Let's Play Dead (32 page)

“I think they’re working on that tree now,” I said to the others. “We can head for town as soon as the road is clear. Do you need a ride, Hadley?”

There was a flash of the old Hadley, and I could almost hear her saying,
As if I’d ride with any of you.
“I’ll follow you in, in my car. Although we should speak to the authorities together, don’t you think?” Hadley said to Arabella, who nodded.

“I agree,” I said. “But I don’t think you need me. I’ll go in to work and be available if the police want to talk to me, but I think between all of you, you’ve got it covered. Oh, and don’t forget to take the Willy heads with you.”

A tow truck had hauled the trunk of the fallen oak to
the side of the road in under half an hour, and I managed to beat my estimated deadline and arrived at the office by eleven. I made a mental note to keep a change of clothes at the office in the future, not that I expected occasions like this to come around too often. At least, I hoped not. Caitlin had taken her parents and Jason in her car, and Hadley had promised to follow shortly, as soon as she checked her property for any storm damage. I wasn’t sure I trusted Hadley to follow through with making a statement without some encouragement, but I couldn’t exactly hog-tie her and throw her in my trunk, appealing though that idea was. Even by the light of day, I thought the scenario we had worked out the night before still made as much sense as anything else. I hoped the police would agree.

Eric was hovering anxiously at his desk, waiting for me. “Thank goodness! The news reports made it sound like a battle zone out there in the burbs.”

“A lot of tree damage,” I told him, “but once we reached a main road, things were fine. Did I miss anything here?”

“Nothing worth mentioning. So, tell me what went on last night?”

I checked my messages: nothing urgent. “Go get Shelby. She should hear it, too.”

Eric was gone in a flash and returned in moments with Shelby in tow. I wondered if she’d been waiting for my arrival. “Sounds like you had an interesting evening, lady,” she said, sitting in a chair opposite the desk. “So, spill it!”

“Shut the door and sit down, Eric. And I trust you won’t mention this to anyone else yet. Arabella, Caitlin, and Hadley should be on their way to police headquarters as we speak.”

“So who did it?” Shelby demanded.

“Apparently nobody,” I said, and watched their expressions with amusement. “Seriously, it looks as though the whole thing was a stupid accident. This is how we worked it out last night. Hadley was more or less ordered to go along with this exhibit by her publisher, because her sales were way off, along with her income. She wasn’t happy, and I gather she made life miserable for everyone, but she didn’t have a choice.” I paused before adding, “Hadley also has a taste for well-muscled young men, as Chloe informed us.”

“Do tell,” Sheryl said drily, and winked at Eric.

“Yes, and Hadley connected with one of the electricians who was working on the exhibit—the late Joe Murphy.”

“No!” Eric said. “But she didn’t kill him? Did he reject her?”

“She says she dumped him, but I wondered if she might have had a hand in his death. It seems unlikely, though—she doesn’t have the skills, and she does have a pretty good alibi. Maybe being accused of murder would have been a great way to get some publicity, but definitely the wrong kind. In any case, I think she’s used to discarding the, uh, objects of her attentions rather quickly, and nobody’s ever cried foul, before now.”

“Did Hadley volunteer all this delightful information?” Shelby asked.

“Not at first. But when Nolan went down to the basement to retrieve the Willy heads they didn’t use in the exhibit, he saw the house’s wiring and told us it was a mess—the worst combination of original old wiring combined with some recent shoddy patches and quick fixes. Apparently Hadley asked Joe to do a little work for her, and he did a lousy job. Which led us all to conclude that it was his sloppy work on the Willy the Weasel head that killed him.”

“Wait, I don’t understand,” Eric said. “What did Hadley know about this?”

“That part she didn’t want to share. My take is, Hadley had a fling with Joe and got bored with him—which she did with a lot of guys, according to Chloe—and told him it was over. Apparently he wasn’t too thrilled about that. I’m guessing he tinkered with the exhibit to get back at Hadley.”

“By killing someone?”

“I don’t think that he meant to go that far—he was aiming for an accident. I think he wanted to discredit Hadley’s exhibit. He probably thought that Hadley would be the one to suffer most if there were an accident with the exhibit—the museum might pull the plug on it. I don’t know if he had anyone in mind, but it was Jason who got shocked and ended up in the hospital.”

“That wasn’t enough?” Eric asked.

“No, because there wasn’t any publicity, and that’s what he was looking for. After Arabella had everything inspected up one side and down the other, he tried again. He was probably in a hurry, and working in the dark, so the most likely scenario is that he screwed it up and it killed him.”

“Wow,” Shelby said. “So Hadley didn’t know anything about all this?”

“So she says,” I replied. “Once she’d sent Joe on his way, she didn’t give him another thought—she had no idea how he felt. She is possibly the most self-centered woman I have ever met.”

“And Arabella and Caitlin had nothing to do with any of it?” Eric asked.

“I think Caitlin figured out that Hadley was involved, once she put together the time line, with Jason’s help, and that’s why she went out to her house to confront her and asked her mother to join her. Hadley was eager to blame anybody else, and Caitlin was upset about that. But instead of just Arabella, we
all
showed up and then we got stuck there, so we had plenty of time to work it out.” I decided to leave out the part about Caitlin’s threatening Hadley with a Taser. “After all that, there was no murder involved, just stupidity.”

“How’s Let’s Play going to come out of this? Aren’t people going to wonder what else might not have been done right?” Shelby asked.

I sighed. “It’s a problem, but there’s not much that can be done about it. But I did have an idea . . .”

A slow grin spread over Shelby’s face. “And that’s why you wanted to call Barney? He’s downstairs now.”

I grinned back at her. “You’ve got it. He’s been working in Philadelphia for years, and he must know plenty of people, particularly electricians. Maybe he can spread the word to his friends that the exhibit is sound? I’ll go down and see if I can find him.”

“Last I saw he was in the reading room with Felicity,” Eric said.

I stood up. “Then let’s go look for him.”

Luckily Barney was still in the reading room, at a table spread with old documents, and Felicity was leaning over his shoulder. Barney looked up when he saw us approaching, and broke into a broad grin. “You’re just in time to help me celebrate. This lady here has worked wonders and come up with just what I was looking for. Take a look!”

He pulled out a copy of an old black-and-white photograph. Shelby and I leaned over the table to look at it. “What is?” I asked.

“It’s a team photo for the 1888 Philadelphia Quakers. And that there”—he jabbed a stubby finger at a face in the back row—“that’s my great-great-grandpa. Looks just like me, or maybe I mean the other way around, don’t you think?”

I looked, and maybe he was right, if you took away about forty years from Barney and removed the great-great’s lush moustache. “I’m so happy for you, Barney. And great work, Felicity!”

“It’s my job,” she said, but I could tell she was blushing with pride. “Were you looking for us?”

“Actually I was looking for Barney,” I said. “Can I steal you away for a moment?”

“Sure,” he said, barely curious. It was interesting to see the impact that one discovery had made on him—one of the joys of research.

I led him to the small conference room under the stairs, with Shelby trailing behind. Once there, though, Shelby whispered, “Good luck,” and headed to the elevators, leaving me alone with Barney. I realized I wasn’t sure where to start, but after a beat or two, I took a deep breath and said, “Listen, Barney—didn’t you tell me you knew Joe Murphy?”

“The guy who got killed at the museum? Yeah, sure. He was in the union. Course, he was a lot younger’n me, so we didn’t exactly hang together. But I’d seen him around, worked with him on a job or two. He was a good guy.”
Now
he was curious.

I tried to find a way to put my next question delicately. “From what you know, do you think he was a good electrician?”

Barney waited a moment before replying, and his expression became wary. “This have something to do with his death?”

“It could,” I admitted.

His shoulders slumped. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, and he was always a help to me. But he was kind of sloppy, took too many shortcuts. I had some issues working with him on a coupla jobs. You saying that’s what happened at the museum? He messed up?”

“It may be. Proving it is up to the police. But you think it’s a real possibility?” I wasn’t looking for evidence; I was looking for corroboration for Nolan’s assessment of Joe’s skills, or lack of them.

He hesitated, then nodded. “I do. I don’t have to tell the police, do I? Because the guys in my union wouldn’t be happy about it. He was one of ours, even if he was careless sometimes, and we always covered for him.”

“No, I don’t think it will come to that. There are other sources for that information.”

“Is that what you wanted?” Barney asked.

“Actually, no. There was something else that I thought maybe you could help me with. Look, this exhibit is important to Let’s Play, and I’d hate to see people—parents with children—stay away because they’re worried it’s not safe, all because of Joe’s mistake. So I was wondering if there was some way you could spread the word among your friends and let people know the place is safe.”

“Huh.” Barney thought for a moment, and then his face lit up. “How about this? I’ll talk with the other guys who worked on the show at the museum, and if they clear it, I’ve got a better idea. We’ve all got kids and grandkids. How about we get a bunch of us together and we can all go to the exhibit? Maybe spread it out over a few days, so the museum doesn’t get swamped all at once?”

“Oh, Barney, could you do that?” I felt like clapping my hands. “That would be perfect. With half the electricians in Philadelphia there, no one could think there was a problem. And maybe we could get some good press for it. What do you think?”

“I can make it happen.”

“I don’t know how to thank you, Barney.”

“Heck, you don’t need to. I’m just happy to have found all the great records you have here, and it’s terrific to know what my great-great-grandpa looked like, back in the day. I might never have known otherwise.”

“Then I’ll let you get back to your research. I hope we’ll be seeing more of you around here—and I don’t mean for the wiring.”

“You can bet on it.”

I trooped back to my office, where I found Shelby leaning against the doorjamb. “It all worked out well?” she asked.

“Indeed it did,” I said. “And I believe in serendipity, and justice, and good things happening to good people. Should I tell Arabella?”

“Maybe you should wait until you know if Barney can rally the electricians. You are going to the preview tomorrow, aren’t you?”

It took me a moment to recall what she was talking about. “For the opening of the Let’s Play exhibit? Of course.”

“Tell Caitlin that Mrs. Carver says hi.”

“I’ll do that.”

The rest of the day was peaceful, thank goodness. I was running on little sleep and food, and the excitement of the past few days was taking a toll. It was a good thing that I had no important business to take care of, because I would have made a mess of it. At five o’clock I stopped at Eric’s desk and said, “I’ve had it. I’m heading home, but I’ll be in early tomorrow.”

“You take all the time you want, Nell. You did good work today, or last night, I guess. You know what I mean.”

“I hope so. See you tomorrow.”

I drove home in a foggy mood. Traffic was surprisingly heavy. Although there was little evidence left from the storm of the day before, the sky was overcast, and the light was gloomy. I arrived home later than usual and pottered around trying to cobble together a meal.

I was dozing on the couch when the phone rang. My watch said eleven. I answered it to find Shelby on the other end of the line. “Turn on your television, fast. Any network news.”

I scrabbled for the remote and clicked on to the local ABC affiliate. The lead story was apparently about a major fire in Gladwyne. Still sluggish from my half sleep, it took me a moment to realize I recognized the house: Hadley’s. “Shelby, you still there?”

“I am. You seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Hadley Eastman’s house in flames.” I realized that the scene I was looking at had taken place in daylight, probably a dozen hours earlier. “Was she there?”

“Nope, she was still at the police station. But I bet we’ll be hearing from her on the morning news.”

“I’d count on it. Thanks for the heads-up, Shelby. See you in the morning.”

After I ended the call, I sat on the couch, dazed. Was this Joe the electrician’s final revenge, from beyond the grave? Or had Hadley taken a little time to rig something up before she headed into the city this morning? One thing was clear: Hadley was going to get the publicity she had been looking for.

Of course I turned on the news when I woke up the next
morning, and was not surprised to see interviews with a tearful but brave Hadley, who was no doubt thrilled to be labeled “the well-known author of” et cetera. The whole timing of the fire made me suspicious, but Hadley had an airtight alibi, since she had been at police headquarters when the fire started.