I dutifully read the national news before flipping to the local section, and stopped in horror: the banner headline read, “Tragic Accident at Museum.” Above the fold. After my heart started again, once I determined that it wasn’t the Society they were talking about, I realized the grainy picture showed the front of Let’s Play, alongside a studio photo of Arabella, taken at least ten years ago. Wait-she had told me that Jason was fine and was ready to be sent home. Had he taken a turn for the worse?
Oh, no. It was a second accident. And this time someone had died.
I read on, my feelings a messy mix of ghoulish curiosity and dismay. Thirty-five-year-old electrician Joseph Murphy had been fatally electrocuted while putting the finishing touches on a newly installed exhibit at a local children’s museum, blah, blah, blah.
I had to stop reading to collect myself. Not Joe! Joe, who had been so kind to me after Jason’s accident? Had he been working again on the wiring? Arabella had definitely said yesterday that she had other people checking it out.
I shook myself and résuméd reading. Joe had met his end while working on a large animal figure representing Willy the Weasel, a character in the popular children’s book series Harriet the Hedgehog. The photographer had graciously spared readers the sight of poor Joe collapsed at the feet of Willy; there was, instead, a floodlit view of a covered gurney emerging from the building. The body had been discovered about nine o’ clock the prior night, when the electrical incident had triggered an alarm. Alarm? Nothing had gone off when I witnessed Jason’s event. Was that new?
There was no mention in the article about Jason’s accident.
I laid the paper carefully on my lap and thought. Jason had received a shock only two days ago, but had survived. Apparently that first accident still wasn’t public knowledge. Who had checked out the wiring, and had that person found anything out of the ordinary? Or any cause at all for Jason’s accident? Or Joe’s? Who had installed the alarm?
And now that a death had occurred, the question had to arise: was Jason’s mishap an accident, or had it just been a dry run? Wait, Nell-a dry run for what? Clearly there was something wrong with the wiring at Let’s Play, or at least the new wiring for the exhibit, but that didn’t mean anyone had evil intentions. Accidents happen, especially in old buildings-or so I had told myself following Jason’s accident. But twice in the space of two days? Something was not right.
I debated my options. I could do nothing. Or I could contact Arabella and see who she had talked to and what she had told them. Or I could be proactive and contact the police myself to let them know what I’d seen when Jason was injured; when they hadn’t contacted me, I had just assumed they had written it off as an accident, if they even knew about it. I didn’t like option one and wasn’t happy with option three, since my last dealings with the Philadelphia Police Department had been barely cordial, especially after I’d proved them wrong. Poor Arabella-she must be devastated. She cared so much for her museum, and this kind of publicity could be very damaging, as I knew too well. I decided on option two: I’d see if I could reach her first and then decide about talking to the police.
I was still lost in thought when I arrived at the Society to find Eric waiting for me on the steps-as had been the case with Shelby, it had been too late the previous day to get him set up with keys and such. He looked young and eager, and was clutching a cardboard box from which I could see protruding a blooming African violet.
“I hope you don’t mind-I brought some things to brighten up the outer office,” he said.
“No problem, as long as you don’t spill water all over the antiques.” I unlocked the door and held it for him, then led him to the elevator. “You’ll need to get a key to go to the administrative floor and the stacks. Security reasons.”
“Got it. You don’t want people just wandering around the building. At least, not ones who aren’t supposed to be here.”
“Exactly.” We reached the president’s suite, which was a rather grand name for the two rooms. “I don’t know what there is in your desk-the last assistant left rather hurriedly, and someone boxed up her personal possessions, but I hope they left the office supplies. If you need stuff, the supply room is right around the corner, and it doubles as the coat closet.”
“What about the coffee room? Oh, and bathroom?”
I had to laugh at myself. “I’m doing a lousy job of getting you settled, aren’t I? Coffee room’s the end of that hall there”-I pointed-“near the staff staircase, and bathroom is right next to the stairs. Look, why don’t I let you look around a bit, and then we can do the paperwork and meet the rest of the staff?” I knew I was doing a poor job of easing him into the job, but I was still rattled by the news of Joe’s death.
“Sounds good to me.” The phone on his desk rang. He smiled quickly at me. “Let me get that.” He picked it up and said, “President’s office,” in an appropriately professional tone. Then his expression changed. “Just a moment, please.” Unfamiliar with the phone and its Hold button, he covered the receiver with his hand and said in a loud whisper, “It’s a Detective Hrivnak with the Philadelphia Police. Do you want to take it?”
Oh, damn. This was not the way I wanted to start the day. “I guess I’d better. I can pick it up in my office-wait until I’ve got it and you can hang up.”
I walked the few feet to my office, stripped off my coat and hung it carefully on the back of the door, then sat down behind my desk. The last few conversations I’d had with the detective had not been happy ones, and I’d hoped we were done with each other. Apparently not. After taking a deep breath, I picked up the phone, pushed the button to connect it, and said, “This is Nell Pratt.”
Detective Hrivnak, whose first name, if she had one, I’d never heard, said abruptly, “You were at Let’s Play when Jason Miller was involved in an electrical accident. You heard about the second one?”
“I read about it in the paper this morning. Since you’re calling me, you think it wasn’t just an accident?” Detective Hrivnak was a homicide detective, after all, as I knew only too well.
She ignored my question. “Can you come in and talk to me, say, eleven?”
At least she’d asked rather than ordered. “I’ll be there.” She hung up before I could say anything more, like ask her where the heck her office was. Luckily I know how to use my computer, and I quickly verified my first guess: Homicide Unit, Police Headquarters. Walking distance.
I looked up to find Eric hovering in the doorway. “Everything all right?” he said anxiously.
“You mean, will I be arrested before your first day is over? Don’t worry. This is about an electrical accident that happened at the Let’s Play Museum-it was in the paper this morning. There was a minor one when I was there earlier this week, but this time someone died.”
“Oh no! How awful-for them and for you! Can I get you anything?”
Tea and sympathy? “I’m okay. But the detective wants to talk to me at eleven. You can put that on my calendar-if you can find it.”
“I’m guessing it’s on the computer, wherever that is.”
Oh… sugar. The last computer used by the president’s assistant had… well, the bottom line was, it was gone and I didn’t think it would be coming back anytime soon. And there were no electronic records for Eric to go through and familiarize himself with, although I assumed they were all backed up somewhere and therefore retrievable. Of course, there were always the paper copies. “I’ll talk to human resources about getting you set up with something.”