Fire Engine Dead (11 page)

“Latoya? Have you talked with Nicholas yet?”

“I did. He seemed pleased to accept. He was going to check how much notice Penn wants him to give and figure out how much time it would take to finish up his current projects. He said he’d get back to us in a day or two with the details.”

“Thanks, Latoya.” I hung up and faced Marty again. “Okay, so we’ve made the offer, and you’ve got to know I’d hate to withdraw it now. In fact, I’m not even sure we can, without facing legal consequences—I’d have to check with Human Resources. In any case, I don’t think it’s fair to him. I think he’s very qualified, but I’ll talk to Alice and I’ll try to keep an open mind.”

Marty had a faraway expression on her face. “Nell, you may be worrying over nothing. You know, maybe we could set them both to working on the Terwilliger Collection, as kind of a trial, and see who does better.”

On some level I was appalled. “Marty, that’s not the best way to make decisions. And how would you measure that? Number of pieces cataloged? Quality or accuracy of entries?”

“Maybe not. But I’d love to see what they could accomplish in, say, two weeks? A little competition can’t hurt. And then we can see how they like the work and the place, and they can decide if they like us.”

I hated the idea. But I needed Marty’s backing, both strategic and financial, so I said firmly, “We’ll see.”

Marty must surely have realized I was not happy about
the situation she’d created—not that she could have known about our offering Nicholas the position, but that she had overstepped by offering someone a position that wasn’t hers to fill, without ever checking with me—because she vanished strategically back into the stacks. Sometimes I wondered just how much time she spent at the Society versus at home. Every time I turned around she seemed to pop up. I didn’t want to discourage her, but it was disconcerting.

At three o’clock she appeared outside my door with young Alice in tow. I tried to read Marty’s expression and failed: it seemed an equal mix of trepidation and glee.

“Nell, this is Alice Price, the girl, uh, woman I told you about. Alice, this is Nell Pratt, the president of the Society.”

I wanted to appear welcoming, even though I didn’t hold out high hopes for this very young and slender blonde, so I
extended my hand. “Alice, I’m glad to meet you. Please, sit down. Marty, you’re joining us, right?”

“I am,” she said cheerfully, and sat down on the settee against the wall. I hoped she’d at least have the good sense to keep quiet so I could get on with business. I was already on edge, at least in my own mind: I hadn’t even told Latoya about this situation, mainly because I hoped the problem would just go away before it came to that. Part of me was hoping to find something about Alice that clearly disqualified her from the position of registrar. Dyslexia would do, or maybe a serious allergy to mold or dust, both of which the building and its contents were riddled with. Of course, neither of these would be obvious immediately. Alice on first glance appeared to be a very calm and self-possessed young woman. I didn’t hold her age against her; we already had a few young hires on-site, like Eric and Rich, but Alice would qualify as the youngest. She looked almost comically conservative, dressed in a pale blue, light wool suit—with a skirt, no less—unscuffed leather shoes with low heels, and carrying a nice, real leather handbag. Her nails were neatly manicured but unpolished, and she wore minimal makeup. All she needed was a string of pearls and she could have stepped out of an ad from the 1950s. She studied me as I studied her, showing no signs of nervousness.

I cleared my throat. “You know, this all came about so quickly that I haven’t even seen your résumé, so I know only what Marty has told me. Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me about your qualifications and why you’d like to work here?”

Alice retrieved a copy of her résumé from her bag and handed it to me before taking a seat. “As you can see, I graduated last June with a double major in contemporary
history and computer science. I spent the summer traveling in South America—a gift from my family—and when I returned I started looking for a job. You probably know how tight the job market is these days, especially for liberal arts majors, even those with computer skills. I’ve found a few short-term data-entry jobs, but nothing with any long-term potential.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one. I skipped a year in high school and finished college in three years.”

What a precocious young woman! “In a perfect world, what would you be looking for?” I asked.

She twisted her silky blonde hair over her shoulder. “Honestly? I’d love to do something to help foster struggling economies in disadvantaged countries, particularly where women’s initiatives are involved. But I’m a pragmatist, and I know funding for such things has all but disappeared and isn’t likely to come back anytime soon. My roots are in the Philadelphia area, and I’d like to stay here, at least for now. I’ve been looking at the nonprofit sector because I think my talents would be valued there. I have no interest in getting a law or business degree, although a number of my friends have chosen that path, mainly to defer the inevitable. What’s this position all about?”

I was reeling from the directness of her approach, and her question caught me by surprise. Apparently Uncle Edward hadn’t told her much. “The Society is a collecting institution, and we have over two million items in our various collections, all housed within this building. Since we’ve been doing this for over a hundred years, as you might imagine our cataloging systems are rather disjointed. We’ve begun digitizing the most recent catalogs, but the backlog
is staggering. Until recently we had a registrar who knew the collections intimately and who was beginning to drag our systems into the twenty-first century, but unfortunately he…passed away. It’s been difficult to find a replacement for him. And we want to make sure we find someone who will fit well and who has the skills we need.”

Alice tilted her head like a bird. “Uncle Edward put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Again I looked at Marty, and she shrugged. Well, if she wasn’t going to help, I’d have to wing it. At least I hadn’t made any promises. “Yes. Or kind of. He promised a nice contribution to the fund we’ve created to help support this position, if we hired you to fill it.” I wondered how many rules—or laws—I was breaking, telling an applicant this kind of information.

Alice nodded, once. “That sounds like Uncle Edward. A bit of genteel blackmail. He’s a sweet man, but sometimes I think he’s living in the nineteenth century. I just wish he didn’t think I was some helpless young creature who needed his help to find a job. But, let me get this right: if I walk away, he’ll withdraw the offer of the money?”

“That’s my general understanding,” I said. Marty said nothing.

“And it’s probably enough money that you can’t just turn it down,” Alice went on. “Don’t worry—Uncle Edward’s got plenty. I’m sorry he put you in this position, especially since I obviously don’t have the depth of experience I imagine you’re looking for.”

I let out a deep breath. “I’m very glad that you understand that this puts me in a difficult position, through no fault of yours. The truth is, Alice, we’ve already made an offer to a highly qualified candidate who suits our needs.
Your skills are untested, and this is a position that’s important to the Society, and we’re looking for a long-term commitment.”

Alice regarded me with steady blue eyes, and I could almost see the wheels turning in her head. “May I make a suggestion?” she asked.

“Certainly.”

“Why not take me on as an intern? Pay me what you would normally pay for that type of position. I’d guess that Uncle Edward’s contribution would cover at least my salary for a year. I’ll work here and gain experience and build up my résumé, and you can go ahead and hire the person you’ve already chosen. It’s win-win for everyone. Your position would get filled, I’d get a job, and you’d get to keep Uncle Edward’s money. What do you think?”

What I was beginning to think was that this young woman scared me. What she was suggesting sounded vaguely unethical, especially as it applied to poor Uncle Edward, but I had a suspicion that Marty and Alice between them could handle him.

I was torn. She was offering us a sweetheart deal, one that involved only a little deception. She was certainly smart, and I didn’t doubt she could learn anything she chose to. It said something about the state of the world that someone as talented as she obviously was would have trouble finding work. But would she be happy here, even if only for a year or two? She’d already leapfrogged her way through high school and college. “Alice, your offer is very tempting. But I’m concerned that this place isn’t going to be able to keep up with you. You’ll get bored, and that will make you unhappy. I’m guessing you don’t handle boredom well? I don’t want you walking out with a job half finished.”

She dipped her head. “You’d be correct. But I do love learning new skills, and I’m sure I can find plenty to keep me busy here. And I promise I’ll give you fair warning if I’m going to leave. What do you say?”

Rather than answering her directly I said, “Let me show you the collections.” I had one more test to make before I committed to her creative if slightly skewed plan.

I stood up. Marty looked bewildered, but she stood as well and followed us into the hallway. A startled Eric watched our little procession pass by, but I didn’t explain. I just kept going, to the door to the stacks. I pulled it open and let Alice and Marty enter before me, then stepped in after them.

It was, as always, dim, dusty, and quiet. Marty cocked her head at me; I nodded toward Alice, without speaking. Alice looked like a very alert cat, assessing the scene before deciding which way to jump. If she’d had whiskers, they’d be twitching right now, collecting information. She inhaled deeply and half smiled.

Come on, girl, take the hook
, I said silently.

She looked at me. “May I browse?”

“Of course. I’d like you to get a sense of what we have here.” And I let her roam.

At first she was efficient, noting the hand-scrawled numbers on the card at the end of each row, observing the precarious piles of large and unwieldy old books stacked on tables, windowsills, and wherever else there was space. She paced off the length of the aisle, no doubt calculating in her mind the total linear feet of materials. But then she disappeared into a side aisle toward the end of the room, and she came out with a book. She cradled it with her left hand and delicately turned a few pages, that curious half smile still
on her face. I left her to the first flush of discovery, then finally approached. She held it up to me. “Look at this! Early eighteenth century, published in Boston. Original woodcuts. Gorgeous binding, probably later—right?” Her eyes met mine, and she grinned. I grinned back and nodded.

She was hooked.

Marty and I walked her out after another half an hour, during which Alice had become giddier and giddier, grazing through the stacks, collecting grime on her lovely interview suit without even noticing. It was funny, by the end she seemed both older and younger: older because she was being open about her excitement; younger because she looked like a child in a candy shop, with coins clutched in her increasingly grubby hands and all those treasures to choose from. She let her true enthusiasm shine. In the front vestibule she turned to me. “So, can I come back?”

I smiled at her. “Of course you can. Give me a few days to work out details. I’ll call you at the end of the week.”

“Thank you,” she said simply. She stuck out her dirty hand, and I shook it proudly. It was a pleasure to acknowledge a collections soul mate.

When she had left, I turned back to Marty, who had remained uncharacteristically silent during the interview. “Please don’t do that to me again.”

“What? Throw you a curveball?”

“No, undermine my authority. If she’d been the bimbo I half expected, nobody would have ended up happy—including Uncle Edward. You were lucky.”

For a moment I thought Marty was going to get angry. After all, I had challenged her, and as a board member she had some sort of seniority. But in the end she nodded. “I may not like it, but you’re right. You’re the leader here, and
I never intended to be a puppet master. For all of that, Alice may turn out to be an asset.”

“Thank you. And I hope so. Now all I have to do is explain it all to Latoya. And find something for Alice to do. I’ll let you handle Uncle Edward. And I expect to see that check by the end of the week.”

“Done,” Marty said.

After Alice left and Marty disappeared back into the
stacks, I felt as though I had been through a wringer. I should talk to Latoya, find out where we stood with Nicholas, and fill her in about Alice. I should figure out when either or both could start, and what I was going to ask them to do. No, that should be Latoya’s decision, because they would both be reporting to her.

But I was beginning to hatch a plan, one I hoped I could sell to Latoya. It helped that she knew it was difficult to say no when Marty wanted something. I’d already asked Rich to shift the Terwilliger Collection to the third-floor workroom so we could finally get a handle on how much we had and how it was organized; one advantage of this was that it would be easier to reintegrate the stolen items that James kept promising the FBI would return any day now, and then decide where and how to store the whole thing, once the collection was all together again. We should probably plan
on some grand opening down the line, to introduce the world to the Terwilliger Collection. Since it was largely uncataloged at the moment, the general public hadn’t had much access to it. What we should do, I realized, was to create not only the fundamental cataloging but also a simpler finding aid that we could post on our website. And that might solve my problem of how best to make use of the odd couple of Nicholas and Alice, plus Rich. Rich was doing the basic description, Nicholas could begin inputting the entries into his software program, and Alice could craft a more user-friendly document.