Free Let's Play Dead by Sheila Connolly Page B

“Let’s say I still hold out hope. I can tell you that a lot of people who acquire items they suspect may be illicitly obtained, do so not for any financial reasons but because they really want the items. So they may not have gone far.”
    “Let’s hope. Speaking of problems, I was over at Let’s Play yesterday.” When he looked blank, I explained. “The children’s museum? They had a small problem with the wiring, and somebody received a nasty electrical shock. He’ll be all right, but I’m beginning to wonder if I attract disasters.”
    “It wasn’t a criminal act, was it?” James asked.
    “I don’t think so. Just a fault in the new wiring, apparently. I’m sure they’re careful there, because they’re dealing with a lot of children. It would be disastrous to their reputation if something happened to a child.” We at the Society had had enough trouble dealing with theft—which reflected badly on our stewardship of our historical collections—but if a child were injured or worse . . . I didn’t want to think about it.
    My expression must have given me away, because James was watching me sympathetically. “I don’t think you had anything to do with that, unless you’ve been moonlighting as an electrician.”
    I appreciated his effort to lighten the mood. “Not me—I have trouble changing a lightbulb.” And our talk drifted to other topics over dessert and coffee.
    It was past ten when I looked at my watch and realized I should get moving if I wanted to get the last train. “I’m sorry, but I need to catch a train.”
    “I could drive you home?” James volunteered.
    It was tempting, but I didn’t want to rush things. “No, it’s all right—I go home late a lot of the time. If your car’s nearby you could drop me at Thirtieth Street, though.”
    “Certainly.” He paid the bill in record time and escorted me outside. It had to be well below freezing, and I was glad not to have to walk to the train. The drive to the station took only a few minutes, and James pulled up in front and stopped. I felt a pang of concern: had he done this only to get Marty off his back? Would he consider his duty done and disappear again?
    “Nell,” he began.
    I held my breath.
    “I really enjoyed this evening. I hope we can do it again, and sooner than two months.”
    I exhaled. “I’d like that.” But I couldn’t resist adding, “Do you want me to report back to Marty?”
    He laughed. “Let’s keep her guessing. Good night, Nell.”

CHAPTER 8
    The next morning I boarded my train and unfurled my Philadelphia Inquirer . I’m old-fashioned, in keeping with my job: I refuse to read a newspaper online, and the paper version is just long enough to occupy me during my trip to Center City. I liked to know what had happened since the day before, and what was going to happen, in my city. Sometimes events of the day even had an impact on my work, and I read the “Social Circuit” column to see what our board members or patrons were doing.
    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