Fundraising The Dead

CHAPTER 25

It was dark when I left Marty’s house and drove slowly toward Charles’s, and traffic had thinned out. I went around the block a few times until I began to wonder if the police would think I was casing the place. There was only one light on downstairs. I certainly hoped he didn’t have another woman there, but I didn’t think even he could find another dupe that fast, especially if he thought he had Libby on his line. Finally I parked, walked with heavy feet to his stoop, and rang the doorbell.

He opened the door quickly. I stood on the step below him, looking up at him. Casually dressed, by his standards-which meant he’d taken off his silk tie and his collar was unbuttoned-he looked tired. But he still looked good, even though I knew what a rat he was.

“Hello, Charles.”

“Nell. What brings you here?” His voice gave nothing away.

“May I come in?”

“Of course. Please. Can I get you anything?”

“A glass of wine would be nice.” I needed a little liquid courage but had no intention of staying around past the first drink.

“I’ll just be a moment.” He disappeared toward the kitchen. I prowled around the parlor, running my finger along the (dust-free) tops of the eighteenth-century tables, reveling in the patina that comes only from years of hand polishing-all the while looking for a good place to stick my first bug. I settled for the underside of the end table next to the elegant damask-covered settee. When I straightened up quickly, I noticed a folder on the side table. Charles was still in the kitchen-I heard the pop of a wine cork, the clink of glasses. Idly I picked up the folder and opened it. Inside there was a hinged mat (acid free, I noted), which when opened revealed an old deed, its brown ink still legible. I tilted it toward the light to make out the signature: William Penn. Oh my. I perused the text briefly-it looked like a deed for a piece of property in Bucks County. A small piece of Pennsylvania history, over three hundred years old.

Charles returned, bearing two glasses. I held up the folder. “This is marvelous, Charles. Is it new?”

He smiled. “Yes-I saw it in a catalog for an auction in New York, and I just had to indulge myself. It was a bit expensive, but it seemed so appropriate to bring it back to Philadelphia, don’t you think?”

“Of course.” I set down the deed down gently, out of harm’s way, before taking one of the glasses from him. He took my elbow and steered me gently toward the damask-covered settee.

“You look troubled.” He took a sip, studying my face. “This isn’t really a social call, is it?” he said quietly.

“No, Charles, it’s not.” I took a sip of my own wine, then inhaled. “It’s been a hell of a few weeks, hasn’t it? With Alfred dying like that, and now the FBI coming around.”

I might have been imagining it, but I thought I saw a flicker of relief pass over his aristocratic features.

“A tragic thing, Alfred’s death-and of course, your finding him. He was a good man. We’ll need to start the search for his successor as soon as possible.”

“Of course. But I didn’t really come to talk about Alfred, either. Charles, Alfred’s death made me think about my own life. I mean, the man lived for his work, and he had no life outside of the Society. I don’t want to find myself in that position.”

“Nell, what are you trying to say?”

For a moment I wondered if he was afraid that I was going to ask him to take our relationship to a higher level, and I hurried to disabuse him of the idea.

“Charles, I have truly enjoyed our time together, and you’re a wonderful man.” That’s right, lay it on thick. “But we’ve always been honest with each other.” Like hell we have. “I think I need to move on, find someone who’s willing to make a greater commitment to me, to a life together.”

Before he could protest, I help up one hand. “No, Charles, I’m not trying to pressure you into anything. You’ve never made any promises to me, and I’ve never kidded myself that we had anything more than a casual relationship. And that was fine, until now. But now I need something different.”

I looked at him to see how he was taking it. I couldn’t see any signs of devastation. “I wanted to tell you face-to-face, because I don’t want this to jeopardize our working relationship. I love the Society, and I think I’ve done good work there. I would be delighted to keep working with you to make it all that it can be.” As soon as we clear up that little problem of the dead employee and the thefts.

He smiled with just the right degree of sadness. “You have indeed, and I don’t know what I would have done without you to advise me. And you’re a very wise woman, Nell. Of course I’ll regret that we won’t be as close as we have been, but I respect your wishes and your honesty.” He raised his glass in a mock toast; I responded in kind.

For one last time I looked at him, really looked. He was still elegant, very much in control of himself. I felt a stab of regret: in a different universe, maybe we could have had something real. But I knew now what lay beneath that polished facade, and he didn’t move me. I drained my glass and stood up.

“Thank you for making it so easy for me. Oh, if you don’t mind-I’d like to collect the few things I left here? My silk nightgown, for instance?”

“Of course. They’re upstairs. Let me get them for you.”

I moved quickly to beat him to the stairs. “I’ll go-I know where everything is, and I might forget something. I won’t be a minute.”

I dashed upstairs and began collecting my things, starting with the nightgown. Along the way I stuck a second bug beneath his mahogany night stand. I took one last glance around. I was going to miss the elegance of this place, I realized, far more than I was going to miss its owner. As I came back down the stairs he met me at the bottom, offering a pristine shopping bag for the odds and ends I was clutching-Brooks Brothers, I noted.

At the door, I turned and said quietly, “Good-bye, Charles,” kissed him on the cheek, and slipped out without any further fuss. I at least was a class act. I managed to remember not to skip with glee as I walked down the block away from his house toward the restaurant where Marty was waiting.

Marty was seated at a booth at the rear of the restaurant, a knit cap pulled low on her head-her idea of a disguise, I guessed. She must really be enjoying this. I slipped into the other side of the booth.

“ Mission accomplished. Did you test it?”

Marty looked around at the few other patrons in the nearly empty restaurant. Nobody showed the slightest interest. Then she pulled a small box out of her bag, plugged in a set of earbuds, and handed it to me. The red light was blinking, so I assumed it was on and recording. I put on my own earbuds. She studied the buttons on the small recorder, hit Rewind, then Play. I gave Marty a thumbs-up-the transmission, apparently from the living room, was crystal clear: at first I could hear footsteps, the rustling of papers, the chink of a glass as Charles set it down on a table; and then I heard myself and Charles. After listening for a minute, I pulled the earbuds off. I sounded unbearably sanctimonious, at least to my own ears.

“Perfect. Phil picked well.” I took a sip of coffee. “Marty, were you listening?”

She nodded, shamefaced. “I was-just to make sure it was working. You did a good job, very smooth. I certainly would have believed you, and I’d give odds that Charles did. I’ll bet he’s feeling very grateful to you at the moment. He should be all primed and ready for Libby. We’ll have to remember to tell her to be very sympathetic and stroke his wounded ego.” She cocked her head at me. “Are you all right?”

I nodded firmly. “Yes, I am. Give me a little longer and I’ll feel damn good.”