Let's Play Dead

“Let’s hope. Speaking of problems, I was over at Let’s Play yesterday.” When he looked blank, I explained. “The children’s museum? They had a small problem with the wiring, and somebody received a nasty electrical shock. He’ll be all right, but I’m beginning to wonder if I attract disasters.”

“It wasn’t a criminal act, was it?” James asked.

“I don’t think so. Just a fault in the new wiring, apparently. I’m sure they’re careful there, because they’re dealing with a lot of children. It would be disastrous to their reputation if something happened to a child.” We at the Society had had enough trouble dealing with theft-which reflected badly on our stewardship of our historical collections-but if a child were injured or worse… I didn’t want to think about it.

My expression must have given me away, because James was watching me sympathetically. “I don’t think you had anything to do with that, unless you’ve been moonlighting as an electrician.”

I appreciated his effort to lighten the mood. “Not me-I have trouble changing a lightbulb.” And our talk drifted to other topics over dessert and coffee.

It was past ten when I looked at my watch and realized I should get moving if I wanted to get the last train. “I’m sorry, but I need to catch a train.”

“I could drive you home?” James volunteered.

It was tempting, but I didn’t want to rush things. “No, it’s all right-I go home late a lot of the time. If your car’s nearby you could drop me at Thirtieth Street, though.”

“Certainly.” He paid the bill in record time and escorted me outside. It had to be well below freezing, and I was glad not to have to walk to the train. The drive to the station took only a few minutes, and James pulled up in front and stopped. I felt a pang of concern: had he done this only to get Marty off his back? Would he consider his duty done and disappear again?

“Nell,” he began.

I held my breath.

“I really enjoyed this evening. I hope we can do it again, and sooner than two months.”

I exhaled. “I’d like that.” But I couldn’t resist adding, “Do you want me to report back to Marty?”

He laughed. “Let’s keep her guessing. Good night, Nell.”

CHAPTER 8

The next morning I boarded my train and unfurled my Philadelphia Inquirer. I’m old-fashioned, in keeping with my job: I refuse to read a newspaper online, and the paper version is just long enough to occupy me during my trip to Center City. I liked to know what had happened since the day before, and what was going to happen, in my city. Sometimes events of the day even had an impact on my work, and I read the “Social Circuit” column to see what our board members or patrons were doing.

I dutifully read the national news before flipping to the local section, and stopped in horror: the banner headline read, “Tragic Accident at Museum.” Above the fold. After my heart started again, once I determined that it wasn’t the Society they were talking about, I realized the grainy picture showed the front of Let’s Play, alongside a studio photo of Arabella, taken at least ten years ago. Wait-she had told me that Jason was fine and was ready to be sent home. Had he taken a turn for the worse?

Oh, no. It was a second accident. And this time someone had died.

I read on, my feelings a messy mix of ghoulish curiosity and dismay. Thirty-five-year-old electrician Joseph Murphy had been fatally electrocuted while putting the finishing touches on a newly installed exhibit at a local children’s museum, blah, blah, blah.

I had to stop reading to collect myself. Not Joe! Joe, who had been so kind to me after Jason’s accident? Had he been working again on the wiring? Arabella had definitely said yesterday that she had other people checking it out.

I shook myself and resumed reading. Joe had met his end while working on a large animal figure representing Willy the Weasel, a character in the popular children’s book series Harriet the Hedgehog. The photographer had graciously spared readers the sight of poor Joe collapsed at the feet of Willy; there was, instead, a floodlit view of a covered gurney emerging from the building. The body had been discovered about nine o’ clock the prior night, when the electrical incident had triggered an alarm. Alarm? Nothing had gone off when I witnessed Jason’s event. Was that new?

There was no mention in the article about Jason’s accident.

I laid the paper carefully on my lap and thought. Jason had received a shock only two days ago, but had survived. Apparently that first accident still wasn’t public knowledge. Who had checked out the wiring, and had that person found anything out of the ordinary? Or any cause at all for Jason’s accident? Or Joe’s? Who had installed the alarm?

And now that a death had occurred, the question had to arise: was Jason’s mishap an accident, or had it just been a dry run? Wait, Nell-a dry run for what? Clearly there was something wrong with the wiring at Let’s Play, or at least the new wiring for the exhibit, but that didn’t mean anyone had evil intentions. Accidents happen, especially in old buildings-or so I had told myself following Jason’s accident. But twice in the space of two days? Something was not right.

I debated my options. I could do nothing. Or I could contact Arabella and see who she had talked to and what she had told them. Or I could be proactive and contact the police myself to let them know what I’d seen when Jason was injured; when they hadn’t contacted me, I had just assumed they had written it off as an accident, if they even knew about it. I didn’t like option one and wasn’t happy with option three, since my last dealings with the Philadelphia Police Department had been barely cordial, especially after I’d proved them wrong. Poor Arabella-she must be devastated. She cared so much for her museum, and this kind of publicity could be very damaging, as I knew too well. I decided on option two: I’d see if I could reach her first and then decide about talking to the police.

I was still lost in thought when I arrived at the Society to find Eric waiting for me on the steps-as had been the case with Shelby, it had been too late the previous day to get him set up with keys and such. He looked young and eager, and was clutching a cardboard box from which I could see protruding a blooming African violet.

“I hope you don’t mind-I brought some things to brighten up the outer office,” he said.

“No problem, as long as you don’t spill water all over the antiques.” I unlocked the door and held it for him, then led him to the elevator. “You’ll need to get a key to go to the administrative floor and the stacks. Security reasons.”

“Got it. You don’t want people just wandering around the building. At least, not ones who aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Exactly.” We reached the president’s suite, which was a rather grand name for the two rooms. “I don’t know what there is in your desk-the last assistant left rather hurriedly, and someone boxed up her personal possessions, but I hope they left the office supplies. If you need stuff, the supply room is right around the corner, and it doubles as the coat closet.”

“What about the coffee room? Oh, and bathroom?”

I had to laugh at myself. “I’m doing a lousy job of getting you settled, aren’t I? Coffee room’s the end of that hall there”-I pointed-“near the staff staircase, and bathroom is right next to the stairs. Look, why don’t I let you look around a bit, and then we can do the paperwork and meet the rest of the staff?” I knew I was doing a poor job of easing him into the job, but I was still rattled by the news of Joe’s death.

“Sounds good to me.” The phone on his desk rang. He smiled quickly at me. “Let me get that.” He picked it up and said, “President’s office,” in an appropriately professional tone. Then his expression changed. “Just a moment, please.” Unfamiliar with the phone and its Hold button, he covered the receiver with his hand and said in a loud whisper, “It’s a Detective Hrivnak with the Philadelphia Police. Do you want to take it?”

Oh, damn. This was not the way I wanted to start the day. “I guess I’d better. I can pick it up in my office-wait until I’ve got it and you can hang up.”

I walked the few feet to my office, stripped off my coat and hung it carefully on the back of the door, then sat down behind my desk. The last few conversations I’d had with the detective had not been happy ones, and I’d hoped we were done with each other. Apparently not. After taking a deep breath, I picked up the phone, pushed the