Free Fire Engine Dead by Sheila Connolly

cooperate with them—if they ask.”
    “You sound tired, James. Is everything all right?”
    “Just busy. Look, Nell, try to stay out of this, will you? It’s bad enough I have to manage Marty. I know you both mean well, but this is a criminal investigation.”
    “You were the one who invited me into the investigation, remember?”
    “Yes, but in a limited capacity, based on your knowledge of the cultural community. Period. Please don’t meddle with the criminal side of things.”
    Meddle? I didn’t like his choice of words, but I grasped what he was asking. “Understood. I’ll see if I can distract Marty—we’ve decided to do a thorough overhaul of the Terwilliger Collection here, so maybe that will do it. But if there’s anything more I can do, just ask.”
    “I will. Thanks, Nell.” He rang off.
    I’d do what I could, but Marty didn’t answer to me—more like the other way around. And she was strong willed. Handled right, she could be an asset in any investigation of this kind—but I wasn’t sure either James or I could handle her.

CHAPTER 7
    At precisely nine the next day, Latoya Anderson, looking smug, shepherded her handpicked candidate into my office. “Nell, this is Nicholas Naylor. Nicholas, this is the Society’s president, Nell Pratt. I’ll leave the two of you to talk.” She turned and withdrew, closing my office door behind her.
    Nicholas and I sized each other up. He was a tall, pale young man in his late twenties, with wavy dark hair, worn a bit long. Nicely dressed, as befit an interview, in tailored pants and a sports jacket over a collared shirt, no tie. He carried a leather folder, which I assumed contained a résumé. And he wasn’t smiling. “Thank you for making the time to see me, Ms. Pratt. I appreciate the opportunity.”
    “My pleasure, Nicholas.” He was definitely a
Nicholas
, not a
Nick
. Why was this self-possessed young man making me nervous? “Please, sit down.” I gestured toward one of the chairs in front of my desk. He sat. Still no smile. “Doyou have a résumé handy? I haven’t had an opportunity to get it from Latoya yet.” Which again put me at a disadvantage.
    Wordlessly, Nicholas opened his folder and handed me a single sheet of paper. I glanced at it briefly and realized that half of the position descriptions on it were gobbledygook to me. “So, tell me about yourself. I understand you’re currently working? Why would you want to give up a secure job at Penn to work here?” I knew it was hard to break into employment at the university, and I couldn’t remember anyone I knew leaving it, except under dire personal circumstances or for a step up the professional pyramid. I didn’t think the Society could compete with Penn in the latter regard. Certainly not in salary or prestige.
    “I’d prefer a smaller milieu and greater flexibility. Did Ms. Anderson explain to you my area of expertise?”
    “Briefly. Why don’t you tell me how you define it, and how you see it helping us?”
    “Certainly.” He leaned forward, his expression earnest. “As I’m sure you know, the transition from traditional cataloging functions to the modern digital age has been erratic…”
    I listened with half an ear, nodding at intervals. I’d spent enough time writing the grant proposals for our current cataloging system, and talking with Alfred, to understand the basic outlines of what Nicholas was describing. I had to admit that the program he had been developing sounded both innovative and potentially more user-friendly than what we had currently, which would be a big plus, since it might make it possible not only to integrate in-house tracking systems but also to permit a greater degree of member access, and even to allow transfer of higher-quality imagesfor internal and external reproduction. A seamless and unified system certainly sounded appealing—but could Nicholas deliver, or was he just spinning me a nice story?
    I noticed he was gazing at me