With that, he stood and exited, ignoring the surge of questions. That left the rest of us seated around the table staring at each other.
“What the hell was that about?” asked one of the junior librarians.
I weighed my options. Several people already knew about the original problem, the missing Terwilliger documents. I could play dumb and do nothing, but that didn’t feel right. I thought I owed my colleagues some small crumbs.
I cleared my throat. “As Charles said, a board member has claimed that some important documents have gone missing. We’re hoping it’s all just a mix-up in filing and we’ll find the missing papers and be done with it. Our people are already working on it. We have nothing to hide.”
“It’s Marty Terwilliger and her precious family papers,” Felicity Soames said. “Nice try at being discreet, Nell, but Marty’s been making a stink for the past two weeks, and half the staff knows about it. But calling in the Feds? Isn’t that a bit much?”
Latoya Anderson had been silent thus far but now said carefully, “Theft of historic documents is a federal offense and has been since 1994. The FBI is the appropriate agency to investigate.”
That silenced everyone. Then one or two people looked at their watches, cursed, and headed quickly out the door: opening time loomed, and business as usual was the order of the day, at least until we were told otherwise. Latoya and I were among the last to leave.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Latoya said to me. “I can’t think of any institution like ours whose practices look good under a spotlight, and we’re going to have a lot to answer for. If only Marty had waited a bit, we would have had things in much better order.” She didn’t wait for a response, but turned and headed for her office. I watched her retreating back, wondering how many more pieces of the collections might have vanished if Marty hadn’t said something and triggered my questions.
I still wanted to speak to Charles. I found him standing in front of Doris ’s desk, giving her instructions. She beamed up at him as usual, and I wondered how he could remain so oblivious to her adoration.
Charles saw me approaching. “Ah, Nell, just the person I need. Please, come in.”
Doris glared at me as I followed Charles into his office. He folded himself gracefully into his leather-covered chair, his hand absently caressing the mahogany of his desk. I took a chair facing the desk.
“You certainly disappeared quickly yesterday,” I began.
“Ah, yes-I had a previous engagement, and it seemed prudent to attend. I take it you met with Mr. Morrison?”
“Yes, he stopped by after he’d seen you, and I gave him a tour of the building. He seems competent. So Marty called in the FBI?”
Charles regarded me across the gleaming wooden surface. “When I spoke with Marty last week, I urged her to allow us to handle this in-house, at least as far as a preliminary review goes. Particularly in light of Alfred’s recent death, which complicates our access to collections records. However, it is clear that she feels strongly about her family’s papers, and that has made her a bit precipitous.”
Yeah, sure, I thought. She gave you a chance to act, and you blew it. I wondered just how long Charles would have stalled if Marty hadn’t acted.
Charles was still talking. “But I’m sure the matter will be resolved quickly in the capable hands of Agent Morrison.” He straightened his Mont Blanc pen, the only item on his desk except for the phone. “In any event, I’m calling a senior managers’ meeting for this afternoon so that we can review procedures and discuss how we want to handle this situation. I’ll see you then-two o’clock?”
Apparently I was dismissed. “Of course.”
When the senior staff met at two, nobody had any brilliant insights, and nobody confessed to the crime-or crimes. As I listened with one ear to Charles drone on in mellifluous tones, I wondered idly whether this was considered one crime, over a long period, or a whole series of separate crimes? Would the FBI file a report on each item? The paperwork must be daunting. Imagine trying to track down each item when there could be thousands of them. I tried to refocus on the meeting. Everyone was properly bewildered, shocked, hurt, confused, and so on. Charles repeated his earlier lecture on cooperating with the authorities and not speaking to anyone else about the disappearances. He also told Latoya to accelerate the cataloging process, although without Alfred I couldn’t see what she could do right now. It would take time to advertise for his position and fill it, and to bring that person up to speed on the computer system. And would we have to disclose to that person just what a mess he or she would be stepping into?
I thanked the fundraising gods that there were no major grant proposals due before the new year, so I didn’t have to craft any creative language to conceal the fact that we were getting robbed and we didn’t even know how or by whom. I started fantasizing about writing proposals requesting support for a high-tech security system, using the documented disappearance of all those items as an argument that we really, really needed the system. Charles finally sent us on our way like a group of chastened schoolchildren, and we went about our various chores in a semidaze. I felt frustrated, foolish, and stupid. How could we have been so blind, and for so long? And what was it going to mean for the Society?
I got home earlier than usual-I’d felt I could legitimately catch the early train, especially since I wasn’t getting anything done at work-but it was still dark by this time of year. I’d forgotten to leave any lights on at home, so the house was dark, too. The world was conspiring to match my mood. Get a grip, Nell, I told myself. I hung up my coat, turned on lights in the living room and kitchen, and poured myself a glass of wine. I stood for a while in front of the open refrigerator, trying to find anything that looked like a potential meal. Inspiration did not strike, so I rummaged in my cabinet for a bag of dry tortellini and a jar of tomato sauce. I put a pot of water on to boil and went to my bedroom to change into something comfortable, a pair of old sweat pants and a matching sweatshirt. I took my wine along, and had seriously reduced the level in the glass by the time I was dressed.
When I came back downstairs the water was boiling, so I dumped in the pasta, then wandered aimlessly around my living room, picking up stray newspapers and magazines and tossing them into the trash. I was restless, and I had to admit I was upset. I loved my job, and I loved the Society. Yet someone had been rifling through its collections for his or her own nefarious ends, and thus threatening both my job and the institution. That made me mad.
I realized I was crumpling a week-old newspaper in my hands, and made a conscious effort to relax. Charles and Latoya were working within the Society to get to the bottom of this; Marty and James were working from their own end and had brought me in to bridge the gap. Things were under control-weren’t they? I stared at my own little collection of treasured objects, arrayed on a shelf-things I had collected over the years from flea markets and antique stores, not for their value but because I liked them.