Dead End Street (23 page)

“Of course.”

The next morning I had trouble getting started. I lay in bed, my eyes closed, trying to sort out what had happened the day before and what it meant. I had to decide whether to take any of the propositions or plans I'd been party to in the past week to the board later in the day. I figured Vee's impact financing department would go forward, because it sounded as though it was trendy in high-finance circles, but she might not play a personal role in it. Or maybe she would. It kind of depended on how much of the whole Raheem-Tyrone mess went public. Vee hadn't done anything wrong, other than remain oblivious to her husband's affair, but public perception could affect matters like finance, whether or not it was logical. If her early background, and her link to drug dealer Raheem, became known, would it hurt her? Maybe it depended on whether her bank had a good PR person who could spin
the story. “Vee Blakeney: from the slums to vice president” could play well in the media. But all in all, if Vee was out, I wasn't going to start spending that nice consulting fee she had dangled in front of me. Maybe it would be better to say nothing at the board meeting.

Then there was the issue of the Oliver mansion. At least that was a happier story, but I wasn't sure it was mine to tell, or not yet. It wasn't as though we had to do anything for it, although maybe if we were going to end up with the documents collection, we should factor that into our space planning now, rather than waiting. I should speak to Latoya about it, at least about the collections aspect. I wondered if Eliot had approached her about a role his new institute, or was that also premature? Damn, I couldn't seem to decide anything this morning. Getting shot at and menaced by a drug-dealing thug definitely had messed with my brain.

Before I could decide what else to worry about, James appeared with a mug of steaming coffee. “You look like you need this,” he said, handing it to me carefully.

“Do I ever! Everything I'm working on seems to be in some sort of limbo, and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to know, or who I can tell, or when. It's very frustrating. I haven't even had time to fill you in on all of it.”

“You can sit back and do nothing,” he suggested, perching on the side of the bed.

“I could, but then the board members would be annoyed that I hadn't told them earlier. They regard this kind of insider information as one of the perks of the job. Goodness knows there aren't many.”

“Have you talked to Martha lately?” he asked.

“Not since our meeting with Edward Perkins on Tuesday. Which feels like it was a month ago. Why do you ask?”

“Martha has a peculiar way of cutting through the underbrush, so to speak. She might have some insights.”

“Maybe,” I said dubiously, sipping my coffee. “She'll be around today because of the board meeting. Maybe she has new info from Eliot. Are they serious, do you think?”

“You're asking me? Martha does not share that kind of information, with me or anyone else. But because she has been so closemouthed about this relationship even with you, I'm guessing it may be. She'll tell us when she's ready.”

I remembered one other thing to worry about. “I'm concerned that if Eliot is voted onto the board, and if his relationship with Marty becomes known, someone might think there's a conflict of interest.”

“You must like to worry. He's very well qualified, right?”

“He is.”

“Then the board should welcome him with open arms. What two adults do on their own time is their business.”

“All right, then I'll worry about whether Eliot will still
want
to join the board, if he's going to be involved in one of those things I haven't told you about yet. That's going to mean a big-time commitment.”

“Have you talked to him about it?” James asked.

“In case you haven't noticed, I've been kind of busy. And Eliot's future role is tied into the whole other thing with Edward Perkins, which you also don't know about, and which is rather convoluted.”

“Take it one step at a time, Nell. Drink your coffee. Take a shower. I'll drive you to work.”

“Wait—I was going to drive, since I'll be late tonight.”

“I'm driving, until I'm sure that Raheem doesn't have any colleagues who think it's their obligation to avenge his honor, or something equally ridiculous. I don't mind coming to the board meeting.”

“I wish all the board members felt that way. But I'm sure they won't object to having you there.”

“So now you have a plan. I'll deliver you to work, and you will handle whatever comes your way.”

“Your faith in my superpowers is touching.”

“You can do it, Nell,” he said, then leaned over and kissed me. It helped.

*   *   *

There was nothing in the paper about Raheem's arrest, so maybe Vee would escape any fallout from it. As for Tyrone, I wasn't sure how that would play. Would the people he was trying to help be grateful that he had helped to bring down a criminal in their midst? Surely one less drug dealer on the street—especially an upper-level one—would be a plus. Unless the void left by Raheem was filled immediately by someone as bad or worse. Or a turf war resulted to fill that void. My, I was in a wonderful mood this morning.
Stick to your own patch of turf, Nell!

James let me off in front of the Society. “I'll see you later. Call me if anything changes.”

“I'll do that. Thanks for the lift.” Outside the car I shut
the door and watched him pull away. He was being so sweet. I didn't really think there was any danger from anyone anymore, but I was beginning to enjoy being taken care of.

When I walked into the lobby, Detective Hrivnak was waiting for me, pacing and fuming. “I had to hear about all this from the street cops?” she said. Bob leaned on the reception desk, listening.

“Good morning to you, too, Meredith. I assume you'd like to talk about this?”

“Damn right.” She stalked off toward the room under the stairs, and I had no choice but to follow.

I closed the door behind me. “Would you mind telling me what I was supposed to have done?” I began. “We filled you in right here last night, and then James and I took Vee home. Tyrone wasn't there, but he arrived shortly after we did. We'd barely begun talking when Raheem fired a shot through the front window, then broke down the kitchen door and came raging in waving a gun. I called nine-one-one. Was I supposed to call you, with Raheem pointing a gun at me? I left the line open for nine-one-one.”

“I know—I heard the recording this morning.”

“Is there anything in there that resembles a confession from Raheem?”

“Maybe. He doesn't play by the same rules you and I do.”

“Tell me about it! He actually thought he was doing Vee a favor.”

“Yeah, more like building street cred for himself.”

“So where do things stand now?”

“We've got him for conspiracy to commit murder, even if he didn't pull the trigger himself. We'll make that stick.”

“And neither Tyrone nor Vee is implicated in any of this?”

Detective Hrivnak shook her head. “Ms. Blakeney says she hasn't seen her cousin for years, and I believe her. Mr. Blakeney is guilty of being a cheating jerk, but that's not a crime around here. He's gonna have to live with the fact that he got his sweetheart killed.”

“Will he be okay working in that neighborhood?”

“Yeah, sure. Nobody else wants to kill him. Raheem was the only one who cared. You gonna stay out of that part of town now?”

“I . . . don't know. There are a couple of projects that the Society may become involved in that could take me back there, but I can't talk about them yet. So, the answer is maybe. Should I invite you along, if I go?”

The detective produced what passed for a smile. “Nell, I'd really rather stay as far away from you as I can. There are a few other crimes in the city that I need to worry about.”

“I understand. How about you try to catch the bad guys before they get as far as me?”

“Deal.” The detective stood up. “I'll be in touch if I need anything else. Thanks for your help. And say hi to that guy of yours—he's pretty good at staying on his side of the fence.”

“That he is. I'll walk you out.”

I led Detective Hrivnak back to the lobby and sent her on her way. We seemed to be sneaking up on something approaching friendship, although I would never think of saying anything like that to her, and I doubted we'd ever go so far to have lunch together, unless there was a crime involved. But it was a good thing to have a friend on the police force.

“Everything okay?” Bob asked, as I turned to go upstairs.

“Just fine. Better than usual, I think, although I shouldn't say that because then something is sure to go wrong. Thanks for asking.”

I made it to the elevator and up to the third floor without interruption, but when I emerged from the elevator, Shelby appeared and grabbed my arm. “Come with me—we've got something to show you.”

Mystified, I let her drag me to the boardroom, where I discovered most of the staff assembled. The central table was blanketed with documents and photographs, and a few three-dimensional artifacts. I looked around at my staff. “What's this all about?”

Shelby took the lead. “You said you wanted material about all the old neighborhoods in the city. This is what we've put together in the past couple of days. Once we got into it, we got excited—the photos and early maps are wonderful, even some of the advertising flyers. I can see why they'd attract interest from the public. Oh, and you should see this.” She handed me a photo in a clear plastic sleeve.

I studied in: it was a brick row house, dating from around 1900, I'd guess. It was flanked by matching row
houses. A family sat on the front steps: mother, father, and a couple of kids, dressed up in their Sunday best. Then I looked more closely. “This is the Society's house?”

“It is,” Shelby said triumphantly. “I found it in the development files. That's what it looked like not long before it came to us.”

Wow
. Looking at this small piece of history, I had very mixed feelings. On the one hand, that was where Raheem Hill's hired gun had shot at me and could have killed me. On the other hand, it was a perfect example of what the neighborhood had once been. Taken one way, it could be a condemnation of years of neglect and willful ignorance on the part of the city, letting what had once been a thriving neighborhood rot away. On the other hand, it could serve as a goal—what a conscientious developer could strive for in rebuilding that same neighborhood. Not sterile high-rises where the elevators never worked and the hallways stank of piss; not shoe box housing marching in rows alongside a noisy highway, with no greenery in sight, and only abandoned cars for decoration. A
neighborhood
, where people were happy to live, where they cared about one another and took pride in their homes.

“Thank you all,” I said, looking around the table. They'd listened to me, and better yet, they'd heard me. This was a terrific start.

“We thought you might want something to show the board today,” Ben said.

“I think you're right.” They'd just made my decision for me. Even if neither of these projects ever happened, this was the kind of thing we
should
be talking about at the
Society. Which long-dead poet had said
a man's reach should exceed his grasp
? If we didn't try, if we always played it safe, then we would wither away inside our handsome brick walls, out of step with the world around us. That was not what I wanted the Society to do. “I'm so glad you did this!”

After a number of comments of the “aw, shucks” variety, staff members went back to their usual tasks. Shelby stayed behind. “You know, that was fun,” she told me.

“Really?”

“Really. I didn't grow up around here, and I'm still pretty new to the city, but looking at these things”—she waved her hand at the table—“I can see what the place must have been like.”

“The question now is, can it be as good again? Or better? The world has changed, and some things aren't coming back.”

“But it's worth trying for, isn't it, Nell?” Shelby asked.

“It is. And we will. Starting with the board meeting today.”

After Shelby was gone, leaving me alone for a brief moment, I found I was struggling not to cry. For once it was not out of frustration or anger or fear; it was because of what my staff had done for me. They'd heard what I had said, and the results were spread out over the table in front of me. Which, I realized, would have to be cleared in time for the board meeting, but there were a few hours until then. There was no rush.

I walked slowly around the table, taking in the materials that the staff had assembled. I felt so proud—proud of them for helping, and proud of the Society for collecting all these wonderful images and documents for so long. Maybe we hadn't done such a shabby job, for here before me was laid out the history of the city in tangible form. And now we could use this to try to make something positive happen in the city. To give back. That felt right.

On my second pass I started picking up documents, just a few here and there. I needed enough to assemble a small selection that would demonstrate what we could do for Tyrone's agency and Vee's bank and Eliot's institute. Too many would overwhelm our board members, who were not, by and large, academic historians, but a few strong images could get the message across. I wanted to tell a story in pictures and old newspaper clippings and ledger books and school records—but tell it quickly and effectively.

I stuck my head out of the boardroom door. “Eric?” I called out.

“Yes, ma'am?” he replied, bounding up from his desk and approaching.

“I want to pull some pictures to hand out at the board meeting, to prove the point I've been making. Do we have some nice folders or binders, so it all looks good?”

“No problem, Nell.”

“Did you have a hand in this, Eric?” I waved at the covered table.

“Just the copying part. I don't know much about local history.”

“Well, then you've got a fresh eye. What do you think makes the best case for our neighborhoods project?” I stepped back from the table to give him space to look.

He took his time. Finally he said, “The ones with people. I mean, buildings are nice, but that's not what makes a neighborhood work, right?”

“You're right—thank you. We need the ones with people—all kinds of people. Families. Workers coming
home from the factories. Street vendors. Festivals. Elections. Anything that shows that the neighborhoods were alive and thriving back then. I don't know if they can be that again, but we have to start somewhere. Let me put together maybe twenty, twenty-five examples, and then I'll hand them over to you to copy and let you clear the table.”

“I'll go find something nice to put them in while you're doing that.”

Ten minutes later I dropped a stack on Eric's desk. Back in my office again, I pulled out my meeting agenda and almost tore it up. A lot had changed. But there was a lot I wasn't sure I should mention, since it was far from set in stone. I hated to dangle a lot of hints, but solid facts were hard to come by. I decided I would just wing it. After a couple of weeks during which I'd been shot at, watched a woman die in front of me, and faced down a notorious drug dealer, I thought I could manage a room full of middle-aged guys in suits and ties.

Which did not mean I wasn't nervous when the time came to face them. For once Marty had not arrived early, but came in along with several others and claimed a seat next to me. I leaned over to whisper, “Everything okay?”

“No problems. Eliot will be along later.”

“You're assuming he'll be voted in?”

“Of course I am. These guys would be idiots not to.” She settled back in her seat.

I waited until we had at least a quorum—there were always a few stragglers—and then nodded to Lewis Howard, the venerable board chair, and he called the meeting to order. It was a larger turnout than usual, and that was
before James slid in. Apparently he'd had a word with Eric, who came in with a couple of additional folding chairs. Quite a party we were having.

Lewis began with the agenda, which included a number of minor administrative issues that needed to be addressed. When it came to the vote on Eliot's appointment to the board, there was no discussion and no dissent: he was in. As soon as the vote had been taken, Marty pulled out her cell phone and texted a quick message, but it was still a surprise to see Eliot walk through the door. It was an even bigger surprise to see him accompanied by Edward Perkins, who smiled at me. So we were good to go?

We'd finished the mundane business part of the meeting, and it was time to spring a couple of surprises. I stood up. “Gentlemen? There are several items that have arisen since we mailed you the packet of information last week, but I believe we need to address them sooner rather than later. I'm sorry I don't have all the details for you yet, but it has been a rather challenging week. Let me give you the high points, and we can discuss them at length at another time.”

I took a deep breath to calm myself, and then glanced at James, who nodded his encouragement. “Last week I was approached by . . .” And I launched into the story of Tyrone and Cherisse's visit, and the tragic results of that day, and what I had learned and observed since. I left out some of the grittier details, but I tried to convey that what we had discussed in our short time together had led me to reconsider where I thought the Society's responsibility lay. Now and then I glanced around the room and was
not encouraged: expressions among the board members ranged from bewildered to bored to annoyed. Not a good start.

I segued into a discussion of the Oliver house that Marty had brought to me, after glancing at her for her approval. She signaled to me to go ahead with it, so I outlined the issues I thought were involved there. And then I glanced at Edward Perkins, who had sat silent with a small smile, listening. “I know this sounds daunting, coming all at once, but I think we may have a solution that should address both problems and also make everyone happy. Mr. Perkins, would you care to share what we talked about?”

“This is a bit unorthodox,” grumbled one of the more staid board members, who had been known to fall asleep in meetings.

I turned quickly to respond to him. “Yes, but I think you'll see the relevance, so I ask for some leeway to proceed. I'm sure you have all met Edward Perkins, and he has an extraordinary proposal for us. Mr. Perkins?”

I was relieved when he rose and took my place at the head of the table as I stepped back. “Thank you for indulging me. I have been a member of this institution for many years, and I have known many of you for as long. Recently I have been presented with the opportunity to make an unusual contribution to the local historical community, and I'd like to explain it to you.”

I took his seat, next to James, and now I could sit back and watch the reactions of the board members. It took a bit for them to wake up, when Edward began speaking, but I could see them gradually listening more intently,
and by the time he had wrapped up his short speech, most looked positively excited. Edward smiled at them, then turned to me. “Ms. Pratt, do you have anything to add?”

“Thank you for your very clear presentation, Mr. Perkins.” As he resumed his seat, I surveyed the board. “I'm sure you have questions, and there are quite a few issues to be resolved, but I think you have heard the gist of it. Let me add another thing.” I picked up the stack of folders Eric had assembled, and Marty took them from me and began doling them out. “What you have before you is a small example of what we have in our own collections, and what we can provide to any agency or group that wants to take part in reviving the troubled parts of the city. And there's one more piece: the local investment banking firm Dillingham Harrington is committed to creating a new funding unit to address social issues, and the Society has been invited to act as a consultant, providing an historical context for the projects it supports.”

“They going to pay?” asked a member I didn't know well.

“Yes, they are.”

For a long moment, the board looked confused, leafing through the handouts in front of them. But it didn't take long for Lewis Howard to grasp what had just happened. He stood up, and slowly he began speaking. “My colleagues here may be a bit slow to realize it, but you have done something the likes of which I have never seen during my tenure at the Society. You have discovered opportunities to advance our institution's stature in the community without compromising our core values.
And
to bring in money. Bravo, Nell!” He began clapping, and several other members joined in.

For the second time in one day I wanted to cry, but I didn't think that would be professional. I also rejected saying
just doing my job
, even though it was true. I felt extraordinarily lucky to have found myself in the midst of such an alignment of the stars, and maybe getting shot at was the price I had to pay for that. But all things considered, this was the best possible outcome. “Thank you all. As I'm sure you can guess, there's still a lot of work to be done, but nothing we can't handle. I should have more detailed proposals in your hands after the first of the year.”

After that the meeting wound down quickly; everyone was eager to go home, or wherever else they were going. Lewis Howard stayed behind. “Nell, I meant what I said. Under your guidance, the Society is now in a position to take a giant leap forward. Well done.”

“Thank you, Lewis. I feel very lucky.”

And then he was gone, leaving me with James, Eliot, and Marty; I'd seen Edward Perkins slip out while Lewis was speaking. “We pulled it off,” I said, with something like wonder.

“That we did. Although that
we
might be misleading,” Marty said. “I think you did most of the work.”

And dodged a bullet, literally. “I'll stick to the
we
. We should celebrate.”

And so we did, with a long, luxurious dinner that included a lot of champagne. It was close to midnight as we said our good-byes outside the restaurant, and I watched Marty and Eliot head off together toward Marty's
house, which was not the same direction as Eliot's. They looked happy even from the rear.

“You are an amazing woman,” James said in a low voice.

“I'm just doing my job,” I replied. “You know, preserving history, saving the city, solving crimes. All in a day's work. By the way, it's your turn to play hero. Can we go home now?”

“Of course. You and I aren't done
celebrating.”