Things got even better when I grabbed my phone just before five. “Nell Pratt,” I said crisply.
“James Morrison,” said the voice on the phone, matching my tone.
I stifled an inappropriate giggle. Marty had told her cousin Jimmy to call me, and presto, he called-despite the fact that he was a senior FBI agent. And James Morrison, special agent, looked every inch the FBI agent. When we’d first met, I’d wondered if there was a style sheet for agents, because he fit it to a T: conservative suit, polished shoes, regulation haircut. I happened to know he was an all-around good guy, but the immediate question was whether he was calling for personal or professional reasons. I decided not to make it easy for him.
“Why, James, how nice to hear from you! Do you have news about our missing collection items?”
“Uh, no.”
He didn’t add anything immediately, but I let him dangle. Finally he said, “I know it’s short notice, but are you doing anything tonight?”
I pretended to riffle through my calendar. “No, I don’t have any plans.”
“Would you like to, uh, have dinner with me?”
I didn’t really have to think about that. “That would be delightful. Do you want to meet somewhere?”
“You know that new bistro near City Hall, on Broad Street?”
Of course I did. I walked past it almost daily, and I often drooled over the menu they posted. “I do. What time?”
“How about seven?”
“Seven’s great. See you then.” I hung up quickly, but not before I heard what I thought was a sigh of relief.
I left the office shortly before seven, but James had arrived at the restaurant before me and was seated at a table that was just right-not too public, not too intimate. He rose as he saw me exchange a word with the maitre d’ and waited until I approached. “Nell, it’s good to see you. Is the new job agreeing with you?” He held out my chair for me. One of the last gentlemen.
“I think so,” I said. “I can’t believe it’s been a couple of months already. I’m up to my neck in trying to keep the day-to-day stuff moving forward, without even thinking about any major changes.”
He sat down across from me. “Do you plan any changes?”
“You know the problems we have, but I don’t see what I can do about them without a big cash infusion. We’ve beefed up the front-desk procedures, but it’s really hard to know whether that helps. We’ll see. Any further word about our artifacts?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. These things take time, and you know you can’t count on a high success rate. I wish I had better news, but we’re actively working on it. And of course you know Marty’s on the case, and she’s a bulldog.”
He had that right. At least Marty had a strong moral compass to go with her determination. “That’s what I assumed when I didn’t hear from you. And I’m not surprised. I’m just pleased-and grateful-that we didn’t get much negative publicity out of it all.” All right, this was silly: I couldn’t relax until I knew why he and I were here. “Funny thing-I saw Marty just yesterday. She mentioned you.” I waited to hear how he would respond to that.
His mouth twitched. “That would account for her phone call last night. She suggested that I might want to get together with you. I believe this is what’s known as a date. Although I may be out of step with the times.”
“Oh, is that what this is? You don’t have some nefarious scheme to reveal to me? You don’t want me to spy on someone for you?” It was kind of fun to tease him.
“No to both. I thought we, uh, had some interesting interactions the last time we met, and I wanted to see you under less, uh, stressful circumstances. Do you want to leave now? I’d hate to keep you here under false pretenses.”
“Why would I do that?” An attractive, intelligent man with a steady job-and one who actually knew something about my patchy romantic history-might be interested in pursuing a nonprofessional relationship with me! I could get excited about that-if I had any energy left after trying to keep a financially challenged institution afloat, with no training or preparation for the job. I would definitely consider it. After all, I’d said yes to the president’s job with equally little notice. Why not to dating an FBI agent? “I’m happy to have dinner with you. And right now I could use a glass of wine and some food, if you don’t mind.”
“I think I can handle that.” He made an almost imperceptible gesture and a waiter appeared with oversize menus, which he presented with a flourish.
“Chardonnay?” James asked.
“Yes, please.” He’d remembered-a point for him.
While we studied the menu, I checked my inner thermostat. I hadn’t had the time or the energy to play games for the last couple of months, what with everything that had fallen on my head, but I wasn’t about to pass up an invitation from an attractive man-I could make time for James.
We ordered, and once the waiter had left, I realized how out of practice I was at this dating thing. “If this is a social occasion, is this the point where we’re supposed to exchange life histories? Oh, wait-you probably have an extensive dossier on me. Right?”
He smiled. “You’d have to file a formal request in writing to find that out. Why don’t we just start back at the beginning?”
I laughed. “Okay, I’ll go first. I’m single, gainfully employed, and have no criminal records or vices that could result in same at some unspecified future date. No secret children. No history of insanity in the family. Are we good so far?”
He nodded, clearly amused. I pressed on. “I have a job I think I like-although check back with me in another couple of months on that. I own my own home, I have a middle-aged car, and no debt beyond my mortgage. And I still have all my own teeth and my vital organs.”
James grinned. “Ditto, except I own a condo in University City.”
“Nice short commute,” I said, sipping my water. “Any siblings?”
“Two. One brother, one sister. Neither lives nearby.”
“I’ve got one brother who works in Texas, for reasons that mystify me. You weren’t born in Texas, were you?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll feel free to say disparaging things about the place.”
“Go right ahead,” he said, then asked, his tone neutral, “You were married once, weren’t you?”
“Yes, a long time ago. It didn’t work out, but we parted on good terms. You?”
“Never got that far.”
I bit back a snappy response. He was a good catch, so why was he unattached at his age? Did his job turn women off, or just leave him with too little time to deal with outside relationships? These were questions I didn’t think I had any right to ask-at least, not on a first date. Maybe a second date, if there was one.
Our drinks appeared, followed in short order by our appetizers. That effectively ended Speed Dating, Round One. The food lived up to the media hype it had received, and I was happy to see that James gave it the attention it deserved. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get involved with someone who didn’t appreciate the subtleties of fine cuisine- one of my guilty pleasures, when I could afford it.
“How are things going at the Society?” he asked.
“Well, nothing’s disappeared lately, which is good. I’m trying to fill in staff to replace the people we lost. I may have managed to fill my old position. After the recent press we’ve gotten, I’m not in any hurry to start asking people for money again.”
“Memories are short. As soon as the next big scandal comes along, people will forget about the Society’s problems,” James said.
I wasn’t sure I agreed with him. After all, we were in the business of preserving history-and memories. It would be a big plus if we could recover some or all of the lost artifacts, but I had little control over that. James, however, did. “Do you think we’ll get anything back?”
He looked down at the table and lined up the remaining silverware. “Let’s say I still hold out hope. I can tell you that a lot of people who acquire items they suspect may be illicitly obtained, do so not for any financial reasons but because they really want the items. So they may not have gone far.”
