Let's Play Dead (3 page)

“I’m always nice,” Bob said with his usual good cheer. He
was
always nice; he relied on his imposing presence and his experience as a former cop to manage any unruly patrons. “Good to see you again, Ms. Carver.”

“Shelby, sir, if you please. I’m happy to be here.” She took Bob’s outstretched hand and shook firmly.

I led her back through the large catalog room to the elevator. “I need to give you a key for the elevator, too. The public can go up to the second floor, but only staff can go to the third and fourth floors, or to the basement. I’ll give you a tour of the stacks when I have time, but it’s kind of overwhelming at first. We have a
lot
of stuff here.”

The elevator made its dignified way to the third floor and we stepped out. “Maybe we should begin with human resources and get the paperwork started? And then I’ ll walk you around and introduce you to the staff up here, and then there’s the library staff downstairs, and—”

“Nell, will you stop and take a breath? Are you always this manic?”

“No, just the last couple of months, since I ended up with this job and all its baggage. Ah, here we are. This is Melanie Wilson, our human resources coordinator. Melanie, I believe you and Shelby Carver have been in touch. I’ve offered her the position of development director.”

Melanie pushed her glasses up on top of her head. “Oh, wait, right—she came in yesterday, late. I gather everything went well?”

“Unless you tell me that she’s wanted in three states for bank robbery.”

Melanie looked guilty. “Well, I was just about to check her references . . .”

Shelby laughed. “I can go sit in the hall if y’all want to talk about me. But I don’t have a thing to hide—you just go ahead and call whoever you want, Melanie.”

Melanie’s expression wavered between relief and pique. “I’ll do that, just to keep our records up-to-date.” She rummaged through a desk drawer, then pulled out a thick folder and handed it to Shelby. “Here’s the standard new-hire info package—insurance and all that stuff. Read it, fill out the forms, and get it back to me by the end of the day.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Shelby took the packet and tucked it under her arm. “Do I need computer access? And Nell said something about keys?”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Melanie opened a different drawer and fished out a box that rattled. She opened it and extracted two keys, a large one and a smaller one. “Front door and elevator,” she said, handing them to Shelby. “Don’t make any copies. Tell me if you lose one or both. And fill this out.” Melanie handed her another piece of paper, and glanced quickly at me. “That’s the form acknowledging receipt of the keys and promising you won’t copy them. Security, you know.”

“Of course.” Shelby helped herself to a pen on the desk and quickly scribbled her name, handing the completed form back to Melanie.

Melanie took it and handed Shelby another form. “This is your computer access information, so you can get to the donor files. Once you’re on, you can change your password.”

“Any luck on the other positions, Melanie?” I asked hopefully.

“Not really. I’m doing what I can. For the registrar position, I’ve asked that the listing be posted online at a couple of university sites. For your assistant, lots of applicants—I’ve sent you a few—but most are either unqualified, or they’re overqualified but lack the specific skills you need. Unless you really want a middle-aged unemployed mechanical engineer answering your phone?”

“The age doesn’t bother me, but I’m not sure engineering talent is required. Keep trying, will you? I really need someone, and fast.” The unresolved paperwork was building up to avalanche proportions.

“I’m on it, Nell. Or do you prefer
Madame President
these days?”

I laughed. “Nell is just fine. Shelby, let’s go to your office and I’ll show you how the computer works. I warn you, it’s not exactly new.” When I had changed offices, I’d made a point of clearing my own files off of it, leaving only those that were relevant to the development position.

“Lead on, Madame President.”

“Stop!”

The office was across the hall from Melanie’s, a small room tucked around the corner from Carrie Drexel’s desk. Carrie was membership coordinator, and would be working closely with Shelby to keep membership records up-to-date, to generate contribution letters and thank-yous, and to file the paperwork that even the electronic revolution hadn’t managed to eliminate. Carrie was just arriving, a few minutes late, and didn’t meet my eye as she hung up her coat.

“Sorry, Nell—there was some hang-up in the trains.”

That was an excuse I knew only too well, having had to use it many times myself. The regional rails were old—both tracks and cars—and notoriously prone to delays. “Don’t worry about it. I wanted you to meet your new boss, Shelby Carver. She’s taking my old job, so break her in easy.”

“Hi, Shelby!” Carrie stuck out a hand. “Let me know when you want me to show you the database.”

“No rush,” Shelby said. “I’m sure you’re doing a great job.”

Carrie beamed, then turned back to her computer while I led Shelby to her office.

Inside, she cast a critical eye at the peeling paint, shabby filing cabinets, battered chairs, and uninsulated window—I could feel the steady trickle of cool air from where I stood in the doorway. “Nice fireplace,” was all she said.

“It is that. It came from somebody or other’s mansion—I think there’s a plaque there somewhere. It’s not connected to anything.”

“I didn’t think to ask yesterday, but meeting Carrie reminded me—are there other people who I’m supposed to be managing here? And am I going to have any problems with her?”

“You mean, did Carrie want your job? Nope. She’s a good kid and she gets the job done, but she doesn’t see this as a career path. She’s been here a couple of years, but I won’t place any bets on how long she’ll stay. Anyway, Carrie and our database manager, Daphne Smith, both report to you, and you report to me.”

“Got it.” Shelby looked around the office. “Well, where do you want me to start?”

“I’ve give you a little time to familiarize yourself with our records and collections. The only pressing thing is the member newsletter, but Carrie’s been handling that. We usually all get together to stuff and seal.” I stifled a twinge: the last time we’d done that, it had been to notify our members of an unfortunate death. I hoped this time around the news would be more pleasant.

“How many?”

“A couple of thousand. It takes most of a day. I know—it seems old-fashioned. We’re thinking of going to an electronic newsletter, but a lot of our members are older and they still like a paper copy.”

Shelby nodded. “I know what you mean. Anyway, I’m a quick study. What say I do some reading and looking through the files this morning, and later you can take me around downstairs, once I figure out what I’m supposed to be seeing? I don’t want the library people to think I’m a dithering idiot.”

“Don’t worry, they’re good people,” I assured her. “Overworked and underpaid, but they care about what they’re doing. I’m sure they’ll welcome you. Why don’t we plan to have lunch, and then I’ll finish the tour?”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Nell. I’ll try not to drive you around the bend with dumb questions.”

“You’re allowed a few. See you later!”

I went back to my office, which I still had trouble treating as mine. I was afraid to mess it up—I was supposed to represent a prestigious institution, and clutter was not the image we wanted to project. Not that I’d had many official visitors yet. Were my peers giving me a little breathing room to get things sorted out, or was the Society so tarnished by recent events that they didn’t want to be contaminated? Maybe I should have a “Welcome, Me” reception and invite all my colleagues, and face the issue head-on. Hmm . . . maybe that would be a good dry run for Shelby. Since event planning was part of her job description, putting together a cocktail party for a couple hundred people on short notice would be a good test of her abilities. And at the same time we could prove quite publicly that life was going forward at the Society. I liked it. I’d have to bring up the idea at lunch and see how Shelby reacted.

I could hear a ringing phone. I looked at the one on my desk: yes, a light was flashing. But the ringing came from the phone on the desk of my nonexistent assistant, who was supposed to be screening my calls and keeping track of my interviews and all that good stuff. I needed to remind Melanie to put finding me an assistant at the top of her priority list. Oh, right, the phone. I picked it up on the sixth ring.

“Nell Pratt,” I said, more brusquely than I intended.

“Hi, Nell!”

Luckily I recognized the distinctive voice (no caller ID on my aging phone): Arabella Heffernan, the president of Let’s Play Children’s Museum. “Arabella! How nice to hear from you. Can I do something for you?”

Arabella loosed a peal of silvery laughter. “Oh, no, my dear. I’m fine. I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch sooner about your elevation, but we’ve been so busy here, trying to put together our next exhibit while keeping the rest of our place open, that I haven’t had time to turn around. Congratulations! I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job. I know it’s short notice, but how would you like a teeny behind-thescenes peek at our new exhibit before it opens to the public?”

Let’s Play was a children’s museum. I had no children. I had no near relatives who had children. In all my years in Philadelphia, I had had few reasons to enter the portals of Let’s Play. Arabella was the first person to extend a welcoming hand to me, and it would be rude of me to turn her down. “I’d love to. When did you have in mind?”

“Oh, how grand. Perhaps later today?”

While I didn’t know Arabella well, I knew enough to realize that she was a slightly otherworldly person, the kind to whom details like time management were of little importance. I’m sure she never considered that perhaps I might be completely crazed and hip deep in a difficult transition; in her mind she was making a kind gesture, and I appreciated that. “I could probably get away around four. Would that suit you?”

“Perfect! And we can have tea! I’ll see you then, my dear.” She hung up with no further ado, probably to start brewing tea.

I sat back and smiled. Arabella was a sweet and charming lady—and ran a good institution, much beloved by more than a generation of Philadelphia children and parents. And touring an exhibit aimed at small children would be a welcome change from the very serious documents that the Society housed.

Despite the disruption to my schedule, I found I was already looking forward to that afternoon’s excursion.

The next time I looked at the clock (a handsome,
Philadelphia-made eighteenth-century number with a rather ominous face that looked disapproving to me), it was well after one, and I remembered that I’d promised Shelby lunch. That was happening more and more often: I kept losing chunks of my day. Too much to do, too little time. I stood up and gathered my coat from the closet outside my office, and went down the hall to retrieve Shelby.

I found her at her desk, file folders covering its entire surface. That made me feel better, since in my day (was it really only two months ago?) it had often looked like that, covered in piles of paperwork. I rapped on the door. “Shelby, are you starving?”

She looked up and slid off a pair of reading glasses. “That time already? My, time flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it?”

“It does. Would you rather not interrupt what you’re doing?”

She stood up quickly. “No, ma’am! My mama told me never to say no to a free meal.”

“What kind of food do you feel like?” I asked as Shelby pulled her jacket from the hook on the back of the door.

“You pick. I don’t know this part of town all that well.”

I decided on a nice place around the corner. “Since I never saw your résumé,” I said as we walked toward the elevator, “where is it you live?”

“Down toward the river. John and I bought a nice little row house when we moved here. I love the neighborhood, and it’s convenient. How ’bout you?”

“I live in the burbs—Bryn Mawr. I like to keep work and home separate, and I enjoy the train ride, most of the time. Gives me time to read, or think, without anybody interrupting me.”

“I hear you!”

We descended the Society’s front steps, and I guided Shelby toward Broad Street, a long block away. The January air was harsh, but I was happy to get out and move, given all the time I spent sitting at my desk, where my major exercise was tearing out my hair. “Are you that busy already?”

Shelby laughed. “Oh, I’m not complaining. A few folks stopped by to introduce themselves—just curious about the new kid. They were all real nice. Maybe if you could point me to an organization chart, I could figure out who’s who?”

“Sure. Remind me and I’ll email you one when we get back. But it’s your own fault, showing up out of the blue yesterday. If we’d known you were coming, we’d have had things sorted out.”

“You think I mind? I’m happy to have the job, and these are just little wrinkles that we’ll get smoothed out in no time. Is this where we’re going?”

I’d stopped in front of one of my favorite local places—good food, and not too expensive. “This is it.”

Inside the vestibule, Shelby sniffed appreciatively. “Smells great.”

“It is.” We followed the hostess to a table for two and settled ourselves. A waiter appeared promptly and handed us menus, and Shelby took no more than two minutes to make up her mind. I ordered what I always did, a chicken Caesar salad. When the waiter had left, I sat back in my chair. “So, any second thoughts yet?”

“Nell, I’ve been working at the Society a total of four hours. It might take me a little longer to make up my mind about you all.”

“Take all the time you want. Was there something you wanted to know? Or maybe the question should be, what
do
you know?”