Let's Play Dead

CHAPTER 23

On the sidewalk, after Arabella had closed the door behind us, James turned to me. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“Business?” I asked.

“In part.” He smiled.

I smiled back. “I guess. I drove-my car’s parked over there.” I pointed across the street. “You want to meet somewhere?”

He named a sandwich place on Locust Street, and we split up to retrieve our cars. As I drove down Market Street toward City Hall, admiring the view, I was glad for some time alone to sort out what I had just witnessed. Nolan Treacy had surfaced in Philadelphia twenty-some years after he’d left. He told an appealing story, but was it true? If he was in fact an Irish terrorist, albeit low-grade, he would be good at making up stories, wouldn’t he?

I parked in the lot across the street from the Society and checked my watch: there was no point in going to my office first. Instead, I got out and walked up Locust Street toward the restaurant. It was still early for lunch, and the chill in the air tended to discourage tourists, so most of the people on the street were moving quickly to get to their destinations. As did I. But James was already waiting at the restaurant when I arrived.

He held out my chair for me, and I shrugged out of my coat. A waiter appeared and handed us menus.

“Didn’t I just eat at Arabella’s?” I asked. I sighed and asked for coffee. James did, too, and ordered a sandwich to go with it. “So, what do you think?” I asked, once we were settled.

James smiled. “I’m not supposed to tell you, you know. But I have no reason to believe that Nolan is anything other than what he says he is. We did a basic check: he’s a small-town Irish electrician, with the wife and kids he described. In fact, he’s got a son working for him as an apprentice of sorts. His company did pretty well during the Irish boom years, but now he’s got a bit more free time on his hands, which may be why he decided this was a good time to make this trip.”

“Did you check his medical records, too?” I asked.

“No, we did not. Look, this isn’t hush-hush spy stuff-we made a couple of phone calls to our counterparts over there. Nolan has no record with the Irish police, and it looks like his life is an open book. It’s true that he flirted with Sinn Fein years ago, but so did a lot of people, and we have no reason to think that he’s had anything more to do with them since.”

My coffee arrived. I added sugar and sipped. “So he’s a dead end.”

“No, he’s a loose end that I’ve just tied up. I get to write up a report and copy it to the police department. Not that they ever thought Nolan was a serious suspect, as far as I can tell.”

I sighed. “Do they have any other suspects?”

He shrugged, which didn’t tell me much.

“Is that a no or an I don’t know?”

“Nell, do you really want to be in the middle of this?”

“No! But Arabella keeps calling me. And I did put you together with Nolan, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. You’ve done your civic duty. But I’d guess Arabella would have shoved him in our direction anyway.”

“You picked up on that, too? No love lost between them. I have to say, he did abandon her, and she has a right to be angry.”

“Even twenty years later? After she’s done so well for herself?”

“Well, apparently this is the first time she’s been face-to-face with him since he left. She’ll probably get it out of her system quickly.” But for a moment my heart ached for Arabella, who was being buffeted from all sides: first the death at the museum, now the wandering ex. I hoped she was resilient.

“Let the police handle the incident, Nell. You can be a friend to Arabella, but that’s all.”

“You’re telling me to stay out of it,” I completed the thought for him. “I’d be delighted to. Is this the end of the business part of lunch?”

“It is. Unless there’s something new at the Society.”

“We’re still waiting for you to find our collections. And still hunting for a registrar. I assume Marty mentioned what she wanted to do about that?” He didn’t know that I knew that he had volunteered to help boost the funding for the position, and I wondered how he would respond.

I could swear he blushed. “She might have mentioned something. We’re still working on the collections angle. Don’t worry, we haven’t forgotten. Don’t give up hope.”

“At least I’ve made a couple of people happy. I talked to this other electrician who’s really into local baseball history, and I think Felicity is sweet on him.”

James’s eyebrow went up. “Sweet on him? What, are you a matchmaker now?”

“Anything to keep my staff happy.”

James’s lunch arrived, and we bantered over it, and over another cup of coffee after. It was fun. Three months earlier I would never have guessed I’d be having lunch with an FBI agent, much less flirting with him. Flirting? I thought I’d forgotten how. Anyway, it was a weird mix of business and pleasure.

Finally he said, “This is nice, but that blasted report should go out today.”

“So you’re going back to the office? I should, too. I can get a lot done when the administrative staff isn’t around on the weekend-no interruptions.”

“Would you consider scheduling something else on a weekend?”

“You mean, with you? I could probably fit that into my calendar.”

“I’ll call you. And I’ll take care of lunch. You finish your coffee.” He rose and headed toward the cashier. I stayed where I was and admired the cut of his topcoat. Nice shoulders under that grey tweed.

I felt good. The feeling lasted until I got back to the Society. I came in the front door and took a quick scan of the reading room. It looked fairly well filled for a Saturday, especially considering the season and the rather cold and gloomy weather. Of course, I knew well that a truly committed researcher wouldn’t let anything deter him or her from the pursuit of a tiny but critical detail. Still, it warmed my heart that there were people here today, doing what we were here for.

Felicity beckoned me over and said in an excited whisper, “I think I found a picture for Barney!”

I replied in the same hushed tone. “That’s great. Are you going to call him and tell him?”

I could swear she blushed. “I couldn’t do that. Does he have email, do you think?”

“I can check the membership list when I go upstairs. Good work, Felicity. I know he’ll be happy.”

“I hope so.”

She turned back to help a patron, and I headed for the elevator. I didn’t make it, because Rich Girard waylaid me before I got there. “Can I talk to you about something, Nell?”

Rich had been hired to catalog the massive Terwilliger Collection of documents, and had been making steady progress, with Marty egging him on. Had Marty been pushing him too hard? “Sure, Rich. Is this about the Terwilliger Collection?”

He looked around. “Uh, no. Can we go to your office?”

“Sure.” Mystified, I led the way to the elevator and then to my third-floor office, turning on lights as I went. As I had anticipated, none of the administrative staff was in today. Inside my office, I hung up my coat and pointed Rich toward a chair, then sat down behind my desk. “So, what’s up?”

“It’s about Eric Marston,” he began, looking uncomfortable.

“Eric?” I hadn’t expected to hear that.

“Yeah, your new assistant, right? Uh, how much do you know about him?”

Where was he going with this? “Not a lot. Shelby Carver found him for me, and so far he’s been doing a great job. Do you have a problem with him?”

Rich wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You know he’s gay?”

I sat back in my chair and looked at him. Rich was the last person I would have suspected of homophobia. “I haven’t asked about his personal life. Nor should you be interested in it.”

He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Oh, no-hey, I don’t care what he does on his own time. But, well… this is complicated. When you showed him around, I thought he looked kind of familiar, but I didn’t think anything more of it. But last night, I was out with Carrie, you know? And we hit some clubs. And that’s when I remembered where I’d seen him before.” Rich stopped, apparently reluctant to go on.

“At a club?” I really didn’t know the local club scene.

“No, outside a place, when I was walking by. With some cops. It looked like he was getting arrested.”

Something inside me went cold. Eric hadn’t mentioned anything about any criminal record, but then, I hadn’t asked, had I? Nor had I requested that kind of background check on him. I had trusted my instincts, because I liked Eric and he had looked like he needed a break. Shelby had vouched for him, but I barely knew her, either. Had I been wrong? “When was this?” I asked, my voice tight.

“A while ago. Six months, maybe? I remember it was warm, so it had to be summer. Look, I really didn’t want to bring this up, because he seems like a nice guy. But I know a lot of people are looking at the Society under a microscope these days, and I wanted to be sure that you checked it out.”

He was right, much as I hated to admit it. “Thank you, Rich. You were right to bring it to my attention. Was there anything else?”

Relieved, he bounded out of his chair. “Nope. Cataloging’s going great, and thanks for sending Chloe our way. That’ll make things go faster, once I show her the ropes.”

“I’m glad I could help.” I watched his retreating back, then slumped in my chair. Damn! I fix one thing, and another one pops up. How could I discreetly find out if Eric had a history with the police? Well, duh-I could ask him. But he wouldn’t be around until Monday, which gave me two whole days to stew. What was our liability if we hired people with criminal records? I had no idea, and I really didn’t want to ask anyone and send up red flags.

Why was nothing ever easy? With a sigh, I turned to the waiting pile of paperwork. At least that I could do.