Fundraising The Dead Page 17

  Come on, Nell, get out of bed and get moving. Wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to help anyone or anything. I took a shower and dressed. I fixed myself some coffee and sat in my kitchen, chewing on a stale English muffin, then left to catch the train.

  As I rode toward Philadelphia, I pondered my position. Should I be thinking about looking for another job? And who would write me a letter of recommendation? I watched glumly as the towers of Center City loomed on the horizon, and grew steadily larger.

  Tonight was the board meeting, which meant that everyone would be scurrying around with last-minute details. I still had no idea what Charles or Latoya intended to tell the board members about the thefts-if anything.

  Luckily there was plenty of busywork to keep me occupied. I needed some information for the development report I was going to present to the board, and I needed to talk to Carrie about membership statistics.

  “Carrie?” I called out.

  She appeared in seconds and leaned against my door frame. “You need me?”

  I thought she looked uncharacteristically nervous; usually she was relentlessly cheerful. “I need updates on membership-you know, the usual. New members, nonrenewals, and so on.”

  “Oh, right, for the board meeting. I forgot. Listen, Nell…” She wavered in the doorway.

  I gestured to her to come in, and I was surprised when she shut the door behind her. She looked scared. What was she going to tell me now? I wasn’t sure if I could handle any more problems. Maybe she wanted to quit, which I really didn’t want to hear. “Is something wrong, Carrie?” I asked gently.

  “Well, yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s about Rich.”

  That I hadn’t expected to hear. “Rich?” I prompted.

  “Yeah. We’ve been, kind of, seeing each other, I guess.”

  I was still puzzled. Did she think I would view this as a problem? Canoodling coworkers was not high on my watch list, and who was I to cast stones? Or did she know something about Rich that she thought I should know? “I don’t have any objection to you two dating. Is that what you’re asking?”

  “Well, kind of. I mean, it’s good that you’re cool with it. But he’s been really worried that you’d think he was the one who stole those papers. No way he could do that! He really loves his job and this place. He’s not a thief.”

  It was kind of sweet, watching Carrie come to the defense of her boyfriend. “Carrie, I agree with you-I can’t see him doing anything like that. But since this is an FBI investigation, they have to look at everybody. Just tell him to cooperate, and I’m sure we’ll get it all sorted out soon.”

  Carrie bounded out of her chair, and for a moment I thought she would try to hug me. She restrained herself. “Thanks, Nell! It’s just been so crazy lately, nobody knows what to think.” Her face clouded. “I’m not going to lose my job, am I?”

  “Not if I can help it. Now, how about those numbers?”

  “Right away!”

  She opened the door and disappeared, leaving me troubled. Obviously the presence of the FBI was making itself felt among the staff, and if things went on this way much longer, we probably would see some resignations. One more problem the Society did not need right now. With a sigh I turned back to my report.

  As the day wore on, I wondered if our library patrons sensed anything strange about the atmosphere, but when I walked by the reading room to pick up a quick lunch, everything looked the same as it always did. Was it only me who had this calm-before-the-storm feeling?

  The afternoon dragged, in part because most board members usually didn’t arrive until after the doors had closed to the public, so I had nothing to distract me. As a long-term senior staff member, I knew them all, to varying degrees. Some of them I had worked with on various committees and knew fairly well; others tended to look right through me, as though I were part of the furniture. A few, like Marty, came in regularly for a variety of reasons apart from their board responsibilities, and we shared some kind of ongoing relationship. In any event, I was supposed to be present, visible, and available to schmooze, so I was in the lobby to welcome the arrivals (and direct them to the bar).

  Doris usually spent the day or two before the meeting calling each member to remind and to wheedle them into coming, or at least saying that they would; we usually felt lucky if we got between fifteen and twenty attendees at any given meeting, but at least that would give us a quorum. This time was no different, and there were seventeen people milling around, clutching their information packets, by six o’clock. Charles usually waited until there were enough people to make it worth his while to circulate, and then made the rounds, oozing charm. He headed for the women members first, before turning to the craggy alpha elephants of the group. Maybe he had to flex his charm, warm it up, before taking on the bigger prey-or maybe he just liked talking to the women more. A random thought occurred to me, as I watched him work the room: had the financial contributions of the women board members gone up during his tenure, and if so, had they gone up more than the men’s contributions? Interesting idea…

  After Charles had made a full circuit of the room and a few stragglers had arrived, he caught my eye to signal it was time to get down to business. I was the official annunciator. Annunciatrix? I cleared my throat.

  “Ladies and gentleman?” I waited a moment as the conversations ebbed and they turned their attention to me. “I think we should move on to the business portion of our meeting. If you’ll all just go up to the boardroom?”

  The group split, the older, frailer members heading for the elevator, the others taking the grand staircase. Marty made a beeline for the stairs, and I managed to catch up with her.

  “Anything new?” I said in a low voice.

  “Nope. I’m waiting to see how the meeting goes. If Charles tries to keep a lid on this, you may see some fireworks.” We’d reached the top of the stairs. “Talk to you later.” Marty squared her shoulders and marched into the boardroom, ready to do battle.

  The second-floor boardroom was distinguished by a total absence of windows plus erratic ventilation, which made it a less than ideal place to hold anything, but at least there were no distractions. Doris had carefully laid out the last-minute supplemental materials at each place and added freshly sharpened pencils. She was already entrenched in her stiff chair in the corner, pen and pad at the ready, as the members trickled in.

  At the head of the table, Charles called the meeting to order. When silence had fallen, he said, “Before we move into the business portion of this meeting, I need to say something about the unfortunate death of one of our staff members recently. I’ve spoken to all of you individually, but I want to say again that our registrar Alfred Findley was a valued member of this institution. He had made great strides in untangling the mystery of our record keeping, and he will be missed. Now, if we could turn to our agenda…”

  We worked our way through the printed agenda, and I gave a brief summary of the gala, including our strong financial results, and fielded several compliments about how things had gone. As the reports wound down, I saw Charles and Latoya Anderson, who looked distinctly jumpy, exchange a few glances. Marty was watching both of them with an enigmatic expression. I assumed that there was some sort of statement in the offing, and I was curious to see how they handled the situation. The board members apparently had no inkling that there was anything out of the ordinary going on.

  Finally every department head but Latoya had taken their turn. She and Charles shared one more glance, then Charles cleared his throat.

  “There is an item of particular concern that has arisen since our last meeting, regarding collections.”

  A small ripple ran through the room, and I wondered who else Marty might have told. Marty’s eyes remained fixed on Charles.

  “It has been brought to my attention that there are significant weaknesses in the way in which we track items from our collections.” He raised a hand to forestall comment. “Yes, I know we have raised this in the context of our long-
range plan, and that there have been discussions regarding electronic security measures. We have also enhanced our electronic cataloging. But I think we need to give serious consideration to some interim policy changes.”

  One of the older members, a blunt lawyer with a big-name Philadelphia law firm, interrupted him. “What’re you saying? Something important gone missing?”

  Charles sidestepped quickly. “I don’t mean to imply that. But as we have moved forward with our cataloging project, it has become increasingly clear that we-and our predecessors-have been rather cavalier about our collections management process. I think Latoya will back me up when I say that we have made great strides toward correcting this, and Alfred Findley was a key part of that effort, but at the same time-yes, I must admit that we aren’t always sure where a particular item is at any given time. And I’m sure you will all agree that it is imperative that our stewardship not be questioned, if we hope to keep attracting contributions of items of historical significance, as well as funding to support them.”

  Another member spoke up. “So what are you suggesting?”

  “A multipronged approach. We need to make it clear that we do have effective internal systems in place. I would approach this as a public-relations issue-that, for instance, we refrain from issuing news releases saying that we have discovered a rare and wonderful treasure in our collections-because that implies that we didn’t know it was there in the first place. Rather, we should say that the wonderful collections of the Society include such items as X, Y, and Z. Much more positive, proactive, as a statement.”

  There was a consistent, if slightly bewildered, nodding of heads among the group around the table. The board members still watched Charles expectantly as he continued. “Likewise, we can make use of our in-house publications in much the same vein. But I also think we need to make our security measures more visible to the general public.”

  “What do you mean? We’ve already decided that we can’t afford surveillance, at least not right now. What brought this on, all of a sudden?” That came from one of the more reactionary members.

  Charles gave a barely perceptible sigh. “I’m sure you know that security has been an ongoing debate among our peer institutions. Things do disappear. Our head librarian has reported on a regular basis that she had observed patrons slipping documents into pockets or even under clothes. In most cases, a quiet word to the offender has sufficed. There are, in fact, a few persons who are known to the staff for this behavior, and we keep an eye on them. But it is difficult to watch everyone constantly, especially when they have access to some areas where they know they will be unobserved. Every room has its blind spots. And our staff is limited. It is my intention to try to discourage this behavior by instituting more visible security mechanisms.”

  “You gonna do body searches?” One of the newer members threw this out; he had been recruited more for his checkbook than for his personal charm.

  Charles gave this person a withering glance. “I am well aware that option raises serious issues-not least of which is reluctance among current staff members to undertake such activities. But I think that we need to make it known that this is a possibility. We need to post our rights more prominently-including the right to search all items and, yes, persons. We need to let the public know that we are serious about this and that we will prosecute offenders, not just send them on their way with a slap on the wrist.”

  As a general rumbling broke out among the people around the table, Charles raised his hand once more, asking for silence.

  “I realize that you will need time to reflect on this and that we will need to draft more specific guidelines for your review and ultimate approval. But let me emphasize that I do think this is important and that we should act on it sooner rather than later. I would suggest that, at this time, we pass a general resolution to effect near-term improvements to collections security, and that we empower the Collections Committee to create and implement specific guidelines. I would like to see this done within the next two weeks.”

  In the glacial world of the Society, this was truly precipitous. I looked at Marty, but her expression gave nothing away.

  “Moreover,” Charles pressed on, “I would like to have these new policies in place as soon as possible, so that we can observe the results and make any necessary revisions at the next board meeting in three months. Do I have a motion?”

  Somebody muttered, “So moved.”

  “Second?”

  Two or three people said, “Second.”

  The members voted unanimously if unenthusiastically to support the measure.

  “ Doris, please note that the resolution has been made, seconded, and approved, and that the Collections Committee will meet to draft improved security measures.”

  Giving the responsibility to the Collections Committee made sense, and taking this action would mollify Marty. Plus it was a standing committee-trying to create a new committee at this point would just delay action. And I had to admit to myself that Charles’s strategy was masterful: he appeared concerned without being alarming.

  But a nagging little voice in my head was also noting that Charles had carefully distanced himself from any mention of the potential thefts, should they go public. He had made it look as though it was his adept management that had uncovered the problem-rather than his obliviousness or shortsightedness that had permitted it to occur. I glanced across the table at Marty and found her staring at Charles with a look that combined speculation and skepticism. She hadn’t said anything yet, pro or con, but I had no doubt that she wouldn’t hold her tongue if she found something she didn’t like. As if she had heard my thoughts, she turned her gaze to me, but her expression did not change. I met her look squarely, but I really wasn’t sure what she was thinking.

  The meeting wound down quickly after that. I escorted some of the board members downstairs, and Charles stayed behind for a few minutes, then joined me in the lobby. It was getting late, and people were not disposed to linger. When the last person had gone, Charles and I were left alone. I found I still had mixed feelings about his strategy.

  “So, Charles, you elected not to warn the board that we may have a serious problem?”

  He regarded me levelly. “Nell, we aren’t sure if there is a problem, or what the scope of it may be. I bought us some time to investigate more thoroughly, while at the same time implementing what may be the first in a series of new security measures. I don’t think we need to stir up any panic at this point.”

  An irrational thought flashed through my head: So when should we schedule the panic? What would be a good day?

  “Let me handle this, Nell,” he went on. “I have things under control, and it seems Marty is on board with our plans. I think I have done what is necessary for now.” He looked at his watch. “Is it that late already? I’m meeting a friend for dinner-I have to dash. Thanks for all your help, Nell.”

  And with that dismissive comment, he turned quickly and headed back to his office to retrieve his coat. I made my way to my office more slowly, thinking as I went. Something did not feel right. But what could I do about it? It wasn’t my department, and Charles had made it clear that he didn’t want me meddling in it. I sighed. I certainly had enough to do without going looking for problems in other departments.

  I wasn’t exactly surprised to see Marty waiting for me in my office. “I thought I hadn’t seen you leave. So, what just went on in there?” I asked as I made my way around the desk to my chair.

  “Charles is dancing around the issue and covering his own ass.”

  “That’s about what I thought. Are you happy with that?”

  “Wait and see.”

  CHAPTER 21

  With the board meeting behind me-and with the memory of Charles’s evasiveness fresh in my memory-I took stock. Agent James Morrison had his plan, Marty Terwilliger had her plan, and I was darn well going make some small contribution of my own to untangling this mess. It was all well and good to do everyone else’s bi
dding, but my self-esteem was at stake. I had to make up for misjudging Charles the Snake, if only to myself. I had time to think on the train ride home-and came up with some ideas.

  As Marty had suggested, I told Carrie that I’d be out the next day beating the bushes for contributions, which was close enough to the truth. Friday I pulled into the parking lot at Chez Henri a few minutes before my scheduled luncheon with Marty and her friend. I sat in my car trying to collect my thoughts. I had done a quick search of our donor cultivation records about Marty’s friend Elizabeth Farnsworth, aka Libby. She was the widow of one of the great industrial magnates of Philadelphia and had inherited beaucoup bucks, although I seemed to recall reading that some of her late husband’s children by an earlier marriage had tried to break his will. My impression had been that there was plenty to go around. I knew she had to be Marty’s age, since Marty had said they had been at school together. I also knew that she had a nice townhouse in the city and a sprawling estate in the Chester County horse country. Charles had mentioned in passing that he had escorted her to an event or two. I had never met her, but I had made sure that the Society had a complete file on her, in case we ever had the opportunity to ask for a contribution from her. I would never have anticipated the contribution that Marty and I were planning to solicit. Oops-maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words.

  With a sigh, I got out of the car and headed for the door. I was waiting in the restaurant lobby, admiring its warm colors, earthy tiles, and the glowing light bathing the yellow walls when Marty and her guest arrived. Libby Farnsworth was much as I would have imagined her-relentlessly slender, deeply tanned, her hair artfully colored yet casually arranged. She wore her clothes carelessly, but the chunky gold jewelry at her ears and wrists was obviously real. Marty pointed to me, and Libby gave me a sharp look before extending her hand.