Fire Engine Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

fire and theft. At the time, the room had been state-of-the-art. Now it was just a closely sealed room with metal doors, which made it only marginally safer than the rest of the building. The Terwilliger Collection took up approximatelyhalf the room, some four hundred linear feet of books, folders, boxes, and miscellaneous bundles.
    “What about it?” I asked, even though I didn’t really want to hear her new idea. “Aren’t you happy with Rich’s work?”
    “He’s doing fine, don’t worry. But I’m thinking that when you hire your new registrar, it might be a good test to hand him the collection and see what he makes of it. With Rich’s and my help, of course.”
    “Or
her
,” I said automatically. “Interesting idea.” And not unfair, considering that Marty and her extended family were chipping in a healthy sum of money to endow the registrar’s position. “But do we need to do something now?”
    Marty, as usual, went straight to the point. “I want to move the whole collection upstairs, at least temporarily. I know Rich has been working hard on it, but this one-box-at-a-time approach is taking too long. And since the registrar’s position has been vacant for a few months, most of the other projects have been cleared, so there’s room right now.”
    “You’re thinking of the third-floor room?”
    “Yup, with all those big tables. Rich and I can shuttle the stuff up there. All I need is your permission to move forward.”
    The request was purely pro forma: what Marty wanted, Marty usually got. But it was her collection, she was putting up the money, and the space was available. Why not? “Make it so,” I said grandly. “And since moving the collection out will open up the fireproof vault, we can take the opportunity to do a thorough overhaul in there, maybe shuffle some other collections around to improve our use of space.”
    “Sounds like a plan. I’ll go talk to Rich.” Marty bounded up and headed for the door.
    “Right now?” Her energy never ceased to amaze me.
    “Sure, why not?”
    “Okay, go for it.”
    Before exiting, she turned back and said, “Heard anything from Jimmy lately?”
    Jimmy
was James Morrison, one of Marty’s many cousins and a special agent in the local FBI office. He was in charge of the disposition of a chunk of recently recovered items that had been stolen from our collections, including a number from the Terwilliger Collection, as soon as the FBI sorted out the legal aspects of the case.
    We’d also been kind of seeing each other for a few months. “Now and then,” I said evasively, then hastened to add, “Which works fine for us. Don’t do anything, please.”
    “Who, me?” Marty said, and went on her way.

CHAPTER 4
    The next morning the warehouse fire story in the
Inquirer
had slipped to page two, but the reporter had made the connection to the Fireman’s Museum, and this time there were pictures, including a large one of the charred ruins. In the midst of one almost self-consciously artsy photograph, I could make out the ruins of a vehicle, the twisted remains of the piece looking like a tortured skeleton. My fears about what it was were confirmed by the caption:
Prized antique fire engine consumed in warehouse fire.
It saddened me, both for the museum’s sake and for Marty’s, since for her it was a piece of her family’s history as well as a Philadelphia artifact.
    When I arrived at the station, I stuffed the newspaper into my bag and strode briskly to the Society. Once again Eric had beaten me to his desk. “Mornin’, Nell. Can I get you some coffee?”
    “I’d love some, Eric—thank you.” I hesitated a second, then asked, “Did you see the paper today?”
    “You mean about the fire and the collection? I did. So that’s why Mr. Ingersoll was here?” I nodded, and he stood up quickly. “Oh, Agent Morrison called a few minutes ago.” Eric handed me a phone slip and went down the hall to the break room.
    I went into my office and hung