Let's Play Dead (12 page)

I had almost forgotten about the Book Barn that lay on this road, since I rarely went roaming the back roads around there, but on a whim I pulled into the near-empty graveled lot in front. Happily it was open, and I tugged open the creaky wooden door to be greeted by a scent of wood smoke and the gaze of a sleepy cat in a battered chair close to a cast-iron stove. I raised a hand to the woman behind the desk and commenced wandering through the many disjointed floors of used books, leafing through old volumes as the spirit moved me. I loved books, both old and new, but the space limitations of my tiny house imposed their own restrictions, so I had to ration myself strictly when it came to buying still more books. But there were always treasures to be found, too irresistible to pass up. I took a quick peek at the children’s book section to see if there were any examples of
Harriet the Hedgehog
but came up dry. I drifted through the cookbook section—I probably spent far more time reading cookbooks than cooking from them, but it was a simple pleasure. I poked among the mysteries, but nothing caught my fancy. Then I turned to the home improvement area, and a little lightbulb went on: maybe I could find something simple that would explain to me just how wiring and electricity worked, so I’d have better insight into the accident at Let’s Play.

Hmm . . . no
Wiring for Dummies
. The
Simplified Wiring
looked like it required an engineering degree. Now, I’m not stupid, and I’ve been dealing the structural problems with my own house for a decade, but even I know my limitations, and I’d left the wiring issues to professionals. All I really wanted was a basic explanation of how an electrical system worked—and what things to watch out for if you didn’t want to electrocute someone. Which might lead to what things you should do if you
did
want to electrocute someone. But that would be a different book.

In the end I walked out with several books, as usual. I paid, stroked the still-sleeping cat, and climbed back into my car to head back to Route 30, the slow road home to Bryn Mawr. I arrived home before dark despite a quick stop at the decadent French bakery in Wayne, and reheated a plate of yesterday’s ample leftovers, then found an old afghan and curled up with my new old copy of
Step-by-Step Home Wiring
.

Two hours later I was still confused, despite the clear language and cute line drawings in the book. Clearly there was a reason I had majored in English rather than something practical: I had no aptitude for anything mechanical. Putting it in the simplest possible terms, electricity flowed into, say, my house, and then it flowed out again. Along the way it passed through my appliances and lamps and whatnot, if the switch was opened to allow that. Or did I mean closed? If the switch wasn’t open, the current ignored that detour and kept right on going. That much I understood.

I lay back and reviewed what I had seen of the exhibit at Let’s Play. Admittedly my memories were a bit jumbled; Jason getting zapped had driven a lot of other details right out of my mind. But I grasped the basic principles: each of the animals was, well, animated. You—or an eager child—touched them or moved a piece, and they responded with lights or movements or sound, each requiring that an electrical connection be activated by the motion. Presumably this was a simple process, and the installation also had to be both safe and sturdy—I had no doubt that an excited child would want to repeat the process over and over, and might well whack the animal if it didn’t respond fast enough. This much was obvious even to me. So what had gone wrong?

As I understood it, the only way the electricity could pass through an innocent bystander was if he or she actually completed the circuit, diverting the current from where it was supposed to go to a different path—that is, through the person instead of the wiring. But unlike metal objects, people were not good conductors of electricity. The current really, really had to want to follow the metal, and even then in most cases the current would not be strong enough to do more than give someone a nasty shock. Of course, that alone could be enough to do serious harm to a small child or an elderly grandparent, both of whom were primary customers of Let’s Play.

But the conclusion I had to draw, even in my state of near ignorance, was that a simple mistake would not be enough to cause major harm. Ergo, someone with malicious intent had to have altered the exhibit, for unknown purposes. At least one circuit breaker had blown out the first time, when Jason was shocked. Had it the second time? I had no answers.

So I decided to eat dessert. Buttercream is very soothing.

On the ride to work on Monday, I decided that I didn’t
have time to worry about poor dead Joe. No, that sounded harsh. As a veteran of a previous murder investigation, I could provide emotional support and guidance to Arabella as needed, but as James had pointed out, there wasn’t much more I could do. And I had a museum of my own to run, which was more than enough to keep me busy.

I stopped at Shelby’s office on the way to my own and was happy to find her already at her desk.

“Hey, lady,” she said as I walked in. “How’s our boy Eric doing?”

“Great, so far, but I haven’t asked him for much. I’m letting him ease into the job. How is it you know him?”

“I know his mama, back home. And he went to school with my daughter.”

“And mama asked you to keep an eye on her baby?”

Shelby grimaced. “Not exactly. She’d rather not talk about him, since he’s made it clear that . . . he’s not going to be giving her any grandchildren.”

I caught her drift. “Her loss,” I said firmly. “How’s he been handling the big city? It can be kind of scary.”

“He’s had a few rough patches, but I’d say he’s pretty well grounded. I hope things work out for him here at the Society, but if they don’t, you do what you have to do. I don’t expect any special favors for him.”

“Don’t worry, I will. I need someone who can handle the job. That position can be a sensitive one, and Eric’s kind of young for it. But he’s been handling things well so far. How about you? Are you getting a feel for things?”

“Piece of cake. At least you left your files in good order, and Carrie’s been a big help. She’s got something going with Rich?”

“My, you do catch on fast. Yes, she does, but I don’t have a problem with that, as long as they do their jobs. And Rich’s position isn’t permanent at the moment—although maybe you can find funding to extend it, if that’s what he wants. Among all your other tasks. Oh, and would you please nose around and see what kind of money is available for collaborative ventures with an educational component?”

“You thinking about that carousel project with Let’s Play?”

“I am, or something like it. Once they get past this mess.” There had been nothing new about Joe or Let’s Play in the paper, and other, more urgent news had banished it from the front pages.

“Sad thing, that. I do hope they find out what happened soon.”

“So do I. Well, I’d better get down to business. Give me a shout if you need anything. Also, there’s an all-hands staff meeting on Friday at nine, before we open. Can you send out a staff email to remind everybody? Eric doesn’t have a computer yet, or I’d ask him to do it.” One more thing I needed to follow up on.

“Will do.”

I made my way down the hall toward my office. Eric was already in place, his desk gleaming, notepads neatly lined up. I could swear he had even buffed the old telephone. His African violet was ensconced on the windowsill behind him, adding a bright touch of color. He smiled happily when he saw me. “Good morning, Nell! Can I get you a cup of coffee? I brought in a new variety to try out.”

I hated the stereotype of a secretary—a word now apparently banned from employer vocabulary—who fetched coffee for the boss, but I really did want a cup of coffee. “Thank you, Eric. Just remember, you don’t have to make a habit of it.”

“Don’t you worry—I like to help.” He bounded out of his seat and vanished down the hall.

Moving more slowly, I hung up my coat and went to my own desk, where Eric had lined up a few pink message slips. So early? I leafed through them. One was from Marty Terwilliger, who had said she wanted to stop by for a moment. Not seconds later, I looked up to find her, as if by magic, standing at my office door watching me. I shouldn’t have been surprised, since she had keys to every door in the place, and came and went at will. She walked in without waiting for an invitation—typical Marty.

“You know, you look right at home in this office,” she said, making herself comfortable in a chair.

“Please, come in, sit down.” I gestured grandly, after the fact.

She tsk-tsked. “Come off it—I’ve never stood on ceremony and you know it.”

“I do. To what do I owe the honor of this visit? Business or personal?”

“Some of each. Can you do lunch?”

“I guess.” I had no idea if I had anything scheduled. Did she want to pump me about my date with James?

“Great. I’ve got some research to do, but I’ll head back up here about noon. Hello!”

Eric had appeared in the doorway, cradling a mug of coffee. Intent upon not spilling it, he hadn’t noticed Marty. “Oh, excuse me—I didn’t know you had a guest. I’ll get right out of your way.” He carefully set my coffee on a coaster I didn’t even know I had, then backed away.

“Hold on, Eric. Am I free for lunch today?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said promptly, without consulting a calendar. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Nope, I’m good,” I said.

When Eric had retreated to his desk, Marty raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Who’s that?”

“My new assistant, Eric—I’m trying him out.”

“He’s a lot cuter than Doris. Well, you can fill me in at lunch. See you!” She breezed out as quickly as she had appeared.

When she was out of earshot, I called out, “Eric?”

He returned with lightning speed. “I’m sorry,” he began.

“Don’t be. That’s Marty Terwilliger—she’s a board member, but she kind of feels she owns the place, since both her grandfather and her father were board members, too. And she’s also a friend. You’ll be seeing a lot of her because she spends a lot of time here, including downstairs in the library and in the stacks.”

Eric nodded. “That’s good to know. Anybody else I need to know about?”

I sighed. “I’ll find you a board list, and we can go over it—you’ll no doubt be fielding a lot of calls from them, and I can tell you in advance which ones need special handling. And someday, all things willing, there’ll be files on your computer—as soon as there is a computer. When you have spare time, that will let you review our donor list, or if someone calls, you can check that list quickly.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“And it appears I’m having lunch with Marty today, so you can put that on your nonexistent calendar,” I called out after him.

Before I tackled the next item on my never-ending to-do list, I thought I should touch base with Arabella and see how she was holding up. She was such a sweet person, and seemed so ill-prepared for this kind of trouble. I was surprised to be put through immediately.

“Oh, Nell, how nice of you to call!” she said when she picked up. “I was afraid it was another annoying person from the newspaper. Or the police.”

“I just wanted to be sure you were all right. You’ve talked to the police again?”

It sounded as though Arabella swallowed a sob before answering. “Yes. They keep asking the same questions.
Do I have any enemies? Is there someone with a grudge against Let’s Play?
I don’t, Nell, I swear. This is a children’s museum, and I thought everyone loved us. Do you think they believe this was deliberate? Because they won’t come straight out and tell me anything.”

“The police have to look at all angles, Arabella. Don’t take it personally. For that matter, it could be directed at someone else, like Hadley Eastman. Or someone who thinks you’re exploiting hedgehogs. Or even someone who simply likes to stir up trouble.”

“Do you really think so? Because I’ve been going over and over this in my head all weekend, and I can’t see why anyone would want to hurt us.”

At least Arabella sounded a little less depressed, so I said, “I can’t, either. Let the police do their job, and I’m sure they’ll get to the bottom of this.” I debated about crossing my fingers to cover the white lie, but my goal was to reassure Arabella. “Have they let you reopen?”

“Tomorrow, they said.” Arabella sighed. “Thank you for calling, Nell. It’s nice to know I’m not alone in all this.”

“Let me know if I can do anything to help, Arabella.” We rang off. I hoped I’d succeeded in cheering Arabella up, because she sounded as though she needed it. At the same time, I was troubled: the police seemed to be edging up on labeling this a murder, and that wasn’t a good thing for Let’s Play.

True to her word, Marty reappeared promptly at noon. I smiled to myself when I heard Eric address her by name and send her directly in. He learned fast.

“You ready to go?” Marty asked, leaning against the doorjamb. She was dressed for research: since our stacks were more than a bit dusty, that meant jeans and sneakers.

“I guess. Where did you want to go?”

“How about that Israeli place around the corner?”

“Sounds good to me,” I said, gathering up my coat. But then, almost any restaurant usually sounded good to me.

“So, what’s up?” I asked once we were settled at one of the restaurant’s small tables. “How’s the hunt for Major Jonathan’s documents going?” Marty spent most of her time at the Society working on the Terwilliger Collection, a massive but disorganized collection of items bequeathed by her family. A number of documents that had belonged to Major Jonathan Terwilliger—Revolutionary War hero, colleague of George Washington, friend to most of the country’s founders, and Marty’s lineal ancestor—had been removed—or rather, stolen—from the Society’s collections, and we were still hoping to get them back.