“You plan to hit him up for a raise or something?”
No, Gail, I intend to feed him to the FBI as a felon. “You never know. But he’s quite a charmer, isn’t he?”
“Ha!” Gail’s eyes wandered again. “Well, Barbara Kensington certainly thought so.”
It took a few moments for my mental database to crank out just who Barbara Kensington was: the current director of the Book Club-and Gail’s boss. I put on what I hoped was a shocked expression. “You don’t mean… were they?”
Gail nodded vigorously. “Oh yeah, big time. All the time. You know Barbara?”
I shook my head. “I’ve seen her a couple of times, but I’ve never talked with her. But-she’s got to be pushing sixty, and, uh, not exactly a babe.” That was being kind: Barbara was short, shapeless, and plain as a post. She had an excellent reputation as a scholar and administrator, but no one had ever said she had a life outside of her job.
“Yeah, I figure that’s why she fell so hard. You know, repressed virgin or whatever. Charles came along and swept her off her feet, sweet-talking her, taking her out, wining and dining-the whole nine yards. Hey, for a while there she almost looked pretty. It got kind of embarrassing; in staff meetings she’d give him these gooey gazes and defer to him all the time. For the love of God, she was practically simpering, which sure isn’t her usual style. I swear, that man turned her brain to mush.”
Gail had my full attention. “So what happened?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. One day they were all lovey-dovey, and then suddenly he was gone-had a new job somewhere else. Boy, was she a pain to live with for the next few months, even though she stepped into his shoes. Everybody at the place was tiptoeing around, scared to death of her. If you looked at her cross-eyed, she’d bite your head off.”
“Wow,” I said.
“Yeah, right.” Gail focused on her empty glass in front of her. “But you know the worst part? He was two-timing her.”
“Huh?” I was rapidly exhausting my witty repartee.
She leaned forward over the table and dropped her voice. “I saw him in a restaurant one night-he didn’t see me. He was with another woman, and he was dripping charm all over her, and she was eating it up with a spoon. Funny thing was, she wasn’t a babe, either, kind of middle-aged and plain. A lot like Barbara, come to think of it. What is it with this guy-he goes for pathetic older women?”
Yeah, like me, I reflected grimly. “Maybe he was just doing a little donor cultivation?” It was the best thing I could come up with. It’s what I’d told myself, after all.
“Right,” she snorted. “Very up close and personal. Say, has he been working his way through the society dames of Philadelphia?”
I wasn’t about to say anything. “Got me. I don’t run in those circles. He’s certainly been a big help with our fundraising-our last president was a disaster. Had no tact and no social radar at all. Hey, shouldn’t we think about ordering food? I’m starving.”
She looked at me. “Oh, yeah, sure.”
The food was good, and Gail ordered another martini. After declining dessert, I was trying to figure out how to make my escape without insulting her-although I wasn’t sure she’d notice if I wasn’t there-when she fixed me with a bleary eye.
“That Charles-he sure was something.”
She looked almost wistful, and I had a sudden, awful thought. “Were you two…?”
“Yeah. It was great while it lasted.” Her gaze sharpened as she looked at me. “You?”
I sighed but figured I owed her a nod.
Gail raised her glass to me. “Welcome to the club.” Then she drained the glass.
I wondered how much of this conversation she would remember. Since her glass was officially empty, I convinced her that it was time to go. Luckily there were taxis cruising on Boylston Street, so I got her into a cab and pointed in the right direction. I stood on the pavement, watching the cab disappear, and felt sad and foolish. And then mad. Charles was a cad, a rat, a scoundrel… I couldn’t find an adequate vocabulary, even dipping into Dickensian adjectives. But no way was I going to let him get away with it any longer-and I had the means to stop him.
I caught my plane back and after retrieving my car from the lot, I took off for Marty’s house in the thick of rush-hour traffic. Phil was already there when I arrived, and Libby arrived soon afterward.
Phil had brought us an amazing array of tiny toys and was delighted to show us how they worked. We spent an hour playing with them, interrupted only when Marty sent out for pizza. Marty’s row house was large enough that we could test varying distances, and the reception was excellent from anywhere within the building. We also made sure we knew how to activate the recorder, since we might have only one chance to get this right, and we didn’t want to blow it because we didn’t know which button to push.
The bugs were simple-tiny disks with sticky stuff on one side. I could keep them in my pocket easily and stick them on the underside of something with no problem. That was the least of my worries.
Shortly before eight I stood up. “I’d better get going. Wish me luck, ladies.”
“Go get ’em, Nell!”
CHAPTER 25
It was dark when I left Marty’s house and drove slowly toward Charles’s, and traffic had thinned out. I went around the block a few times until I began to wonder if the police would think I was casing the place. There was only one light on downstairs. I certainly hoped he didn’t have another woman there, but I didn’t think even he could find another dupe that fast, especially if he thought he had Libby on his line. Finally I parked, walked with heavy feet to his stoop, and rang the doorbell.
He opened the door quickly. I stood on the step below him, looking up at him. Casually dressed, by his standards-which meant he’d taken off his silk tie and his collar was unbuttoned-he looked tired. But he still looked good, even though I knew what a rat he was.
“Hello, Charles.”
“Nell. What brings you here?” His voice gave nothing away.
“May I come in?”
“Of course. Please. Can I get you anything?”
“A glass of wine would be nice.” I needed a little liquid courage but had no intention of staying around past the first drink.
“I’ll just be a moment.” He disappeared toward the kitchen. I prowled around the parlor, running my finger along the (dust-free) tops of the eighteenth-century tables, reveling in the patina that comes only from years of hand polishing-all the while looking for a good place to stick my first bug. I settled for the underside of the end table next to the elegant damask-covered settee. When I straightened up quickly, I noticed a folder on the side table. Charles was still in the kitchen-I heard the pop of a wine cork, the clink of glasses. Idly I picked up the folder and opened it. Inside there was a hinged mat (acid free, I noted), which when opened revealed an old deed, its brown ink still legible. I tilted it toward the light to make out the signature: William Penn. Oh my. I perused the text briefly-it looked like a deed for a piece of property in Bucks County. A small piece of Pennsylvania history, over three hundred years old.
Charles returned, bearing two glasses. I held up the folder. “This is marvelous, Charles. Is it new?”
He smiled. “Yes-I saw it in a catalog for an auction in New York, and I just had to indulge myself. It was a bit expensive, but it seemed so appropriate to bring it back to Philadelphia, don’t you think?”
“Of course.” I set down the deed down gently, out of harm’s way, before taking one of the glasses from him. He took my elbow and steered me gently toward the damask-covered settee.
“You look troubled.” He took a sip, studying my face. “This isn’t really a social call, is it?” he said quietly.
“No, Charles, it’s not.” I took a sip of my own wine, then inhaled. “It’s been a hell of a few weeks, hasn’t it? With Alfred dying like that, and now the FBI coming around.”