Sheila Connolly: Fundraising The Dead

The smile was back. I wondered where he’d been hiding it all this time. I knew why he was hiding it, because the smile transformed his face from stern to boyish. For an instant I could see the happy kid running around with Marty and the gang, instead of the strong arm of the law. The smile disappeared, and with it the boy, leaving the monolithic Agent Morrison again. I sighed, involuntarily.

“Just doing my job, ma’am.”

He looked up, past me, and I turned to see Marty making her way toward our table. She settled into the chair next to mine, dropping into it with a sigh and peeling off her coat. She’d shed the serious-woman armor of earlier and was back to her slightly offbeat casual wear, leaving me feeling overdressed. She looked tired, too.

James raised a hand again, and the waiter popped up to take Marty’s drink order. Apparently the FBI agent radiated an innate authority that trumped the big tip we’d given the week before, because the staff here certainly hadn’t responded to us like this. Of course, we had been acting like two crazy ladies, which might have had something to do with it. “We should order,” James said when Marty’s drink arrived. We placed three orders for pasta and made meaningless small talk until the food arrived. When the waiter had retreated again, James cleared his throat. OK, here it comes , I thought.

He said carefully, “Charles Worthington was arraigned in federal court today on charges of conspiracy, theft, and receipt of cultural objects under Title 18, U.S. Code, Section 668, theft of objects of cultural heritage. The charges are subject to fine and imprisonment of up to ten years. Charles Worthington has refused to comment on the charges and has retained counsel.”

“The Penn document?” Marty asked. When James nodded, Marty sighed. “What does that mean for the Society? What’re the chances of recovering the stuff that’s gone?”

James looked at her, not without sympathy, then said, “Marty, I just don’t know. We may never know the full extent of the thefts from the Society. We’re talking with Charles’s lawyer, and we may be able to cut a deal to recover at least some portion of the stolen items. Would the board accept something like that?”

“You mean, we get something back? I guess. The board will probably be happy to make all this go away as quickly as possible.”

The food was helping: I could feel my mind revving up. Marty still looked depressed.

“And Doris?” I asked.

“At the moment she’s undergoing psychiatric evaluation, to determine if she is in any shape to be charged. If she knows anything about the disposition of the items, we’ll find out what we can.”

That didn’t inspire great hope in me. “I wonder if she kept any records?”

James concentrated on his food for a long moment. “If there is a plea bargain, Charles would return what he could to the Society, or identify where it went, and make financial restitution for some portion of the rest. It would probably be only a fraction of what he got away with, but it would stay out of the press. Marty, is that good enough?”

“Hell, I don’t know. You can’t put a price on our good name, but there’s no point in dragging it through the mud publicly. I just hope Major Jonathan’s correspondence isn’t gone forever. Can you give me a few minutes alone with Charles to see if I can beat that information out of him?” When James glared at her, she held up both hands. “Joke. But I’m going to do my damnedest to track those down, whatever happens.”

“James,” I interrupted, “what about the other institutions where Charles had worked? Don’t we have an obligation to notify them about any of this?”

“I’m not a lawyer, so I really can’t say for sure. Of course if they get wind of this, they’re free to file suit on their own. But from what you’ve told me, it sounds as though they’re all in the same boat. If they admit they lost stuff, they’d look foolish, and they’d suffer for it.”

“Damn. This doesn’t seem right, somehow. We’ve got the bad guy in our sights, but we can’t go after him because we’d all be too embarrassed.” I sighed. “I know, I understand it, but that doesn’t mean I like it. At least Charles will never work for a museum again-right, Marty? The board is not about to give him a glowing recommendation after all this.”

“No way!” Marty said firmly.

I stifled a laugh. I looked down: my bowl was empty, my stomach was full. I felt about a hundred percent better than I had when I arrived.

“Marty, what do we do about the Society now? We don’t have a leader-well, practically speaking. Who’s next in line to take over? How will we handle day-to-day operations?”

Marty swallowed, then said slowly, “I can’t say we’ve ever had to deal with something like this-as far as I can recall, we’ve always had an orderly transition, with someone waiting in the wings. I think the first step is to call a special board meeting-at least get the Executive Committee together. And get our lawyer there. And our insurance carrier. Jimmy, can you be there?” He nodded. “How about you, Nell? Since you started this whole thing, you should be there, too, to fill in any blanks.”

“Sure.”

Marty looked at her watch-it was after ten. “Too late to call them tonight-I’ll get on it first thing in the morning, see if I can get a quorum together in the next day or so. We need to start doing some damage control here.”

“Sooner rather than later,” I agreed. “Listen, can I tell the staff tomorrow that Charles has been asked to resign? I know they’ve been picking up rumblings, and they deserve to know what’s going on. I don’t have to go into the details.”

“Good point. I say yes.” Marty stood up. “Guys, I’m beat. I’m going home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. And thanks, both of you.” She wrapped her coat around her and headed out, leaving James and me alone at the table.

I realized I felt good. The buzz from the wine had not quite dissipated and I was well-fed; Marty no doubt would apply her considerable energies to sorting out the mess at the Society. Charles would be disgraced, even if only in his own eyes, and I felt proud of having ended our stunted relationship with a shred of dignity. The Society could move forward, somehow. I wasn’t quite sure what form it would take, but I felt hopeful for the first time in days.

And most important, we had solved Alfred’s murder.

It occurred to me that James hadn’t said anything for a while. I looked at him to find him studying me again. I tilted my head at him, in question.

He gave an apologetic half smile. “Sorry-was I staring? I was just thinking that you’ve handled yourself well. You sure you don’t want a job with the FBI?”

That made me laugh. “I’ll consider it, if things don’t work out at the Society. But I know I can be useful there while all this is shaking out. And I’m glad we found Alfred’s killer. I always counted Alfred as a friend. I respected his abilities, and I never wrote him off as unimportant, although I know a lot of other people did. Funny how he and Doris-two people who most of the staff never gave a second thought to-came so close to bringing the place down.” I sighed.

The check materialized, and James slipped out his credit card.

“So, dinner’s on the FBI?” I asked as I gathered my bag from the floor and stood to put on my coat.

“No, on me.” He reached to hold my coat as I slid my arm into it.

I stopped for a moment and looked him straight in the eye. “Thank you-for everything.”

He didn’t say anything immediately. Then he nodded. “Where’s your car? I’ll walk you to it.”

We didn’t have much to say as we walked to the parking garage, but it was nice to feel safe on the streets of the city after dark.