Fundraising The Dead

CHAPTER 18

I slept badly: too much to worry about, too much caffeine too late. Wednesday morning I dragged myself out of bed before the alarm went off, and in the shower tried to scrub myself back to life, with little success. I dressed carefully, hoping to look like a responsible grown-up who couldn’t possibly engage in felonies, just in case anyone was watching, and I fled for the train station to catch an early train. I had my orders from the FBI, and I was going to go to work.

Could Charles actually have planted stolen goods at my home? Could the man I had admired and respected-and slept with-do something like that to me, and I hadn’t seen it coming? How was I going to be able to look at him today? Much less be nice to him? Argh.

I let myself into the building and made a beeline for my office. Once there, I scuttled behind my desk. I looked around at the familiar clutter-odd souvenirs, framed prints, posters, hanging calendars, and stacks of things to be done, and things that had been done but needed to be filed.

I jumped three feet when the phone rang. It was Doris.

“Mr. Worthington would like to see you. Now.”

Damn, he’s in early. “I’ll be right there,” I said sweetly.

I marched into Charles’s office, shutting the door behind me. We stared at each other for a long moment. I didn’t have a clue what was going on in his head, but I could feel my view of him shifting moment by moment. Before, I’d seen him as an attractive man, an able administrator, a considerate lover; now I was wondering if he was a felon and a liar. I hated it.

“Nell, I’ve had a rather disturbing conversation with that FBI agent this morning,” Charles began. “I have to conclude that the FBI is looking at staff members’ possible culpability in this theft matter.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me, Charles.” I considered elaborating but decided to see how Charles would play this out.

In the end he opted for doing the right thing. His face softened. “Nell, of course I don’t think you would steal anything from the Society. I know how much this place means to you.”

“It does, Charles. I just hope this gets sorted out quickly. I wouldn’t want to see these losses continue.”

“I agree. But I think it’s important at this juncture, while we are under such scrutiny, to be as circumspect as possible. It’s not a good idea for us to meet behind closed doors-it might give people the wrong idea. The fact that we’ve enjoyed a relationship and concealed it might send the wrong message.”

“Of course, Charles. After all, you never know who’s watching or listening.” Although I had a pretty good idea that Doris had very sharp ears. “If there’s nothing else, I have a lot to do today.” I stood up and took a fast two steps toward the door and yanked it open, in time to surprise Doris hovering nearby. She immediately turned away to shuffle some folders on her desk.

I smiled sweetly at her. “He’s free now, Doris.” Back at my desk I mulled over what Charles had just said. He was right, at least according to his perspective: any appearance of concealment might send up red flags at the FBI, which none of us wanted at this point. But, I had to add, if he was trying to cast blame on me, his distancing himself would be a strategic move. I supposed I could be disappointed that he hadn’t decided to side with me more openly, but had I ever expected that?

The next surprise of the day was a phone call from Marty.

“You have time for dinner?” she began abruptly.

“What, tonight?”

“Yup. I want to run something by you.”

“You’ve got a plan?”

“Maybe. You coming?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll be there at six thirty.”

I survived the day by immersing myself in busywork. Ileft work a little past six and walked over to Marty’s house. She answered the door with a look that I swear contained more than a hint of amusement. “Come on in. Want a drink? Sounds as though you’ve had an interesting few days.”

“Thanks to you. I take it you’ve talked to James? And yes, I will have that drink.”

“About what you found at your house? Yup, he told me. What did Charles do today?”

I took the full wineglass she held out to me. “Okay, Marty-who’s running this show, you or Cousin Jimmy?”

She stared at me innocently. “Why, he is, of course. Or the FBI, anyway. Look, I had a legitimate complaint, and when nobody at the Society seemed interested in doing anything about it, I went to Jimmy. All quite aboveboard. But we’re all working together on this, right?”

“Of course we are. But is everybody telling everything?”

She grinned. “I’d say it’s on a need-to-know basis right now. I don’t tell Jimmy everything.”

“Did you tell him about Charles and me?” I demanded.

She had the grace to look ashamed. “Um, yes. I had to make sure where your loyalties really lay. And once I figured that out, I didn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire, if Charles was involved. I thought Jimmy should know. Sorry, Nell. That is, if there’s any reason to be sorry? I didn’t think Charles would throw you under the bus.”

“Don’t be sorry, Marty. I thought we had more between us, but obviously I was wrong. And now I’m mad. I take it Charles doesn’t know you’re related to James?”

“Of course not. Why should he? And I don’t think he realizes that I was related to Alfred, either. But I may have underestimated Charles.”

We’d drifted to the living room, so I threw myself into a chair (without spilling my wine) and asked, “What do you mean?”

“James says you found items planted at your house not long after Charles had visited you, right?”

“Yes. What are you saying? You think Charles did it?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. But there’s something that’s been bothering me, and I’m trying to figure out how your little discovery fits with it. I’ve been to Alfred’s place more than once, maybe a couple of times a year. He was a very meticulous person, orderly, methodical-that’s what made him good at his job. Same at home: everything had its place. Now, Alfred did have a few nice things, and he was proud of them. Some of them came down through the family, and some of them he probably bought himself, since he didn’t spend money on much else. Definitely not stolen. Since I knew about his little weakness, I made sure everything he had was on the up-and-up, and he kept his word to me. Anyway, since I’m just about the nearest relative Alfred had, when he… died, I had to go to his apartment that Friday, find his papers and stuff.”

“And?” I wasn’t sure where this was going.

“I didn’t recognize half the ‘good’ stuff I found there.”

“So what does that mean?” Although I thought I could guess.

“The stuff hadn’t been there the last time I visited Alfred, so I’d bet it was planted there, just like at your place. Problem is, there’s no way Charles could have been at Alfred’s place. He was working the crowd throughout the whole gala, and then I gather you saw him not long afterwards.” She paused, waiting for me to nod confirmation. How had she known? “There is no way that he could have gotten into Alfred’s apartment, planted the stuff at his apartment, and made it to his own house in time to welcome you. It’s just too tight a schedule, and I don’t see Charles running around like that.”

I definitely didn’t like the sound of that. “So you’re telling me you think that there was someone else who was planting evidence? And who might have killed Alfred?”

“That’s the only way I can see it.”

I fell silent, trying to make sense of what she had told me. “Or, if it was Charles, he had an accomplice?”

“That’s a possibility.”

I had one more question. “Did you tell James about the stuff you saw at Alfred’s?”

“Yes, I told him when I told him about the Society thefts. I said before, I knew about Alfred’s problem, but I wasn’t sure if Jimmy did, and I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. I knew something was off the minute I walked into Alfred’s place, and that’s what I told Jimmy.”

So James Morrison had had reason to believe that someone was setting me up before he arrived at my place. I wasn’t sure whether I was reassured or disappointed.

“In case you’re wondering,” Marty went on, “I saw nothing in Alfred’s apartment that I thought was relevant to his death, and I can’t say whether the things came from the Society, although I’d say the chances are good they did. I don’t want to see the Society get trashed publicly any more than you do. Question is, what now?”

I wished I knew. I was suddenly starving; I wasn’t sure I was thinking well at all these days, but food wouldn’t hurt. “Marty, do you have anything to eat? I don’t think well on an empty stomach.”

“Oh, right. I got Chinese. A lot of it. Come help me schlep it to the table.”

I did, and then we concentrated on eating for a while. Everything tasted wonderful, and I kept helping myself until I had to undo the button of my trousers. Finally I sat back and sighed. “Much, much better. Thank you. Now, why don’t you tell me about this plan of yours.”

Marty grinned. “Tell me, how much faith do you have in the FBI to solve this?”

“A reasonable amount-I’ve never worked with them before, though. Or are you asking about your cousin? You know him better than I do.”

“Jimmy’s a bright guy, and he works hard. But he’s also a government official, and that means he has to play by certain rules. He’s already bending a few by talking to us, but I don’t think he’d go much further.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I believe that the FBI will ultimately track down the thief, and maybe even some of the missing stuff. That’s their job, and it’s what they’re good at. I’m just worried that it won’t be fast enough. The thief-Charles or whoever-may see what’s coming and dispose of the evidence before the FBI can gather enough proof to act, and we’ll never recover a lot of what’s been taken.”

“I agree, but what are we supposed to do about it?” I wondered how long our window of opportunity would stay open once the thief realized that his efforts to cast suspicion on other people had failed.

“I’ve got an idea.” There was a curious gleam in Marty’s eye. “First of all, do you agree that Charles is behind this, at least in part?”

For a moment I felt regret for all the lovely times I had shared with Charles-and then I remembered what he’d done today, deliberately putting distance between us and casting doubt on me to others. “Maybe not the murder, but yes, I do.”

She raised her glass to me. “All right, this is how the story goes…”