Let's Play Dead (14 page)

“But you do think it’s possible?”

“Well, of course. For anyone of my stature, it’s certainly possible. There are some rather sick people out there, who hate anyone who does well.”

“You’ve spoken with Arabella since this happened?” I asked.

“Of course I have. I
am
involved, after all—through no fault of my own. My participation in this exhibition was a
huge
favor to her, and one that I’m beginning to regret.”

Hadley certainly was self-centered. She might be a successful author, but Let’s Play was also a consistently popular museum. The advantages were clearly mutual, and Hadley stood to receive some nice publicity from the event—at least, she would’ve until the death. She’d still get publicity now, but not the kind she had hoped for. Presumably. “I’m sure she appreciated it. And it does look charming. Why do you think anyone pointed a finger at you?”

Hadley sniffed. “If you know Arabella, you know she seldom takes responsibility for anything. And she’ll say almost anything to deflect attention from her and her precious little museum. Nothing is ever her fault. So she said that she’d talked with you, and you had suggested that I might have been the target, rather than Arabella or that place she runs.”

If true, this was a side of Arabella I hadn’t seen. But my initial impression was that she was a sincerely sweet person. Plus, she’d managed her institution successfully for over twenty years. To do that, you had to accept responsibility and take the bad along with the good. Still, I could see Arabella quailing in the face of a rant from Hadley and grasping at any excuse to end the confrontation, including redirecting her my way. Hadley could have construed Arabella’s flustered defense as an attack on her—since apparently everything came back to Hadley. I wondered what Arabella’s description of Hadley would be.

Actually, I’d be happy to end this interview sooner rather than later, so I cut to the chase. “Again, what is it you want from me, Hadley?”

“I want you to stop bad-mouthing me to other people. Unfortunately, after that last little mess you landed in, the police and other people might actually listen to you.”

I wouldn’t say that my comment to Arabella could be called bad-mouthing, and I didn’t like the idea that my brush with crime had actually penetrated Hadley’s protective veil of self-interest. “I would never make an unsubstantiated accusation about anyone,” I said neutrally. Actually, now that I’d met her, it would be a pleasure to fling some mud at Hadley and let her worm her way out of it. But I was a better person than that—I hoped. “Let the police do their job. If you’re not involved, I’m sure the police will clear you.”

“I should hope so. And if things get any worse, I’ll sue . . . somebody for libel or defamation of character or whatever. Or my publisher will—they’ve got a lot of clout.”

I was rapidly tiring of Hadley Eastman. Luckily I was rescued by Shelby’s appearance.

“Did I hear that Hadley Eastman was here?” Shelby walked into the office, wreathed in smiles. “It
is
you! This is such a pleasure! Do you know, my little nieces and nephews just adore your books? That Harriet—she’s
such
a sweetie!” Shelby’s southern accent had mysteriously grown thicker—and dripped sugar.

I watched with amusement as Hadley switched gears to gracious-author mode. “Why, aren’t you sweet? It’s
so
nice of you to say so. Which one is their favorite?”

Shelby beamed. “Why, they just love them all!” While Hadley wasn’t looking, Shelby winked at me. I’d bet money Shelby couldn’t name a single one of the books.

“Let me sign a copy for you, then.” Hadley reached into her very large purse and extricated several books. “How many would you like? And to whom should I make them out?”

Shelby looked momentarily baffled but bounced back quickly. “I’m sure they’ve got all of them back home. Why don’t you just sign a copy of the first book? It’s such a classic!”

“I’d be delighted. Chloe!” she yelled. I jumped. Chloe didn’t respond, and I didn’t see her in her seat. “Damn, where is that girl? Where are the rest of the books?” Hadley muttered under her breath, and she rose and stalked out to the jumble of bags Chloe had left by the chair. She rifled through them and pulled out a book, opened it to the title page, and signed it with a flourish. Then she held it out to Shelby. “There you are. That’ll be twelve dollars.”

I fought hard against the urge to giggle. Hadley definitely had nerve to spare. “Let me get that for you, Shelby.” I fished in my purse and handed over the money to Hadley—exact change. I wondered if there was some way I could count this as a professional expense. In any case, it would be a small price to pay to get Hadley out of my office.

Shelby took the book and clasped it to her chest. “Thank you so much. You’re just too kind! May I walk you out?”

Hadley shot a hostile glance toward me. “That would be nice of you.” She stood up. “Nell, I hope you won’t continue to spread this nonsense about me having anything to do with this whole mess. Remember what I said.” She turned and stamped out the door, trailed by Shelby. Chloe had returned, looking like a scared rabbit. “Chloe, where were you? Never mind. Call for the car—now!”

Chloe fished a cell phone from her purse and issued an order to someone to bring Hadley’s car around immediately, while Hadley disappeared into the hall, followed by Shelby. I was pleased to see that she had seized the opportunity to escort Hadley out of the building.

Shelby was back within three minutes and threw herself into the chair Hadley had vacated. “Saints alive, but that woman is a piece of work! Thinks the sun rises and sets from her, um, posterior. How’d she ever get to be so popular?”

“Got me. I’d bet she’s got handlers who make sure her public appearances are strictly limited. They wouldn’t want her to reduce a child to tears, which I’ll bet she could do in under a minute.”

“I hear you. What on earth did she want with you?”

“She thinks I persuaded Arabella that the events at Let’s Play were somehow connected to Hadley—like a crazy stalker or something. I never did anything of the kind, except to suggest to Arabella that there were possible motives that didn’t involve her or Let’s Play. But Hadley wasn’t happy when the police showed up at her place, asking questions.”

“You think she’s involved in some way?”

“Before now, I thought it was just one rather remote possibility, but having met her, it seems a whole lot more likely than I previously thought. Do you really want that book of hers?”

“I thought maybe I’d donate it to my church—they’re having a rummage sale soon.”

“That sounds about right to me. Poor Chloe. I can’t imagine working for someone like Hadley.”

“What, you never had a boss from hell?” Shelby asked.

“I’ve worked for some rather, uh, challenging people, and they weren’t always pleasant, but I’ve never taken that kind of abuse from anyone, and I wouldn’t stand for it. How about you?”

“There’ve been a few interesting interactions. But not with you, of course—you’re a peach.”

“Of course I am.” I grinned at her. “But you have my permission to swat me if I start showing signs of morphing into a Hadley. Her take on Arabella was interesting, though. I may be way off base, but I think Arabella is exactly what she seems to be—a very sweet woman, who loves children and loves making her museum welcoming. Whereas Hadley is a crass and pushy, uh, dame who oozes insincerity. I’ll take Arabella any day.”

Shelby stood up. “Well, if the excitement’s over, I’ll get back to work.”

“Oh, Shelby? Thanks for interrupting us. I might have said something regrettable if you hadn’t walked in.”

“That’s about what I figured. I thought I’d lay on a little southern sweetness and save you from Hadley—and yourself.”

Eric hovered uncertainly near my door, and Shelby smiled at him as she passed by. I gestured to him to come in. “Did you want to say something?”

“I feel bad that I distracted Chloe. She looked like she wanted to burst into tears, so I took her down the hall for some coffee. But I probably made things worse, because then Miss Hadley was annoyed at her.”

“Don’t worry about it, Eric. I gather Hadley is annoyed at everybody, all the time. I wonder how Chloe stands it.”

“She needs the job. She told me that it sounded so perfect when she saw the ad. I guess Hadley can turn on the charm when she wants to, long enough to hire someone, but it didn’t last.”

“Did Chloe say how long she’s been working for her?”

“Six months, maybe? But I’d bet it won’t be for much longer. Chloe’s already taking antianxiety medication, and she says she’d rather do anything else than work for that woman any longer. Chloe was an English major, which is why she thought working for an author would be so cool.”

I felt an immediate pang of sympathy. As a former English major myself, I knew how bleak the prospects were outside of academia. “Let me talk to Melanie. Maybe we have an opening here where she’d fit. You know, you learned quite a bit about Chloe in a short time.”

“She looked like she needed a friend. I know what that feels like,” Eric said simply.

“Good job, Eric.”

The next morning I woke up thinking about electricity
again. I needed more information, and I didn’t think the kind of questions I had could be resolved by reading a short publication or even by a quick Internet search. I had reviewed the basic concept of electricity, but I couldn’t even say whether ordinary current—as opposed to high-voltage wiring—was enough to kill someone. The big question was: how
do
you electrocute someone?

I was troubled. When I had mentioned to James that the victim at Let’s Play could just as easily have been me, I hadn’t been joking. In fact, I’d already found out that I didn’t know enough to guess whether the flaw in Willy’s wiring had been set to shock indiscriminately—that is, whoever was first to touch it would be zapped—or targeted to a specific person. And the timing was odd. If someone had wanted to do harm to a random patron, wouldn’t they have waited until the exhibit was open? Maybe the culprit hadn’t wanted to risk harming a child? I shuddered at the very thought of a child getting hurt.

My next question was, who could have rigged this up? Not me, and I figured I represented an average person. An electrician could have, sure. But was there someone who fell between ignorant me and a trained professional, who would know how to manage it? And how would that person have gained access to the wiring for the
Harriet
exhibit? That might have been the easiest part: as I had told James, plenty of construction people had been wandering in and out of Let’s Play lately, and it was unlikely that anyone would challenge their right to be there—which suggested slack security or a charming naiveté among the staff of the museum.

But that was outside my purview. However, I was the president of an institution that occupied an aging building, and who knew how many electrical problems were just waiting to happen to us as well? I recalled that we’d had the building assessed a few years earlier, in contemplation of a renovation project that had withered for lack of serious funding. I could dig out those records and see what the results had been. Luckily, as the new kid, I was entitled to take a fresh look at our problems in that area—as long as it didn’t cost the Society anything. I could probably locate the person who had done the original evaluation and have him walk me through the reports, if I asked nicely. I could inquire about what wiring changes we might need for modern surveillance systems and computer connections, as we hoped to improve our security. We might be able to afford those things someday, and I would look responsible if I investigated them now, rather than waiting. And I could ask all sorts of dumb questions about wiring along the way. It was a plan.

My enthusiasm carried me through breakfast and the train ride to the city, and into work. Once again Eric was at his desk waiting for me, looking like an eager puppy.

“Mornin’, Nell. Great day, isn’t it?”

“I hope so. Hey, I’ve got a challenge for you.” I could have sworn his ears pricked up, and if he’d had a tail he would have wagged it. “A couple of years ago, or less than five, anyway, the Society commissioned a structural evaluation of this building, to see what we needed to fix and how much that would cost, and to put together a wish list of smaller construction projects that we could undertake if we ever found the money. We called it something like
The Ten Year Plan
. Do you think you could track that down for me?”

“I’d be happy to. Uh, where do you think I should start?”

“Why don’t you and Shelby work together to find it? I’m pretty sure that I remember reviewing some portions, looking for text that I could lift for grant proposals, so there’s probably a copy somewhere in the development office.”

“I’ll get right on it. Oh, did you want coffee first?”

“I’ll get my own. Do you want some?”

He dimpled. “Why, thank you, ma’am. I’d truly appreciate that.”

I hung up my coat and set off for the coffee room, where I found it unusually tidy—I suspected Eric. I really didn’t expect this initial enthusiasm to persist, but it was lovely while it lasted. I made a pot of coffee and watched it percolate, my mind wandering.

Felicity Soames, our long-term head librarian and queen of the reading room, came in just as the coffeemaker finished gurgling and dribbling. “Good morning, Nell. How’s the new boy working out?”

“He does seem like a boy, doesn’t he? He’s survived living alone in Philadelphia, and it barely seems to have touched him. But to answer your question, fine, so far. And he makes good coffee.”

“I thought I detected someone else’s hand in yesterday’s brew. That’ll get him my vote any day.” She lowered her voice. “Awful thing about Let’s Play, isn’t it? They really don’t need this kind of trouble.”

“I agree.” After a moment, I decided I might as well launch my inquiry into our own electrical state now. “I’ve decided to check our own electrical specs—anytime you’ve got an old building like this, there are bound to be patches and quick fixes, and I’m pretty sure we’re pushing our load limits, or whatever you call them. Perish the thought that we should ever try to add more lines.”