Or we would have been, if we weren’t about to be derailed by news of Alfred’s death and a major scandal. I clipped together my reports and stuck them in a folder-I would pass an abbreviated version on to Charles and then present a fuller version to the board at the next meeting, in less than two weeks’ time. It would be welcome news, if it weren’t for… other things.
Charles and Marty came out of his office, and he escorted her to the door of the outer office, in my line of sight. Their conversation sounded cheerful enough, so presumably he had managed to keep her calm. Charles made his polite farewells, and Marty turned to leave. But as she did, she caught my eye and winked at me, then left quickly.
A moment later, Charles’s assistant Doris Manning stalked over to my office.
“Charles would like to have a word with you,” she said curtly.
I got up and followed her over to his office. Charles waved me inside, and Doris went back to her desk. He motioned to me to close the door. I did, then sat in front of his desk.
“So, how did Marty take it?” I began.
“I managed to persuade her to give us a little more time to look into the problem-I said it might not be limited to her particular collection, and we needed more information before we could proceed. She thought that made sense, and she won’t press immediately. But she did hold firm that we should have a summary of the possible missing items ready to present to the board at the next meeting.”
I felt a sense of relief. “That seems fair enough. And it gives us more time to investigate. Did you tell her anything else about the scope of the problem?”
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t want to get into that, especially given how preliminary our information is. But I assured her that this would take top priority and that we were taking her concern very seriously. I think she was mollified.”
“Good. What would you like me to do?”
“I think you should let collections handle it. After all, this is not your area of expertise. I’ll speak to Latoya, and we can review our records.”
That was reasonable, although I felt a bit miffed at being shut out, since I was the one who had started this. Another thought occurred to me.
“Charles, should we be talking with our lawyers?”
He looked pained. “No, I think that would be premature. We still aren’t certain that there is anything like theft going on. And you know how they bill.”
“All right. Do we need to include anything about it in the board agenda? We’ll be sending that out the end of this week.”
He considered a moment, then said, “Why don’t you just include a bullet point about security issues? That shouldn’t alarm anyone.”
“Will do. Oh, did Marty mention Alfred’s service?”
“This afternoon? I’m afraid I’ve a prior commitment. You’ll be there to represent us, won’t you?”
“Of course.” As I left his office, I stopped in front of Doris ’s desk. “ Doris, what’s the RSVP list for the board meeting look like?”
She gave me an icy stare. “I’ll have to find it for you. It’s still early, you know.”
My, my, she was touchy. “Fine-whenever you have a minute.”
She nodded without adding anything, then turned away to shuffle a pile of pages on her blotter, and I went back to my office, pleased that the administrative wheels had begun to turn.
After lunch I gathered up my coat and scarf to head out for Alfred Findley’s funeral. I didn’t run into any other staff members on my way out, but I was still a little saddened when I arrived at the funeral home and found only Marty Terwilliger there. Felicity Soames did slip in after I did, though. She was the only other person from the Society to attend. I hadn’t realized that Alfred and Felicity were friends, although I’d seen them together briefly during the gala, and both had worked at the Society for many years. I wasn’t surprised that Charles did not attend, although I assumed the tasteful array of white flowers at the front of the room had come from the Society.
The casket in the front of the room was closed, thank goodness-I really didn’t want to see Alfred’s face again. Marty was seated in the front row, her expression grim. I settled myself in a folding chair next to her. She nodded to me but then turned her eyes forward again. After waiting for ten minutes past the appointed time, the funeral director stood up and read from what was clearly a standard script, with Alfred’s name inserted periodically. He’d clearly never met Alfred. The room was cold, despite the pompous drapery swags and plush carpet. As the director droned on, I did my best to remember positive things about Alfred-shy, conscientious Alfred, who had never harmed anyone in his life. Who had loved his job. Who had trusted me. I felt that I owed it to him to make things right, and I was glad Marty was on the same side.
After the brief service, Felicity left without speaking to either of us. Marty went forward to lay a hand on the coffin, then conferred with the funeral director. Then she slipped her arm through mine and led me out to the front of the building.
“You don’t have to go to the burial, Nell. I’ll take care of that. Pretty sad turnout, wasn’t it? Don’t say anything-I know what they thought of Alfred at the Society.”
I couldn’t add anything. I wondered where the rest of Alfred’s relatives were and why they hadn’t attended.
Marty buttoned her coat. “Well, I’d better be off to see to Alfred. Thanks for coming, Nell. I’ll see you at six.”
We parted ways on the sidewalk: she went off to bury Alfred Findley, and I went back to work.
Felicity sought me out before the end of the day. She came into my office and perched on a chair, uncomfortable outside of her own kingdom downstairs. “I’m glad you came to the funeral, Nell. Alfred always liked you. And he really did care about this place. It may be hard to find that kind of loyalty again.”
We shared a few moments of silence, in honor of Alfred. Then Felicity stood up abruptly. “I’d better get back downstairs. Let me know if you need any help in searching for his successor.” And then she was gone.
I was not ready to think about that, not until I had a lot more information.
Marty Terwilliger’s townhouse may have been within walking distance of the Society, but it was in a distinctly different neighborhood. She lived in a tall, narrow row house, on a shaded cross street that still retained a fair number of trees; a nice street, very old Philadelphia. I walked up the brownstone steps and pressed the polished brass doorbell. I could hear footsteps immediately, and then Marty opened the door.
“Nell. Glad you could make it. Come on in.” I followed my hostess down her narrow hallway. She was wearing blue jeans and a sweatshirt; her feet were bare. As I looked around, the plainness of the house surprised me. I hadn’t thought that Marty was the type to go in for Victorian gewgaws, but I hadn’t expected the stark modernity of many of her furnishings and artworks. The high windows in the bay at the back were bare of curtains, and even this late in the day I could see trees at the rear and the twinkle of lights from houses the next block over.
“Here. Sit down. You want a glass of wine or something? Dinner’s almost ready.”
Why not? “Sure. You have white wine?” I was within walking distance of Thirtieth Street Station, and I really did want a drink.
Marty grinned. “Good woman. I hate to drink alone.” With that, she disappeared toward the kitchen area, a large alcove tucked off to one side, and kept up a running commentary.
“I made a corn and cheese casserole-it tastes better than it sounds-and a salad. I’m not much into cooking.” She clattered around the kitchen, finding a tray, plates, glasses. I decided it wouldn’t improve things if I volunteered to help, so I stayed where I was and studied her furniture. Now that I’d gotten past the first impression, I noted a number of handsome eighteenth-century mahogany pieces around the room; overwhelmed by the modern stuff, they reminded me of timid wallflowers at a dance. Knowing Marty, those older pieces had probably come down in the family-whichever great-great having once bought them new, fresh off the ship from England.