I looked around at the group. The tea and cookies were long gone, and it was getting dark outside. Inside we were hatching a plot to catch a thief. Ms. Farnsworth in the bedroom with the electronic bug-the old game Clue drifted through my mind. And Charles’s career and reputation would be the victims, if all went according to plan. That was still a big if.
“Well, now all we need is a time line. Libby? You and Charles have anything scheduled?”
“Charles has tickets for the symphony on Friday, so we could come back to his place after,” she said. “Phil? Does that give you enough time to get the equipment? And to show us how it works?”
He nodded. “No problem.”
She turned to me. “Nell, how about you?”
“I’ll aim for tomorrow night. The timing might be tight-I’m flying back from Boston in the afternoon, and you’ll still have to show me how to plant the bugs and how the listening end works.” If Charles was going to the symphony with Libby on Friday, I could probably count on him being home on Thursday night. I could show up on his doorstep for a good-bye scene, which would allow me to wangle the opportunity to collect the few personal possessions I had left there-the nightgown, some toiletries, a bottle of perfume. Which would give me a legitimate excuse to get into the bedroom-just where I needed to go. “If I don’t make it back in time, Libby will just have to take them along and figure something out.”
“Great. Phil, when can you get the stuff together?” Marty asked.
“I can pick ’em up tomorrow morning.”
“If you can get them to Marty, I’ll come by her place on the way back from Boston,” I told him.
“Make it happen, sweetie,” Marty said. “So that’s the plan. I get the bugs from Phil, Nell plants them at Charles’s place, then Libby does her bit on Friday, with us listening. God, I feel like we’re the Three Musketeers.”
Libby stood up. “Ladies, this calls for a toast. I’ve got some champagne in the fridge.” She disappeared toward what I assumed was the kitchen. Marty and I looked at each other.
“The time line is pretty tight, and I don’t know what we do if the gizmos don’t work. I sure as hell hope we’re doing the right thing,” I said dubiously.
“Nell, you worry too much. We are doing the right thing. It’ll be fine.”
“I’ll make it work,” I replied, with more assurance than I felt.
Libby returned with a champagne bottle and flutes. When she had filled and distributed them, Marty stood up and raised her glass. “To the downfall of the mighty Charles Worthington!” We saluted her and drank.
Driving home after dark, a single glass of Libby’s excellent champagne bubbling through my system, I hoped that this crazy plan was going to work.
CHAPTER 24
I caught an early flight to Boston the next morning- hard on the credit card, but I didn’t have much time, and now I needed to be back in the afternoon in time for Phil’s tutorial. I’d told Carrie to let people know I was researching security systems at our sister institutions, which was at least partially true. I was scheduled to meet with Gail Wallace at the Massachusetts Book Club, a private library in Boston.
On the short flight, I found my thoughts drifting to Charles. Thinking about him was like poking a sore tooth: it was painful but hard to stop. I had trouble being objective about him when he’d made me feel like such a fool. I didn’t mind getting kicked around in my love life-I was a big girl, I had gotten involved with Charles with my eyes wide open, and those were the breaks. I could handle that. But when he started messing with the Society, undermining an institution whose sole purpose was to preserve and protect the remnants of the past, I got mad. Nell Pratt, guardian of the gates, keeper of the flame, protector of the departed, and their treasures and reputations. I was ready to fight for truth, justice, and the American way. Don’t mess with the Society, bub, or you’ll have to answer to me.
I dragged my mind away from Charles and back to Gail Wallace, who seemed to be a more likely candidate to share gossip than Diane had been. The last time I had seen Gail had been at a fundraising seminar a couple of years ago. After we had suffered through an endless series of droning discussions about database management programs, multipart mailings, and event planning, ad nauseam, punctuated by inedible meals in airless function rooms, a number of us had retreated to the hotel bar and swapped development horror stories until they closed the place. I remembered that Gail relished the telling of a juicy anecdote, especially if she had an eager audience. I was prepared to be eager.
I arrived at the library promptly at eleven. I played out my spiel, dutifully took notes about the security system vendors Gail had interviewed; we wandered through the building, noting the carefully concealed spy cameras, the limited means of egress, the process for tracking who was in the building and who had left. Even if she ultimately kept silent about any tasty gossip, I was learning a heck of a lot about institutional security, which I hoped would come in handy. As the tour wound down, I said, “Gail, that was great-exactly what I needed. How about I take you out to lunch, to pay you back?”
She grinned at me. “I thought you’d never ask. What do you feel up for?”
“Hey, it’s your city-you choose.”
“Expense account?”
I gulped. “Sure-but remember I work for a nonprofit, just like you.”
“I hear you. Okay, follow me.”
Gail led the way down Beacon Hill and into the Back Bay, and she guided me to a charming small restaurant on Newbury Street. Once we were seated, she gave me a long look. “You didn’t get in touch with me just to talk about security, did you?”
“No,” I replied. “There’s something else, now that we’re off-site.”
“That’s what I figured.” She waved at a waiter and ordered a drink. I stuck to iced tea, but I hoped that alcohol would make it easier for me to direct her conversation along the lines I needed.
“So, Gail,” I started again, “nobody’s stormed your gates since you put in this wonderful magic electronic system?”
Gail was ogling a thirty-something banker type who was standing at the bar with some buddies. “What? Oh, no, it works just fine. We’d been having some little problems with things vanishing, but it stopped cold, maybe six, seven years ago. You know, if we could just pay our staff better, they wouldn’t feel the need to walk out with our stuff.”
“You have a problem with staff pilfering?” I tried to sound appropriately incredulous.
“Oh, don’t play dumb. You mean you don’t have the same problem?”
I thought I’d do just that-play dumb-to be safe. “Hey, that’s not my department, that’s collections’ problem. I just use what they tell me in my proposals.”
Gail snorted. “Don’t ask, don’t tell, huh? Well, babe, it goes on everywhere. Sometimes it’s bigger and better stuff, that’s all.” Her glass was empty, and she signaled for another drink. Since the banker had ignored her come-hither looks, she shifted her attentions to a tweedier collegiate type a few tables away. I thought I had better get my questions about Charles in before Gail became totally inebriated, or her longing gazes snared some hapless male.
“Wasn’t Charles Worthington running your place a few years ago?” I probed.
Gail dragged her gaze back to me, reluctantly. “Sure was. That’s right-he’s your boss now, correct? I could tell you a few things about ol’ Charlie.”
Exactly what I wanted to hear. I put on my best gossip face and leaned forward. “Ooh, spill it!”