Let's Play Dead (9 page)

There was no mention in the article about Jason’s accident.

I laid the paper carefully on my lap and thought. Jason had received a shock only two days ago, but had survived. Apparently that first accident still wasn’t public knowledge. Who had checked out the wiring, and had that person found anything out of the ordinary? Or any cause at all for Jason’s accident? Or Joe’s? Who had installed the alarm?

And now that a death had occurred, the question had to arise: was Jason’s mishap an accident, or had it just been a dry run?
Wait, Nell—a dry run for what?
Clearly there was something wrong with the wiring at Let’s Play, or at least the new wiring for the exhibit, but that didn’t mean anyone had evil intentions. Accidents happen, especially in old buildings—or so I had told myself following Jason’s accident. But twice in the space of two days? Something was not right.

I debated my options. I could do nothing. Or I could contact Arabella and see who she had talked to and what she had told them. Or I could be proactive and contact the police myself to let them know what I’d seen when Jason was injured; when they hadn’t contacted me, I had just assumed they had written it off as an accident, if they even knew about it. I didn’t like option one and wasn’t happy with option three, since my last dealings with the Philadelphia Police Department had been barely cordial, especially after I’d proved them wrong. Poor Arabella—she must be devastated. She cared so much for her museum, and this kind of publicity could be very damaging, as I knew too well. I decided on option two: I’d see if I could reach her first and then decide about talking to the police.

I was still lost in thought when I arrived at the Society to find Eric waiting for me on the steps—as had been the case with Shelby, it had been too late the previous day to get him set up with keys and such. He looked young and eager, and was clutching a cardboard box from which I could see protruding a blooming African violet.

“I hope you don’t mind—I brought some things to brighten up the outer office,” he said.

“No problem, as long as you don’t spill water all over the antiques.” I unlocked the door and held it for him, then led him to the elevator. “You’ll need to get a key to go to the administrative floor and the stacks. Security reasons.”

“Got it. You don’t want people just wandering around the building. At least, not ones who aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Exactly.” We reached the president’s suite, which was a rather grand name for the two rooms. “I don’t know what there is in your desk—the last assistant left rather hurriedly, and someone boxed up her personal possessions, but I hope they left the office supplies. If you need stuff, the supply room is right around the corner, and it doubles as the coat closet.”

“What about the coffee room? Oh, and bathroom?”

I had to laugh at myself. “I’m doing a lousy job of getting you settled, aren’t I? Coffee room’s the end of that hall there”—I pointed—“near the staff staircase, and bathroom is right next to the stairs. Look, why don’t I let you look around a bit, and then we can do the paperwork and meet the rest of the staff?” I knew I was doing a poor job of easing him into the job, but I was still rattled by the news of Joe’s death.

“Sounds good to me.” The phone on his desk rang. He smiled quickly at me. “Let me get that.” He picked it up and said, “President’s office,” in an appropriately professional tone. Then his expression changed. “Just a moment, please.” Unfamiliar with the phone and its Hold button, he covered the receiver with his hand and said in a loud whisper, “It’s a Detective Hrivnak with the Philadelphia Police. Do you want to take it?”

Oh, damn. This was not the way I wanted to start the day. “I guess I’d better. I can pick it up in my office—wait until I’ve got it and you can hang up.”

I walked the few feet to my office, stripped off my coat and hung it carefully on the back of the door, then sat down behind my desk. The last few conversations I’d had with the detective had not been happy ones, and I’d hoped we were done with each other. Apparently not. After taking a deep breath, I picked up the phone, pushed the button to connect it, and said, “This is Nell Pratt.”

Detective Hrivnak, whose first name, if she had one, I’d never heard, said abruptly, “You were at Let’s Play when Jason Miller was involved in an electrical accident. You heard about the second one?”

“I read about it in the paper this morning. Since you’re calling me, you think it wasn’t just an accident?” Detective Hrivnak
was
a homicide detective, after all, as I knew only too well.

She ignored my question. “Can you come in and talk to me, say, eleven?”

At least she’d asked rather than ordered. “I’ll be there.” She hung up before I could say anything more, like ask her where the heck her office was. Luckily I know how to use my computer, and I quickly verified my first guess: Homicide Unit, Police Headquarters. Walking distance.

I looked up to find Eric hovering in the doorway. “Everything all right?” he said anxiously.

“You mean, will I be arrested before your first day is over? Don’t worry. This is about an electrical accident that happened at the Let’s Play Museum—it was in the paper this morning. There was a minor one when I was there earlier this week, but this time someone died.”

“Oh no! How awful—for them and for you! Can I get you anything?”

Tea and sympathy? “I’m okay. But the detective wants to talk to me at eleven. You can put that on my calendar—if you can find it.”

“I’m guessing it’s on the computer, wherever that is.”

Oh . . . sugar. The last computer used by the president’s assistant had . . . well, the bottom line was, it was gone and I didn’t think it would be coming back anytime soon. And there were no electronic records for Eric to go through and familiarize himself with, although I assumed they were all backed up somewhere and therefore retrievable. Of course, there were always the paper copies. “I’ll talk to human resources about getting you set up with something.”

“Hey, if it’s a problem, I can bring my laptop from home,” Eric offered.

“Wait until I see if we’ve got anything you can use. We’ll have to replace that one anyway. Why don’t you go through the paper files and see if you can get a sense of what goes on here?”

“I’ll do that. You sure I can’t get you something? A cup of coffee?”

Poor boy, he really was trying hard. “Sure, and get yourself some, too. It’s an honor system, a quarter a cup, just so we get something slightly better than swill.” As he bounded off toward the break room, I tried to gather my scattered thoughts. So much for the morning—I hadn’t counted on a trip to the police station. I wondered if I should try to call Arabella as I had planned, but then decided she was probably besieged at the moment.

The phone rang again, and since Eric was still fetching coffee, I picked up. “Nell Pratt.”

To my surprise, it was Arabella. “Oh, Nell, I’m so sorry to have to call you like this. You’ve heard?”

“Yes, I read about it in the paper this morning. What happened?”

“I can’t really talk now, but I wanted to apologize. You shouldn’t find yourself in the middle of our mess. But the police said they might want to talk to you, since you were there when Jason . . .”

“Yes, they’ve already called, and I’ll be talking to them this morning. It was a homicide detective who called. Does that mean they don’t think this second event was an accident?”

“I don’t know, Nell. But they talked to poor Jason this morning, and his head is still kind of fuzzy. I don’t think he remembers much about what happened.”

“Arabella, I hate to ask, but didn’t you tell me that you’d had someone look at the wiring?”

“Of course,” she said indignantly. “And not just the person who’s been doing the installation for us—I got in touch with a friend of mine who has his own company, and he’s all properly licensed and approved and whatever. He said he didn’t see anything wrong. I made sure that he looked at all the animal figures, too, just in case. And he said they were fine!”

“When did you talk to him?”

“Yesterday, in the early afternoon. He did me a big favor, coming over on short notice, but I didn’t want anything else to go wrong. But it did anyway.” She ended with what sounded like a sob. “What am I going to do, Nell? The police said we can’t open today. The children will be so disappointed.”

That was the least of Arabella’s problems. “That’s terrible, but you know the police have to do it. Just take it one step at a time. Find out what happened last night first, and then you can figure out what to do next.”

“You’re so calm,” Arabella sniffed. “I guess I’ll have to be, too.”

“Arabella, you’ve done all the right things,” I said firmly. “I’m sure no one will blame you.” Although I wasn’t sure I believed that—but Arabella needed to hear it.

“You’ll let me know if the police tell you anything?”

“Of course. I’m sure this will all be sorted out in no time. Take care.” I rang off. I didn’t need to share with Arabella my lack of confidence in the local police, after seeing how they’d dismissed my concerns the last time we’d met, just a couple of months ago. But they were certainly better equipped than I was to investigate whatever had gone wrong at Let’s Play, accidental or . . . planned?

I checked my watch: less than two hours before I’d have to leave to meet Detective Hrivnak, and who knew how long that conversation would take. What could I do to fill that time usefully?

Eric appeared, cradling a mug of coffee. “Sorry it took so long—I made a fresh pot. The old stuff looked nasty.”

I accepted the mug happily. “That happens a lot. People will leave a quarter inch in the bottom of the pot, just so they can claim it wasn’t empty.”

Eric shook his head. “You look like you need that coffee. Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“Not unless you know something about wiring and/or criminal investigations,” I said glumly. I tried the coffee: at least Eric had made it strong enough for my taste.

“Negative on both counts, I’m afraid.”

“Then this will have to do. Thank you. Why don’t you start by finding a manual for the phone, so at least you know how to transfer calls?”

“No problem about the phone. I’ve been temping long enough that I’ve probably seen every model on the market—and quite a few that aren’t even sold anymore. I’ll also see what office supplies I can scrounge up. Do you know if you have anything else scheduled for today, apart from that police person?”

I racked my brain and came up empty. A million little things, but no big thing. “Not that I know of.”

The phone rang again, and Eric dashed to his desk to pick it up. He came back in a moment, apparently having mastered the Hold button, and said in a bewildered voice, “It’s an Agent Morrison from the FBI?”

“I’ll take it, Eric.” I picked up the phone. “This is Nell Pratt,” I said. I wasn’t sure whether this call was official or personal.

“Ms. Pratt,” Special Agent James Morrison replied. “You’ve heard about the death at the Let’s Play Children’s Museum?”

So this was an official call. I wasn’t surprised, but I’ll admit to being a little disappointed. “I have. I told you I was there earlier this week when a similar but nonfatal event occurred. But isn’t this kind of thing outside of the FBI’s jurisdiction?”

He hesitated a fraction of a second before answering. “It is.” He lowered his voice. “Are you okay?”

The icy block that had formed in my stomach when I’d read the paper melted just a little. “I think so. Except I have an appointment to meet with our friend Detective Hrivnak in a couple of hours. James—does that mean it’s homicide? She wouldn’t tell me.”

He sighed. “Probably. Once is an accident; twice, it may well be deliberate. I’m sorry you have to be involved.”

You and me both.
“Thank you. I really don’t know a lot, but I’ll do whatever I can to help.” I paused before adding, “I’m glad you called.”

“I was worried. We can talk later.” He hung up.

Eric appeared in the doorway, looking concerned. “Everything all right?”

“Just fine. Don’t worry—I don’t usually get calls from the police and the FBI in the same day.”

“I’m very glad to hear that.”

After clearing a few of the more pressing items on my
desk, I emerged from my office to find that Eric had taken care of all the paperwork for human resources and located at least the minimal office supplies, including stapler, tape, notepads, and a pencil holder. Too bad it wasn’t as easy to find him a computer. “Want to take a walk around the building and meet some people?”

He stood up quickly. “I’d be happy to.”

“How much do you know about the Pennsylvania Antiquarian Society?” I asked as we headed toward the collections management area to the rear of the building.

“Just what Shelby’s told me. I haven’t visited many of the museums around here.”

“How is it you know Shelby?” I asked.

“I knew her daughter, Melissa, in school in Virginia, and we’ve sort of kept in touch—we’re Facebook friends. She’s the one who told me her mama lived up here now.”

“You said you’d been living in Philadelphia for over a year now?”

“Yes, I have.”

“What’s your impression of our city?” I was honestly curious. He was young and from a different part of the country, and I wondered what had drawn him here.

“I like it. I thought about moving to Baltimore or Atlanta, but then I figured I should go someplace really different, at least for a while. Since I didn’t have any attachments or anything.”

“Have you been looking for a full-time job?”

“Yes and no. I kind of liked temping, at least at first—I got to see a lot of different places, sort of like a job sampler. Although if something had opened up when I was at any one place, I’d have considered it. But I get by.”

We’d reached Latoya Anderson’s office, down the hall from mine. She looked up from her desk when I knocked on the open door. “Latoya, I’d like you to meet Eric Marston. Eric, this is Latoya Anderson, our vice president of collections. Eric’s auditioning for the role of my assistant.”