Dead End Street (19 page)

“Nothing. It's not my job. I don't have the skills or the right connections, certainly not in that part of town. Or the time, for that matter. I'm juggling a couple of major projects that came out of nowhere, and there's a board meeting this week. I only wanted to sort out my own thinking. And you're a good sounding board.”

“Thank you. Is there any cake left?”

We adjourned to the parlor and the television with our cake.

The next morning I dressed with particular care. Silly, maybe, but I knew that Edward Perkins was in a position to do something for the Society, or at least for the Oliver sisters, and I didn't want to offend him by appearing too casual, as if I wasn't taking him seriously. In my position, I figured I couldn't go wrong overdressing a bit, while underdressing might kill a deal. It was all about appearances.

On the way toward the city, I reminded James that he was dropping me off at Marty's house. “We'll walk from there to Edward Perkins's house, and then I'll head over to the Society.”

“Got it,” he said, watching the road. “Anything else on the calendar?”

“Last-minute prep for the board meeting tomorrow, I guess. Nothing else scheduled, but these days things keep
popping up unexpectedly. I'll call you when I know where I'll be at the end of the day.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“You know, you are far too accommodating,” I told him. “Don't you have any major crises you have to handle? Can you really just walk away from your desk at five o'clock every day? That's not the way television shows portray the FBI—you're all supposed to be racing off to a fresh murder or a terrorist attack.”

A corner of James's mouth went up. “Since when have television writers gotten much of anything right? Yes, things come up. Recently I guess I've been given what you might call special consideration, after what happened. But it's not necessary, and I assume it will end soon enough. In the meantime, I've gotten a lot of paperwork done.”

“How exciting,” I said, and it came out a bit snarky.

“Nell,” James began, sounding exasperated, “I just want to be sure you're not at risk. Your detective friend may have identified the shooter, but as you suggested last night, what if he was working for someone else? That person might try again.”

“To hurt me? That's ridiculous. You really think a drug-dealing thug would come into Center City just to go after me?”

“Allow me to worry about you, will you? Would you rather I didn't?”

“I'm sorry,” I said in a small voice. “I'm used to looking out for myself. I don't want to be any bother to anyone else.”

I think he smiled. “In case you haven't noticed, I don't do anything I don't want to do. Well, maybe for Martha, now and then. But I want to look out for you, if you'll let me.”

“I will. But only if you'll let me worry about you when you're back on full duty chasing dangerous people with weapons.”

“Fair enough. Here we are.” He slid into a parking place outside of Marty's town house.

I unbuckled my seat belt, turned, and pulled him closer for a kiss, one that lasted quite a while. “Thank you,” I said. “For caring. For watching my back. I'll try to get used to it.”

“Do that. Call me later.”

After he'd pulled away, I turned to find Marty leaning against her doorjamb with a smile on her face. “Nice way to start the day.”

“I thought so. Am I coming in?”

“Yeah, sure. We've got time. Edward's place is only a ten-minute walk away. Coffee?”

“Always.”

Marty stood aside to let me into her home, and I walked down the long hallway to the big room at the back. She took a quick detour to the kitchen area, set off by walls that didn't extend to the ceiling, and then joined me carrying two mugs of coffee. “Sit,” she said, after handing me one of them.

She settled in a chair opposite me. “You read your materials?”

“I did, yesterday. I always do my homework. Even as a kid.”

“Suck-up,” Marty said, but with a smile. “Any questions?”

“Not about the facts. Who's taking the lead today, Edward or us?”

“He hinted that he has a plan he'd like to lay out. I don't have the details, but it sounds promising. And for some reason Eliot's part of it.”

That I hadn't expected. “Really? He hasn't said anything to you about it?”

“No. The man is the soul of discretion. But he may be deferring to Edward, and as you may have noticed, a strong will and a full wallet will get you almost anywhere you want to go.”

“Amen,” I said. I knew I didn't qualify on the wallet front; where did I fall on strength of will? But I didn't need it today: I was going to listen to Edward Perkins.

Marty and I chatted while we finished our coffee, and then disappeared and returned wearing a handsome, colorful jacket that I hadn't seen before. She'd dressed up, too. “Nice,” I said.

“Thanks. You ready?”

“Sure.”

We strolled the few blocks to a quiet street near Rittenhouse Square. I loved walking these neighborhoods (I had to remind myself there was no point in comparing them to the sad slums not far north of where we stood—that was a different universe entirely): they were old and well maintained and beautiful. Edward Perkins's town house was no exception. It was not ostentatiously large, but it was exquisite. Marty rapped briskly with the no
doubt antique brass knocker, and I was surprised when Alice opened the door.

“Good morning, Nell, Marty,” she said cheerfully. “Uncle Edward is waiting for you. Follow me.”

She turned before we could ask any questions, and led us past a handsome staircase, to what must have been the back parlor according to the original floor plan. I tried to stay focused, although I really wanted to study the moldings and woodwork. When we entered the room through a graceful arch, Edward Perkins stood. Next to him stood Eliot Miller. I resisted the urge to turn to Marty to see what her reaction was. Eliot smiled broadly at both of us, and I guessed that Marty hadn't been expecting him, either.

“Welcome to my home, Nell. Or perhaps I should say my city home? Martha, nice to see you again,” Edward said graciously, then added, “Please, have a seat. May I offer you some refreshment?”

“Thank you, but no, Mr. Perkins,” I said. Much more coffee and I'd have to ask to tour the plumbing facilities, although I did have some curiosity about how they'd fitted them in here. Marty shook her head as well.

“Edward, please. Very well, then. Let us begin.”

We all sat. Alice took a straight-backed chair outside of our circle. We waited for Edward to begin whatever it was he wanted to say.

He did not keep us waiting. “My lovely niece Alice has been telling me very nice things about the Society since she began working there.”

“I'm pleased to hear that,” I told him. “She's been a great asset to us. I'd love to have more interns like her.”

“I'm happy to know that. And I do hope you've recovered from your unfortunate experience last week?”

“I think so. It was disturbing, to say the least, but I can't allow myself to take it personally.”

“Goodness, no, Nell. Let us hope that the nonprofit world does not have to stoop to violence to achieve its goals.” He rubbed his hands together. “Well, I know that we're all busy people, so I will get to the point. I have been made aware that the Oliver sisters, Phoebe and Penelope, would like to divest themselves of their lovely house, but it is their fond hope that they can preserve it in some way—in form and in substance. I have had the privilege of knowing them for most of our lives. They are not foolish women, and they recognize that the modern world places some demands on any institution, so it is unlikely that their home could be preserved forever, and they are willing to make allowances for some discreet modern modifications. But their existing resources are not sufficient to guarantee its maintenance in perpetuity, so they turned to me for assistance and counsel. And I think we have arrived at a plan that could work. Will you hear me out?”

“Of course,” I told him. “I'm flattered that you've included me in this discussion, but I'm not sure I see what role the Society can play.”

“Patience, my dear. All things will be made clear. The Oliver house lies only a few miles from Utopia College. Are you familiar with it?”

I shook my head. “I can't say that I am.”

“You might have known it under its earlier name,
Badger College. The change came about a couple of decades ago. It's a small undergraduate liberal arts college with an excellent teaching staff, which is not easy to maintain in this day and age. It is also the college that Penelope Oliver attended when I first knew her. Unfortunately she was forced to withdraw after a bout of diphtheria before completing a degree. But she always retained an affection for the place.”

Edward settled himself more comfortably in his brocade-covered wing chair. “I am proposing to make a gift to the college, with the restriction that the funds be used to acquire the Oliver home. This will not be onerous for them. The location of the house is convenient to the campus, and they are in sore need of room to expand. And there are precedents—for example, the Benjamin West House, which Swarthmore College purchased many years ago and has put to good use, all the while preserving its historical attributes.”

I managed to find my voice. “That is an extraordinarily generous offer, Mr. Perkins. Have the Oliver sisters agreed to this?”

“Oh, yes. They are willing to accept the transaction, as long as the building is maintained in something like its original form—not turned into a computer center or fraternity house or the like. I will ensure that my gift is adequate to provide for the care of the building, and that the funds cannot be diverted to other purposes. Phoebe, Penelope, and I have discussed this proposal, and they are willing to accept some modifications to the building, as long as they are done tastefully. They realize that the world has
changed, and that they cannot control the future, so I think we have achieved a satisfactory compromise. They in turn will retire to their summer home, which is smaller and better suited to their current needs. Do you have any questions?” He sat back, looking quite pleased with himself.

I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders: I would not have to choose between projects. It was a lovely house, but I could see no way for the Society to take it on. This way, the Oliver sisters would get their wish, and a college would reap the rewards. “I think it's an excellent solution, Mr. Perkins.”

“There is another component to this transaction, Nell,” Edward added, his eyes twinkling. “The Oliver sisters are in possession of the documents of many generations of their family, regarding not only the house but the family's social and commercial activities in and around Philadelphia. They would like to make a gift of these papers to the Society, and perhaps provide some funding for the cataloging of them, something they themselves have never been equipped to do. Would your institution be interested in that collection?”

I wanted to ask somebody to pinch me, to make sure I was really hearing this. “We would be delighted to accept such a gift, and we would be honored to provide stewardship. But surely Utopia College has some interest in it?”

Edward shook his head. “No, their interests lie elsewhere. The college would appreciate it if you provided a summary or copies of the information that pertains to the house itself, for their own records, but they do not wish to accept responsibility for the collection. They feel
the Society would be better suited as custodian of the Oliver family name.”

“Then if they are willing, we accept.” Maybe I should run it by the board first, but I'd bet they'd be happy. And if I didn't convince them, Marty would. I looked briefly at her, and I swear she looked gobsmacked, which was a rare state for Marty Terwilliger. Edward had pulled a fast one on her?

And then I realized that Eliot Miller was still in the room and hadn't yet said a word, just sat quietly with a Cheshire cat smile. And Marty was staring at him, eyebrows raised.

There was apparently more to come.

Edward Perkins did not fail to notice our glances. “As you may have surmised, my story isn't finished quite yet. Would you like some refreshment now? Coffee? Tea?”

Much as I hankered to see Edward's collection of Georgian silver, I thought it might be more important to find out what other schemes he had come up with. “Thank you, but I think we'd like to know more about why you've brought us all here.”

“Of course. There is another component to the Oliver transaction—its complement, you might say. This scenario involves the house in which we now sit. It has belonged to the Perkins family for generations, but at this point in my life I have no need for more than one home. I plan to move to my house in the country, if this scheme succeeds. My intention is to sell this house to my alma mater, the University of Pennsylvania, for less than its
full market value. They have been looking for a suitable home for a proposed Center for Urban Transformation, and they feel that this building would suit their needs admirably, inasmuch as it is close but not too close to the main campus, and large enough but not too large for the anticipated staff. And, of course, it has a certain historical cachet, which is appropriate.”

He paused, and I guessed it was for dramatic effect. “Professor Eliot has agreed to assume the directorship of this new institution.”

That explained Eliot's presence at this gathering. I am proud to say that my jaw did not drop at this news. I glanced briefly at Marty and wondered how much she had known.

Edward went on, “I ask only that the university consider naming this new creation the Perkins Center. I think they can accommodate my vanity in exchange for this building, and they seem more than willing. The purchase price I have suggested to the university is not insubstantial. It is this sale that will provide the funds for my gift to Utopia College, which will make possible their purchase of the Oliver house.”

I struggled to wrap my head around the complexities of this arrangement. Edward Perkins was far shrewder than I had ever given him credit for. He no doubt had worked out how to benefit from substantial charitable contributions while making everyone happy—the Oliver sisters, Utopia College, Penn, and even me. The man was one of a kind.

“Nell, the wheels are already in motion, and I ask only
that you keep this information to yourselves until the details are finalized. I'll let you know when you can release the news. And please feel free to contact me if you have any further questions.”

“Of course, Mr. Perkins. And I must add, this is a wonderful and generous opportunity for all concerned.”

Eliot finally spoke. “Marty, I'm sorry I couldn't share this with you, but Edward requested that I keep it secret while he negotiated.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Marty mumbled. I could see that she was miffed, and she and Eliot would no doubt have some heated discussions later.

“However,” Eliot resumed, looking at all of us in turn, “there is another element of this arrangement that you need to know about. The university possesses excellent archival resources about the city and its history, and I have reason to know that those at the Society complement them. I'd like to see the Society take an advisory role in the Perkins Center, working alongside me and our staff to capture the history of Philadelphia's neighborhoods—
all
its neighborhoods, including those that have fallen on hard times. Perhaps a seat on the board of the new organization, if anyone on your staff might be interested.”

I assumed that
wow
and
gosh
and
holy cow
were not appropriate responses under the circumstances. “That would be wonderful,” I said sincerely. Would there be any money involved for the Society? This was not the time to ask, nor did it really matter: it would give the Society added visibility in the local community, and drag us into the twentieth century, if not quite into the twenty-first.
And that would give us a better shot at surviving in the longer term. And it would provide support for our new neighborhoods project. It was the best of all possible worlds, and I was stunned.

Edward stood up. “Well, that is all I wished to say. I know you all have other pressing obligations, so I'll let you go. My attorneys will keep you apprised of our progress, but they assure me that the basic elements will be finalized before the end of the year.”

The rest of us stood as well, and I stepped forward. “Edward, I don't know what to say. This is an extraordinary arrangement, and I'm honored that the Society will be a part of it.”

He smiled at me. “Nell, I believe that our local history should be preserved and protected, now and in the future. That is why I have been a Society member for many years, and I believe your organization should continue to play a role in this process. Under your guidance, and that of your board, you have earned the right to a seat at the table.”

“Then I can only say thank you. I hope we can live up to your faith in us.”

“I'm sure you will.”

We muddled through good-byes after shaking hands all around with Edward. Alice and I stood on the front stoop while Marty and Eliot exchanged a few private words in the vestibule before joining us.

My head was spinning. Had I really heard what I thought I had? The nonprofit landscape of greater Philadelphia had just changed before my eyes, and the Society was going to be part of it.
Whee!

I turned to Alice. “Were you your uncle's mole at the Society?”

“No,” she said. “But I did tell him I thought the Society was doing an excellent job, despite limited resources and funding. And he listened.”

“Well, whatever role you played, thank you. Is he going to want us to name something after him? Because we will.”

Alice waved a hand at that idea. “No, this is not about his ego, or his legacy—well, maybe the Penn part. He wants to do the right thing. In doing it this way, he helps everyone—the university, the Society, the college, and the Oliver sisters. It's a quadruple-win situation.”

“It certainly is.”

Marty joined us, and we started walking toward the Society. The crowded sidewalks gave us little opportunity to talk about the extraordinary meeting we had just left. I didn't mind; I was trying to process the implications of Edward Perkins's amazing generosity. I thought possibly Latoya would welcome the chance to serve on the board of the new institute; she had a long-standing interest in abolitionist history in the city, and she was deeply immersed in the collections management side of things, having worked for years with the Society's collections. As long as this possible new role didn't take too much time away from her Society responsibilities, of course. Alice could handle the Oliver collection—she had already proved more than qualified, and also willing to ask for help when she knew she needed it. It was unclear how much time that process would take, but since her salary was effectively being paid by her
great-uncle at the moment, it didn't really matter. Maybe it would keep her around longer than originally planned. I often wished more intelligent young people like Alice would fall in love with history and its artifacts, but places like the Society were seldom at the top of the list when new college graduates went job hunting.

Alice peeled off to the cataloging room when we arrived at the Society, and Marty followed me to my office and dropped into a chair, while I collected messages from Eric.

“Good meeting, Nell?” he asked, as he sorted through phone messages.

“Amazing, actually, but I can't talk about it just yet. Have I missed anything important?”

“Two calls you might want to return. One from your detective, the other from a Vee Blakeney at a bank. The rest can wait.”

“Thanks, Eric.”

I went into my office and fell into my chair, feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland after she had fallen down the rabbit hole. The view was not the same as it had been the day before. I looked down at my messages. Hrivnak's said
Call
—typically terse.

“What's up?” Marty asked. As usual, she had followed me into my office without asking.

“Our detective wants me to call. Give me a minute.” I punched in her number and waited until she answered. “This is Nell Pratt—you called earlier?”

“Oh, yeah, right. We got lucky. You know that shooter? He cut a deal: he fingered the guy that sent him after you
guys last week, in exchange for a reduced charge on the gun possession and general mayhem on the other offense. The name Raheem Hill mean anything to you?”

“I can't say that it does. Should it?”

“Seems like this Hill character paid our shooter to do the deed. Not a heck of a lot—he works cheap. He was probably looking to score points with his gang.”

“Who are these people?” I said, more to myself than to the detective.

“Raheem's a midlevel dealer. The shooter is lower down the food chain. Raheem says to jump, he jumps. Only now he's given Raheem up, which isn't good for our boy in custody.”

“I don't suppose anybody has explained why Raheem wanted him to shoot at us?”

“Nope. He didn't ask; he just did what he was told. But it wasn't a mix-up—he made sure he had the right car.”

“I figured that much, since he drove by more than once. Well, I suppose that's more than we knew before. Thanks for letting me know.”

“No problem,” Detective Hrivnak said, and hung up.

“What?” Marty asked, staring at me.

“The shooter was paid by his drug-dealing boss to shoot at us. Damn, I didn't think to ask whether he was told to shoot to kill or just scare us off.” I knew he had scared me. Was Tyrone unwelcome there now? Was he involved in something outside of his community efforts that we didn't know about? And what about Cherisse? She didn't share Tyrone's history with the neighborhood, but
had the police looked past her squeaky-clean suburban credentials?

I hit speed dial and got the detective back on the line. “Did you ask Tyrone if he knew Raheem?”

“Yeah, of course. He said he knew
about
him, but he couldn't remember ever going face-to-face with him.”

“One more thing: Was the shooter supposed to kill anyone, or just send a message?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end. Then the detective said, “The way he put it, he was just gonna shoot up the car. If anyone got hit, too bad. But he didn't say anything about killing someone on purpose. That all you've got?”

“For now. Thanks.” This time we both hung up at the same time.

“And?” Marty asked. She seemed to be enjoying herself.

“Tyrone didn't know Raheem, or so he says. Hrivnak didn't think to ask if this was supposed to be a killing. Tell me this: Why would anybody hire someone to shoot at someone else if he didn't know him?”

“If you think I understand the way a drug dealer's mind works, you're definitely misguided,” Marty told me. Then she changed the subject. “So, what do you think about Edward's plan?”

“I think it's amazing. Can he make it happen?”

“I think so. He's made plenty of friends over the years, and very few enemies. When he promises something, he delivers. And he doesn't do it for his own glory. Too bad there aren't more like him.”

“I agree. Did Eliot fill you in beforehand?”

“He talked about the institute, early on when Penn first brought it up—these things take time to plan. He did
not
talk about Edward's plan for supporting it.”

“And now you're pissed at him?” I asked.

“Yes. No. Well, maybe. He could have told me
something
. I do know how and when to keep my mouth shut.”

“Does this Perkins Institute mean Eliot will be too busy for the Society board?”

“I don't think so. And maybe I don't care—he committed to that a while back, and I'm going to hold him to it. Besides, the two roles dovetail so nicely.”

“No conflict of interest?”

“I'd call it collegiality. Stop worrying, Nell. It'll work out, and if it doesn't,
something
good will come of it.”

“That is an understatement. I want to elevate Edward Perkins to sainthood. Maybe Shelby knows how to make that happen. Admit it, Marty—this is an amazing outcome. I bet you're just mad because it happened without you.”

“Maybe,” Marty mumbled, avoiding my gaze.

“I've got one more call to make. You want to have lunch?”

“Nope. I've got to check up on what Rich has gotten done and see how this collections shuffling is going.”

“Go on, then.” I figured she wanted to crawl into the stacks and lick her wounds, but even she couldn't argue with the excellent outcome. When Marty had left, I picked up the phone and called Vee. A secretary answered in plummy tones and reluctantly put me through when I identified myself. “Hi, Vee. You called earlier?”

“Yes, I did, Nell, and thanks for calling back. There's something I'd like to discuss with you—I would have mentioned it earlier, but I wanted to clear it with the partners before I started spreading the word around. And I'd rather not do it over the phone. Unfortunately I'm jammed up for most of the day. Could you come by my office around four?” She rattled off the Center City address, which I recognized.

“I think that works for me. I'll let you know if anything changes. See you later.”

One more enigmatic phone call. Interesting. Was I really out of the loop on all fronts? What kind of hush-hush project could she be involved in that would interest me? I guess I'd have to wait and see.

All this walking around the city had left me hungry, so I went down the hall and stuck my head into Shelby's office. “You want to grab a sandwich?” I noticed her desk was appreciably clearer than it had been the day before.

“Sure. I've just about wrapped up this grant report, so I can celebrate with a ham on rye.”