Fundraising The Dead Read online

  Libby returned with a champagne bottle and flutes. When she had filled and distributed them, Marty stood up and raised her glass. “To the downfall of the mighty Charles Worthington!” We saluted her and drank.

  Driving home after dark, a single glass of Libby’s excellent champagne bubbling through my system, I hoped that this crazy plan was going to work.

  CHAPTER 24

  I caught an early flight to Boston the next morning- hard on the credit card, but I didn’t have much time, and now I needed to be back in the afternoon in time for Phil’s tutorial. I’d told Carrie to let people know I was researching security systems at our sister institutions, which was at least partially true. I was scheduled to meet with Gail Wallace at the Massachusetts Book Club, a private library in Boston.

  On the short flight, I found my thoughts drifting to Charles. Thinking about him was like poking a sore tooth: it was painful but hard to stop. I had trouble being objective about him when he’d made me feel like such a fool. I didn’t mind getting kicked around in my love life-I was a big girl, I had gotten involved with Charles with my eyes wide open, and those were the breaks. I could handle that. But when he started messing with the Society, undermining an institution whose sole purpose was to preserve and protect the remnants of the past, I got mad. Nell Pratt, guardian of the gates, keeper of the flame, protector of the departed, and their treasures and reputations. I was ready to fight for truth, justice, and the American way. Don’t mess with the Society, bub, or you’ll have to answer to me.

  I dragged my mind away from Charles and back to Gail Wallace, who seemed to be a more likely candidate to share gossip than Diane had been. The last time I had seen Gail had been at a fundraising seminar a couple of years ago. After we had suffered through an endless series of droning discussions about database management programs, multipart mailings, and event planning, ad nauseam, punctuated by inedible meals in airless function rooms, a number of us had retreated to the hotel bar and swapped development horror stories until they closed the place. I remembered that Gail relished the telling of a juicy anecdote, especially if she had an eager audience. I was prepared to be eager.

  I arrived at the library promptly at eleven. I played out my spiel, dutifully took notes about the security system vendors Gail had interviewed; we wandered through the building, noting the carefully concealed spy cameras, the limited means of egress, the process for tracking who was in the building and who had left. Even if she ultimately kept silent about any tasty gossip, I was learning a heck of a lot about institutional security, which I hoped would come in handy. As the tour wound down, I said, “Gail, that was great-exactly what I needed. How about I take you out to lunch, to pay you back?”

  She grinned at me. “I thought you’d never ask. What do you feel up for?”

  “Hey, it’s your city-you choose.”

  “Expense account?”

  I gulped. “Sure-but remember I work for a nonprofit, just like you.”

  “I hear you. Okay, follow me.”

  Gail led the way down Beacon Hill and into the Back Bay, and she guided me to a charming small restaurant on Newbury Street. Once we were seated, she gave me a long look. “You didn’t get in touch with me just to talk about security, did you?”

  “No,” I replied. “There’s something else, now that we’re off-site.”

  “That’s what I figured.” She waved at a waiter and ordered a drink. I stuck to iced tea, but I hoped that alcohol would make it easier for me to direct her conversation along the lines I needed.

  “So, Gail,” I started again, “nobody’s stormed your gates since you put in this wonderful magic electronic system?”

  Gail was ogling a thirty-something banker type who was standing at the bar with some buddies. “What? Oh, no, it works just fine. We’d been having some little problems with things vanishing, but it stopped cold, maybe six, seven years ago. You know, if we could just pay our staff better, they wouldn’t feel the need to walk out with our stuff.”

  “You have a problem with staff pilfering?” I tried to sound appropriately incredulous.

  “Oh, don’t play dumb. You mean you don’t have the same problem?”

  I thought I’d do just that-play dumb-to be safe. “Hey, that’s not my department, that’s collections’ problem. I just use what they tell me in my proposals.”

  Gail snorted. “Don’t ask, don’t tell, huh? Well, babe, it goes on everywhere. Sometimes it’s bigger and better stuff, that’s all.” Her glass was empty, and she signaled for another drink. Since the banker had ignored her come-hither looks, she shifted her attentions to a tweedier collegiate type a few tables away. I thought I had better get my questions about Charles in before Gail became totally inebriated, or her longing gazes snared some hapless male.

  “Wasn’t Charles Worthington running your place a few years ago?” I probed.

  Gail dragged her gaze back to me, reluctantly. “Sure was. That’s right-he’s your boss now, correct? I could tell you a few things about ol’ Charlie.”

  Exactly what I wanted to hear. I put on my best gossip face and leaned forward. “Ooh, spill it!”

  “You plan to hit him up for a raise or something?”

  No, Gail, I intend to feed him to the FBI as a felon. “You never know. But he’s quite a charmer, isn’t he?”

  “Ha!” Gail’s eyes wandered again. “Well, Barbara Kensington certainly thought so.”

  It took a few moments for my mental database to crank out just who Barbara Kensington was: the current director of the Book Club-and Gail’s boss. I put on what I hoped was a shocked expression. “You don’t mean… were they?”

  Gail nodded vigorously. “Oh yeah, big time. All the time. You know Barbara?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve seen her a couple of times, but I’ve never talked with her. But-she’s got to be pushing sixty, and, uh, not exactly a babe.” That was being kind: Barbara was short, shapeless, and plain as a post. She had an excellent reputation as a scholar and administrator, but no one had ever said she had a life outside of her job.

  “Yeah, I figure that’s why she fell so hard. You know, repressed virgin or whatever. Charles came along and swept her off her feet, sweet-talking her, taking her out, wining and dining-the whole nine yards. Hey, for a while there she almost looked pretty. It got kind of embarrassing; in staff meetings she’d give him these gooey gazes and defer to him all the time. For the love of God, she was practically simpering, which sure isn’t her usual style. I swear, that man turned her brain to mush.”

  Gail had my full attention. “So what happened?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. One day they were all lovey-dovey, and then suddenly he was gone-had a new job somewhere else. Boy, was she a pain to live with for the next few months, even though she stepped into his shoes. Everybody at the place was tiptoeing around, scared to death of her. If you looked at her cross-eyed, she’d bite your head off.”

  “Wow,” I said.

  “Yeah, right.” Gail focused on her empty glass in front of her. “But you know the worst part? He was two-timing her.”

  “Huh?” I was rapidly exhausting my witty repartee.

  She leaned forward over the table and dropped her voice. “I saw him in a restaurant one night-he didn’t see me. He was with another woman, and he was dripping charm all over her, and she was eating it up with a spoon. Funny thing was, she wasn’t a babe, either, kind of middle-aged and plain. A lot like Barbara, come to think of it. What is it with this guy-he goes for pathetic older women?”

  Yeah, like me, I reflected grimly. “Maybe he was just doing a little donor cultivation?” It was the best thing I could come up with. It’s what I’d told myself, after all.

  “Right,” she snorted. “Very up close and personal. Say, has he been working his way through the society dames of Philadelphia?”

  I wasn’t about to say anything. “Got me. I don’t run in those circles. He’s certainly been a big help with our fundraising-our last president was a
disaster. Had no tact and no social radar at all. Hey, shouldn’t we think about ordering food? I’m starving.”

  She looked at me. “Oh, yeah, sure.”

  The food was good, and Gail ordered another martini. After declining dessert, I was trying to figure out how to make my escape without insulting her-although I wasn’t sure she’d notice if I wasn’t there-when she fixed me with a bleary eye.

  “That Charles-he sure was something.”

  She looked almost wistful, and I had a sudden, awful thought. “Were you two…?”

  “Yeah. It was great while it lasted.” Her gaze sharpened as she looked at me. “You?”

  I sighed but figured I owed her a nod.

  Gail raised her glass to me. “Welcome to the club.” Then she drained the glass.

  I wondered how much of this conversation she would remember. Since her glass was officially empty, I convinced her that it was time to go. Luckily there were taxis cruising on Boylston Street, so I got her into a cab and pointed in the right direction. I stood on the pavement, watching the cab disappear, and felt sad and foolish. And then mad. Charles was a cad, a rat, a scoundrel… I couldn’t find an adequate vocabulary, even dipping into Dickensian adjectives. But no way was I going to let him get away with it any longer-and I had the means to stop him.

  I caught my plane back and after retrieving my car from the lot, I took off for Marty’s house in the thick of rush-hour traffic. Phil was already there when I arrived, and Libby arrived soon afterward.

  Phil had brought us an amazing array of tiny toys and was delighted to show us how they worked. We spent an hour playing with them, interrupted only when Marty sent out for pizza. Marty’s row house was large enough that we could test varying distances, and the reception was excellent from anywhere within the building. We also made sure we knew how to activate the recorder, since we might have only one chance to get this right, and we didn’t want to blow it because we didn’t know which button to push.

  The bugs were simple-tiny disks with sticky stuff on one side. I could keep them in my pocket easily and stick them on the underside of something with no problem. That was the least of my worries.

  Shortly before eight I stood up. “I’d better get going. Wish me luck, ladies.”

  “Go get ’em, Nell!”

  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.”

  CHAPTER 26