Monument to the Dead (3 page)

I started sorting through the correspondence on my desk
and had barely gotten into drafting a reply to one letter when Nicholas rapped on
my door. “Marty Terwilliger said you wanted to see me?” He stood, waiting, until I
beckoned him in.

“Yes, I did. Please, sit down. How’s the work going?”

He sat and regarded me gravely. “I’m still importing some of the existing data into
my system, and I’m more or less splitting my time between that and cataloging the
new material that came in. Is there a problem?”

“No, not at all. I think you’re doing a great job. I’m even beginning to think we’ll
see the end of it during my lifetime.” I waited for a response to my mild joke, but
he just stared at me blankly. Nicholas did not have any sense of humor that I could
identify. I sighed inwardly. “I wanted to enlist your help on a special project. I
know it’s kind of a digression from what you’ve been doing, but I’d like you to find
the time. You’re familiar with the Water Works?”

“On the river? Yes, the place is hard to miss. What about it?”

“One of my colleagues at the Interpretive Center there is coming in for a meeting
in about five minutes. She requested the meeting—she said they want to do an updated
history of the Water Works, with an emphasis on how the river has been cleaned up
in recent years, and they want to know what we have in our collections about past
efforts. Not just about the site itself, but maybe reports on the state of the river,
or waterborne illnesses, that kind of thing.”

“Surely they’ve been through our materials before?”

“No doubt, but you know what staff turnover is like, so assume we’re starting from
scratch. Do you think that would be a good demonstration of your software?”

“Of course, not that it’s a particularly difficult search. When do they want it?”

“Phebe and I didn’t get into the details, but probably soon. She did mention that
they want to take the project to the city for funding, and of course the deadline
is only a few weeks away, at the end of the budget year. Nothing unusual there. Sound
good to you?” Since I was his boss, although not his direct supervisor, I asked purely
out of courtesy. I thought it would be a good chance for him to show off what he’d
accomplished in the few months he’d been working with the Society’s collections.

“I’d be happy to do it.”

“Great—she’ll be here any minute. Sorry to dump it on you without warning, but she
didn’t give me much, either.”

Eric called out, “Ms. Fleming is here. Should I bring her up?”

“Thanks, Eric—go right ahead.”

Eric returned quickly, and Phebe walked briskly into my office. “Hi, Nell—thank you
for seeing me on such short notice. Somebody up the line got a bee in his bonnet and
decided this was a great idea and we should do something with it, like, immediately.”

“Hi, Phebe.” When I was development director, we ran into each other periodically
at various events and conferences around the city, and I’d always enjoyed her company.
I was pleased that she’d reached out to the Society for this project—it never hurt
to earn some goodwill from a city department. “I know how that goes. I hope we can
help. Let me introduce you to one of our newer staff members, Nicholas Naylor.”

Nicholas took a step forward and extended a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Fleming.”

“Phebe, please.”

“Nicholas is overhauling our electronic cataloging system and database,” I said, “which,
as you might guess, is a huge task, and we’re glad to have him. I thought he could
use your request as a kind of test case. So, what are you looking for?”

Phebe leaned forward in her chair. “Confidentially, the Water Department has had an
offer from a large local corporation, which shall be nameless, to give us a nice contribution
to support this project. They’re trying to polish up their public image. What they
want is to retroactively present themselves as ecologically sensitive, or if that’s
not possible, then they want to look proactive now. There may be a good case to be
made, but we want to be able to back it up with documentation, so this doesn’t come
back to bite us. What do you think, Nell?”

“I can see where they want to go with this, but I can’t speak for what’s in our collections.
Don’t you already have a scholarly history for the Water Works?”

“We do, but it’s kind of dated. And now we want to take a different slant, pushing
the health and safety aspects.”

“Nicholas, what do you think?” I asked.

“How detailed do you want this to be, and when do you need it?” Nicholas didn’t beat
around the bush, I noted.

“The good news is, the city is willing to give us a break—it’s already past the deadline
for submitting requests for funding, but they want to keep this corporation happy
so they’re bending the rules for us. The bad news is, they want the information and
proposal by the end of the next week. Is that doable?”

Nicholas glanced at me briefly before replying. “Let me see what I can pull quickly.
I can give Nell a summary of what I’ve found, say by the end of this week, and then
you and she can confer. Would that suit you?”

“Sounds good to me. I’ve got my people working on the rest of the proposal. Nell,
do you approve?”

“Sure. We can talk when Nicholas has had a chance to pull some things together. Actually
I’d like to know more about the Water Works, so I’ll look forward to seeing what we
have in our files.”

Phebe bounced up. “That’s great! Thank you so much—I know it’s a pain to have things
dumped on you unexpectedly, but we only just found out ourselves. I’ll owe you one.”

“I won’t forget. Let me walk you out.” As I escorted Phebe down the hall to the elevator,
I saw Nicholas slip out of my office, heading toward his cubicle down the hall. When
I’d waved good-bye to Phebe at the front door, I went back to talk with him.

“Think you can handle this?” I asked

“Of course. I think I know what she has in mind, so I can tailor my search. I’ll have
something in your hands in a couple of days.”

“That would be great, Nicholas.”

Anyone who approaches Philadelphia by way of Amtrak
or in a car on the Schuylkill Expressway would have to be blind not to notice the
Fairmount Water Works, which stretch along the river in all their Neoclassical glory,
next to the more garish illuminated Boathouse Row. Philadelphia was the first major
American city to consider safe municipal water as the city’s responsibility, spurred
by the yellow fever epidemics at the end of the eighteenth century (reading the Society’s
documents about the victims, often letters to and from affected loved ones, can be
heart-wrenching). Of course, the city fathers didn’t settle for building a humdrum
and utilitarian monument. Instead they created a three million gallon reservoir on
the hill where the Philadelphia Museum of Art now sits, and a pump house with two
steam engines. Then they built a dam along the Schuylkill, which directed the water
to a mill house with waterwheels to replace the steam engines, and later turbines
to lift the water. The whole thing was embellished by a Classical Revival exterior,
and it became a major tourist attraction. Sometimes I wished for simpler days, when
an excursion to look at some pretty water pumps was enough to please travelers.

The place was closed in 1909, and languished for decades, housing a variety of organizations
such as an aquarium and a swimming pool. Then a major restoration was undertaken,
an interpretive education center was added, and behold, it became a tourist destination
once again, complete with a highly regarded restaurant.

I was always surprised that Ben Franklin hadn’t had a hand in it somewhere, since
he seemed to have prompted almost every other “first” in the city and even the country.
He missed the “Watering Committee” by only a few years, since he died less than a
decade before it was created.

Asking Nicholas to work on this project was not just me creating busywork for him.
Phebe and I had posed an interdisciplinary question to test the scope of his data
management software, and also to give him a taste of the kind of real-world questions
we regularly faced from patrons and scholars. And while it wasn’t listed anywhere
in the job requirements, I wanted to see him show some passion for the materials he
was working with, beyond the mere physical descriptions and categorizations. Not for
the first time I wished that he would show some sign that he was enjoying his work,
maybe even a smile from him once in a while. But if he was doing his job well, I wasn’t
going to complain.

I sighed. Being part of upper management, even in a small place, carried a lot of
different responsibilities, including supervising employees and making sure they all
worked well together. Not an easy task, I had come to realize.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. No major crises, no big decisions to be made.
The next board meeting was still a few weeks off, and I looked forward to reporting
that we had had a quiet and productive quarter. Then I knocked on the wood of my desk:
the quarter wasn’t over yet.

At least the day was broken up when Eric informed me that there was a Jacob Miller
downstairs and he wanted to see me. “Who?” I said, searching my brain for the name.
“Does he have an appointment?”

“No appointment. He says he’s with the firm of Morgan, Hamilton and Fox? He promised
not to take much of your time.”

Whirr, click
—that name I recognized. Morgan, Hamilton and Fox was the Society’s law firm, when
we needed one for institutional business. Not that we’d had any legal problems recently,
thank goodness, because they charged by the minute. “You can bring him up, I guess.”

Two minutes later, Eric returned with Jacob Miller in tow. “Sorry to barge in on you
unannounced,” he said, his smile ingratiating, his hand extended.

Since I hadn’t met him before, I studied him for a moment before I stood and shook
his hand. He was young, eager, nicely dressed, and clean-shaven—just what I’d expect
of a baby lawyer at a major law firm. “Please, have a seat. What brings you here?”

“Nothing bad, I promise you! I’m an associate with Morgan, Hamilton and Fox,” he began.
From the way he said the name, I guessed he was still enjoying the novelty of it.
I knew it was a prestigious, long-established firm, and he must be smart if he’d landed
a job there. “I’ve just been assigned to help Courtney Gould with the Society’s business,
and I wanted to take this chance to introduce myself, since I was in the neighborhood.
You’re the president of this organization?”

“I am, for the last few months. You’ve gone over our files?”

“I’ve just begun.”

“What exactly has Courtney asked you to do?” I’d worked with Courtney on and off for
several years, and I had found her efficient and pleasant, although I wouldn’t call
her a friend.

“First, familiarize myself with the scope of your needs. Then she wanted to do a review
of the legal status of some of your internal trusts. You know—laws keep changing,
and as I understand it, some of your funds and bequests are virtually moribund. If
their terms permit, there might be a way to consolidate and streamline your holdings.”

I didn’t doubt that what he said was true, but I had to wonder if he was here trying
to generate billable hours for himself and the law firm—and I didn’t want to incur
any more bills right now. But that probably wasn’t something I should take up with
this young, eager lawyer. I made a mental note to check with Courtney before he got
too carried away. “That sounds like a good idea,” I said noncommittally. “Are you
interested in history?”

“Oh, sure. I love old buildings and stuff. Maybe you could give me a tour of this
place? Not today,” he hastened to add, “but sometime?”

“Of course,” I agreed. “I love to show this place off.” And it wouldn’t hurt to keep
our lawyers happy and show them that we had nothing to hide. Just not right now.

He said quickly, “I won’t keep you any longer, but I’ll hold you to that. Great meeting
you!” He all but jumped out of his chair to shake hands yet again.

I came around my desk to take his hand this time, and gently guided him toward Eric’s
desk. “Eric, will you take Mr. Miller downstairs, please?”

“I’ll be happy to.”

I watched them go down the hall, and returned slowly to my desk. I couldn’t even remember
what I’d been doing before Jacob Miller had appeared. Great. I scribbled a note to
myself:
call law firm
. I wasn’t sure whether Courtney was trying to send a message by stepping back and
letting a junior member take over our business, or if she was just busy and needed
some help, but I thought I should find out.

Shelby came by late in the day, looking pleased with herself.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got results already!”

“I sure do.” She smiled. “Once I figured out where to look, it went fast. I went back
as far as fifteen years, which is about as long as people have been putting that kind
of institutional information online. Hard to remember the world before the Internet,
isn’t it?”

I had to agree. “I don’t know whether that’s good or bad for places like ours. On
the one hand, the documents and materials we have will become more and more precious.
On the other hand, people will be so accustomed to calling up quick answers and images
online that they’re going to be less likely to make a trip to look at the real thing.
Not much we can do about it, though, except put as much of our stuff online as we
can so we look proactive.”

“Amen!” Shelby said. “Anyway, I made you a copy of what I’ve got so far. Consider
it a first draft.” She passed me a sheaf of papers. “That includes all Philadelphia
institutions and those in the near suburbs, and those that kind of compete with us
or complement us, like Valley Forge. That’s one column. Then there are the board members
for each, over the past ten years and currently, with another column for their years
of service. What else would you like to see?”

“Great start, Shelby!” I thought for a moment. “How about their age when they joined
each board? And when they died?”

“You mean, did they die with their boots on, still on the board, or did they know
enough to pass the torch to someone else?”

“You’re mangling your metaphors, but yes, I think you’ve got the idea.”

“Want me to add
how
they died?” Shelby asked with a gleam in her eye.

Shelby could see right through me. “Maybe. How about whether the places they’d served
were included in the will?”

“Lady, you don’t make this easy, do you? How about shoe size and hair color while
I’m at it?”

“No, but you might go back through the last twenty or so years of society columns
and see who was seen with whom at whose parties.” At Shelby’s dismayed look, I burst
out laughing. “Just kidding. But is there any way to figure out who knew who, retroactively?
I know some of that is in our files, and you can check the reports from our annual
galas. You could put in a ‘Friends With’ column.”

“I sure hope all these board members don’t know that we archive gossip!” Shelby shot
back.

“It’s not exactly a secret, even if we don’t go around pumping folks for information.
They can’t really think we come up with our funding requests out of thin air, or with
a Ouija board.”

My phone rang. I checked my watch and was surprised to see that it was after five.
I’d heard Eric leaving while I was talking to Shelby, so I picked up and said, “Nell
Pratt.”

“It’s James. We need to talk.”

That sounded ominous, and I thought I could guess why. “Another one?”

“Possibly. Can I meet you there?”

“Of course.” I thought for a moment before saying, “James, can I bring Shelby into
this conversation?”

I could hear his sigh. Heck, Shelby, sitting across the desk, could probably hear
it, too. I waited while he thought it through. “I suppose it will be faster to talk
to you both and just say this once.”

“I think she can help.”

“All right. I’ll be there in a half hour.”

“I’ll wait in the lobby and let you in.”

When I hung up, I found Shelby watching me with an amused smile. “I knew there was
something going on. You going to fill me in before Mr. Agent Man shows up?”

Now it was my turn to sigh. “James thinks Adeline Harrison’s death was suspicious
and may be related to at least one other death from a couple of months ago. Apparently
now there’s a third that he thinks might also be linked. That’s why he asked me to
sniff around.”

“And why you asked me for this information,” Shelby said, nodding to the spreadsheets
she had given me.

“Yes. And that’s why I’m including you now. You’ve got access to the information he
needs, and I know I can trust you. I can’t do this all by myself and still run the
place.”

I was hardly surprised when Marty showed up in the doorway. “Jimmy just called and
said we were getting together here. Somebody else is dead?”

I nodded. “So I gather, but I don’t know who yet. Marty, I asked Shelby to put together
a matrix of local board members, and I’d like you to look at it and see what you can
add. If what James thinks is happening really is happening, it may be useful for us
to have that information in one place.”

Shelby stood up. “Let me run off a couple more copies for y’all.” She headed down
the hall toward the copy machine, leaving Marty and me staring at each other silently
until Shelby returned. She handed Marty a packet of papers and explained to her what
she had done. Marty nodded in agreement and made some good suggestions.

I left them in peace while I worried. Marty was right: James was not an alarmist,
and he preferred to keep his business life and his personal life separate. At least,
as far as I knew—I’d been part of the latter for only a few months. When we did get
together outside of work, we both avoided talking about professional issues—him because
he couldn’t, and me because . . . I didn’t think they would interest him, compared
to the things he dealt with daily. And because I wanted to get to know him better,
and let him get to know me. So we spent a lot of time talking about what books and
movies we enjoyed and what restaurants we went to. We also spent some quality time
not
talking, engaged in nonverbal but mutually satisfying activities.

“Yo, Nell!” Marty’s voice interrupted what had been becoming a very nice daydream.
“You going to go downstairs and let the man in?”

Where had the time gone? “Oh, right. We can use the old conference room downstairs
to talk.” The ground floor of the Society was long on grand, soaring spaces but short
on places to meet privately, to sit and talk. The exception was the old conference
room, tucked under the sweeping mahogany and stone staircase. “Let’s head down there
now.”

Our timing was perfect: by the time we emerged from the sluggish elevator and reached
the front door, James was waiting on the front steps. I let him in and wished that
I could greet him with proper enthusiasm, but we had an audience (who knew perfectly
well what was going on between us, but still) and this was a professional call.

When we were settled around the conference table, I said, “All right, James. You requested
this meeting. Tell us what’s going on.”

“Let’s talk about Adeline Harrison first. I have the preliminary results for cause
of death: an overdose of a prescribed heart medication. We were lucky, because all
her medications were neatly lined up in her bathroom cabinet, and we talked to her
primary doctor. Marty, you knew her. Was she getting forgetful? Could she have miscounted
pills or taken a dose twice?”

Marty shook her head vehemently. “I saw her a few weeks ago and I didn’t notice anything
like that. We talked about a bestselling nonfiction book she had read recently, and
she made some excellent points about its weaknesses. And before you bring it up, I
don’t know of any reason why she could have been suicidal. Unless her doctor told
you about some terminal illness?”