“You didn’t answer my question. Do you think Alfred was murdered?”
Marty’s flippant expression melted away, replaced by a more honest sadness. “I’m afraid I do. You see, I happen to know that Alfred was afraid of heights. No way would he have climbed that stool. And no way could he have fallen hard enough from ground level to do that kind of damage-unless he had help. Did you kill him?”
“Good God, no! I found him, remember?”
“Plenty of people could have faked that.”
“But why would I kill him?”
“Because what he found might put a real kibosh on your fundraising efforts, if the thefts were discovered?”
“Marty! You’ve got to be kidding. You really think I’d kill somebody so I could go on raising money? That’s ridiculous!”
“Relax, Nell. I’m just pulling your chain. No, I do not suspect you of killing Alfred Findley. But I think someone did, and I’m betting it’s someone who knows something about the thefts.”
I felt almost nauseated. Alfred, killed? Deliberately? Because of some vague suspicions? “Have you told the police anything about this?”
“I don’t trust the local cops to find their way out of a paper bag. They decided it was an accident, and I’ve got nothing that’s going to change their mind. And as for the missing items in the collections, what’re they going to do? Can we prove that anything has been stolen?” Marty challenged.
I wilted. “No. And any outsider would just say we were lousy at keeping records. Not that they’d be wrong. But if Alfred’s list was a shopping list, then somebody knows exactly what he or she is doing.” I sighed. “So who knows that we know? Are we in danger?”
“I don’t think so. And you’ve told other people now-Latoya, Charles. Whoever’s responsible may not know that I know anything, but the cat’s out of the bag anyway.”
Maybe I was tired, or maybe I was stupid, but I still didn’t get it. “So what are we supposed to do now?”
“My grandfather made the Society what it is-or was, in his day-and my father was a part of it, and now I am. I don’t want to see it go down the drain just because someone has a yen for bibelots and autograph documents. It’s bad enough that there was a death in the place, but if there has been a series of thefts, and the news gets out, the Society is in serious trouble. And you of all people should know how precarious the financial situation is. Your donors lose faith in the place, and that’s all she wrote. The current endowment will carry you maybe a year, and that’s with layoffs and cutbacks. Nope, I want to figure this out before the proverbial shit hits the fan, and then you can spin it to make us look like geniuses and everyone will be happy.”
I swallowed more wine, because I needed it. Last time I had checked, my job description had not included sleuthing, and I felt completely unprepared to start now. “What the heck am I supposed to do?”
Marty’s eyes gleamed. “You in?”
I didn’t have to think long about that. If Alfred had been killed, I wanted to see this through. “Yes, I am.”
“Hurray! Have another glass of wine. Look, what I need is someone on the inside. Sure, people know me, but they think I’m a meddler and a loudmouth. You, they’ll talk to. And you’re right there on the spot, and you have access-even at the highest levels.”
I knew she meant Charles. “But, Marty,” I protested weakly, “I don’t even know what I’m looking for or how to find it. Can’t the police do a better job? I’ll be happy to work with them.”
“Why would they listen to you? You’re just a fundraiser!” Before I could protest, she held up one hand. “That’s what they’ll say-I know how important you are to the place. But don’t worry-we have an ace in the hole.”
“What do you mean?”
Marty looked at her watch. “Let’s eat.”
She hadn’t answered my question, I noted, but I was hungry, and I didn’t want the wine to go to my head any more than it had already. So I stood up, too, and followed her to the kitchen, where she handed me a stack of plates and cutlery, and pointed to a table. Three plates, which matched the three place settings at the table. There was another guest coming?
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. “Get that, will you?” Marty said.
I found my way back to the front door and opened it. On the other side was Marty’s escort from the gala. “Uh, hello-Jimmy, isn’t it?”
He entered the hallway with the ease of long familiarity. “James. Nice to see you, Ms. Pratt.”
“Nell, please,” I said automatically, and followed him as he went toward the kitchen.
Marty greeted him with an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “Hi, Jimmy. Right on time. Dinner’s ready. Help yourselves.”
Once seated with a plate full of food, James turned to Marty. “You talked to her?”
Marty nodded. “I did. All clear.”
“Hello? I’m still in the room. You want to fill me in on what’s going on?” I was beginning to feel left out.
“Sure. Nell, I’m not sure I introduced you two properly the other night-bad manners. This is my cousin, Jimmy Morrison. Or, I should say, Special Agent James Morrison of the FBI.”
My mouth fell open. Cousin Jimmy was an FBI agent? The FBI was responsible for investigating the theft of major artifacts. The lightbulb finally went on. “You’ve called in the FBI to investigate the thefts, which are a federal offense. He’s your ace in the hole!” I finished triumphantly.
“I knew you were smart,” Marty said. James raised his glass to me, without comment. Marty went on. “But Jimmy’s just doing me a favor, at the moment. Since we don’t officially know there have been any thefts, he can’t officially investigate, right? And we’re still trying to work out how we can get him invited to play. That’s where you come in.” Marty refilled my glass.
“What do you mean?” I forked up a large bite of Marty’s casserole. Corn and cheese hardly described it-it had lots of butter and a dash of jalapeno pepper as well, and it was delicious.
James finally inserted himself into the conversation. “You know how the Society works, and who does what and goes where. And if you don’t know, you can ask without raising any suspicions. We’ve got a delicate situation here. Most likely with Alfred’s death, whoever is responsible for the thefts will go to ground, which will make it that much harder to ferret him or her out. But you can keep pressing for an inquiry into the thefts, quite innocently, and if you do it right, somebody up the food chain is going to have to ask my office to look into it. Maybe with a little nudge from Marty.”
“Uh-huh.” I picked up more food, chewed, swallowed. I was in no way prepared to play undercover agent. But Alfred certainly hadn’t deserved to die, and even more frightening was the thought that if he had died because somebody was pilfering important historic artifacts, and trashing the Society’s good name in the process, then that person might not stop at one murder. It seemed as though I really didn’t have a choice, and I was already involved. I looked up to see both Marty and James staring at me. “I take it you’re assuming the two events are connected?”
“Aren’t you?” James countered.
I nodded reluctantly. “So what do we do next?”
CHAPTER 14
For the next few days it was business as usual- except I had the gnawing feeling that something awful was going to happen. It was like having a weird bin-ocular vision: on the one hand (or did I mean eye?), everything seemed just as it always had, with people doing their jobs, visitors coming and going, meetings, minor crises; while out of the other eye, there were faceless people skulking around the corners, grabbing things and stuffing them into their pockets or down their shirts, and sneaking out the door-and nobody seemed to notice. And even though the puddle of blood had long since been scrubbed from the floor, I kept seeing it there.