my door. “We still on for lunch?”

  I checked my watch: noon. “Sure. Any place around here you’d like to go?” I wondered if that was tactless. How many of my favorite restaurants would be hard for a guy in a wheelchair to access?

  “I don’t know the neighborhood. You can choose.”

  “There’s a nice lunch place the next block down—nothing fancy, but good sandwiches.”

  “Sounds fine.”

  We made our way out the side entrance and to the restaurant, one where I ate (or got takeout) regularly. I’d remembered it as a place with widely spaced tables that I hoped would be easy to fit a wheelchair, and I was relieved to discover that I was right. I was going to have to rethink a lot of small things like this, if Ben stayed on. If? Well, the last registrar hadn’t lasted long, and Ben faced special challenges working in our old building. Plus, who knew how well the job would suit him?

  Once we were settled and had ordered the day’s specials, Ben spoke quickly. “Look, if this doesn’t work out, no hard feelings. I know you’re taking a chance on me.”

  I admired his directness, even as I fumbled for an answer. “Heck, you’re taking a chance on us, too. I don’t know how much James has told you, but we’ve had some rather peculiar events happen recently.”

  Ben’s mouth twisted in a reluctant smile. “So I’ve heard. But I don’t know how much Morrison has told you about me, either. Look, here’s the deal: I’m good with computers. I’m less good with people. That was true before this.” He nodded toward his lap. “I have limited background in history, but I’m told I have a good eye and I can string together an accurate description. I’m assuming that describing something as ‘old pink vase’ is not going to cut it with you guys, but I can learn.” Ben took a large bite of his sandwich and chewed and swallowed before continuing. “I like some aspects of history. I kind of got into military history when I was in the army—it’s interesting to analyze where battles went wrong and, in hindsight, how the commanders could have done things better. The analysis that goes into that is probably transferrable to dealing with your artifacts.”