“I agree, but what are we supposed to do about it?” I wondered how long our window of opportunity would stay open once the thief realized that his efforts to cast suspicion on other people had failed.
“I’ve got an idea.” There was a curious gleam in Marty’s eye. “First of all, do you agree that Charles is behind this, at least in part?”
For a moment I felt regret for all the lovely times I had shared with Charles-and then I remembered what he’d done today, deliberately putting distance between us and casting doubt on me to others. “Maybe not the murder, but yes, I do.”
She raised her glass to me. “All right, this is how the story goes…”
CHAPTER 19
Marty settled back in her chair for what I suspected would be a long session. “You were around when the Society was looking for a new president?”
I nodded. “I was on the search committee, although I didn’t have a vote.”
“And Charles was by far the best candidate, right?”
“No question. We thought we were lucky to get him.”
“Right. Well, it worked both ways. Charles found the perfect niche here. He was certainly in a position to know how lousy our cataloging was and how trusting the Society has always been.”
“Well, that’s hardly unusual. Besides-why would he care?”
“Because he knew what we had, and he knew he could get his hands on it and sell it without anyone noticing.” Marty looked very pleased with herself. “I think he got himself the job here specifically so he could plunder the collections.”
It took me a moment to process what she had said. “Marty, I’m not following this. You’re saying that Charles planned to rip the place off when he applied?”
“That’s my guess. Oh, he’s done it very well-nothing obvious, and so far not much that’s traceable, thanks to our crappy records. But, think about it-he’s been in the business for most of his adult life. He knows who the rabid collectors are, including the ones who lie low. He can sell the good stuff without it ever going public, and nobody would know where it went. People can ask for a specific signature, document, whatever, and he can go shopping in the Society’s collections and fill the order. But he knows his handy cash cow will go away as collections management improves. Sure, some of the missing items we can attribute to lousy record keeping, but I’d be willing to bet that the better part of that five million worth of stuff has disappeared from the Society’s collections within the last two years. He’s done really well for himself.”
“But”-I stalled as I tried to wrap my head around this idea-“how could he get away with that? Wouldn’t somebody blow the whistle on him?”
Marty shook her head. “Did they? No. I suspect that Charles knows his market, and he’s bound to have been careful. He just exploited the Society’s weakness. And I think you underestimate the collecting lust. There are some people who want something, and they really don’t care where it comes from as long as it’s theirs in the end. They aren’t about to tell anybody. Problem is, I think that Alfred figured it out. After all, he was closest to the collections, hands-on.”
“But then what? Did Alfred confront Charles? He had only just told us, and we know he didn’t go to the authorities. Would he have tried to blackmail Charles or ask for a cut of the proceeds? And if Charles didn’t kill Alfred, who did?” If anyone, I reminded myself. We had nothing that resembled proof, and maybe it was only a tragic accident.
Marty shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know that Alfred ever had the nerve to talk to Charles, and anyway, I’d swear he was honest. He wouldn’t think of blackmail. I think Alfred waited until somebody came to him-that would be you, Nell-and then he nudged you in the right direction. I bet he figured that if other people knew officially, then he wouldn’t be at risk. Poor Alfred.”
“Wow.” I was stunned as I considered the ramifications of what Marty had said. Then another thought percolated to the top of my reeling brain. “But, Marty, why would Charles do this? He’s at the top of his profession, he’s got a solid reputation, a good income. What’s his motive?”
Marty looked smug. “Money. And I don’t mean personal gain-sure, he’s got enough for himself. But I’ve got a theory. Want to hear it?”
I nodded. I was in too deep to stop now.
Marty draped her legs over the arm of her chair, making herself comfortable. “There’s something else about Philadelphia that’s tailor-made for his needs: a good supply of wealthy and unattached women. Charles wants money-more than the Society or any other institution can pay him. And I figure he wants to marry it.”
I could only imagine the expression on my face as Marty continued. “So Charles arrives in town, settles in at the Society, and starts scoping out potential donors-particularly female donors. I know, that’s what you do-but somehow I don’t think you go so far as trying to seduce your targets.”
“Of course I don’t! Marty, how do you know all this?”
She looked at me with embarrassment “He tried it out on me, when he first arrived. Oh, he’s smooth, isn’t he? Very charming, very polite. Takes you out to dinner, invites you to highly visible public events-exhibit openings, that kind of thing. Then he invites you to his oh-so-tasteful home and cooks for you-that’s a sure-fire winner. He’s very patient, and he waits until the right moment to make his move.”
I stared at her, horrified. “And did you…?” I was scrambling to remember when he and I first connected-and what I hadn’t noticed. Or hadn’t wanted to notice.
“No, we never got that far. Oh, I was flattered at first-I mean, I’m unattached, we shared common interests, he’s good-looking, and I’m human. But, you know, I didn’t really trust him. He was just too good to be true, too polished, too suave. So I started pulling back, and he got the message and withdrew gracefully. But…”
“What?”
“I suspect he might have looked into my finances, somehow. I don’t have the kind of money I think he wants. So if I hadn’t said no, I bet he would have found some other reason to retreat.”
“But, Marty, maybe he actually was interested in you at first, and it just sort of faded naturally.” I was clutching at straws, and I knew it.
“Nell, you really are an innocent. Once he’d tried it out on me and then dropped me, I started paying attention. You know-checking the society column in the paper to see who he took to which party, and so on. Thing is, I knew some of the other women, so I could ask around, at least a little. He made a little more headway with some of them, then backed out, always gracefully.”
“Oh, damn,” I spit out. “That’s why my nightgown disappeared into a drawer-he was hiding it from… whoever the lady of the week was.”
“Probably. He’s discreet that way.”
“Where did I fit in, then? It certainly ain’t the money, and it ain’t love.”
“You were useful to him. He was the new kid in town, and he could use you to bring him up to speed on the Society, plus you had that useful donor database. He could pump you for information. Let me ask you-how many significant male donors has he cultivated in the time he’s been here?”
I thought for a moment, then laughed ruefully. “None.” I was furious-and embarrassed. How could I have been such a pushover? “I feel like an idiot.”
Marty looked at me with sympathy. “Oh, come on, Nell. You knew he was dating other women. Didn’t you?”