Let's Play Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

and became increasingly so as we went toward the back of the building. When we reached Arabella’s office, she pointed me toward an overstuffed armchair upholstered in bright cotton fabric decorated with bunnies. “Sit down, please. I’ve made tea, and there are cookies!” She beamed at me, obviously pleased with herself.
    Arabella was clearly the mother figure of her small museum. I would have said Earth Mother, but Arabella liked nice clothes too well for that, and I knew she was a shrewd manager. But she was short and nicely rounded, partial to flowery prints; her hair sprang out in determined grey curls, and her eyes twinkled.
    The teacup had violets on it; the sugar cookies, matching purple sprinkles. Arabella looked so darned happy to see me, and to have the privilege of plying me with tea and cookies, it would’ve been curmudgeonly of me to decline. Besides, both the tea and the cookies were excellent.
    Arabella gave me time to appreciate them, nodding approvingly as I ate. “You poor dear, you’ve had quite a time of it, haven’t you? How are you settling in?”
    “It’s going well, I hope. It’s a little early to say. But I feel honored that the board chose me.” Out of desperation, most likely, but I wasn’t going to bring that up with Arabella. “You’ve been running this place for quite a while, haven’t you? You must have seen a lot of changes over the years. Do you think kids want different things now, compared to when you started? It seems that everything has to flash and buzz and beep, and it’s all electronic these days.”
    A cloud passed over Arabella’s face. “Sadly so. But the younger ones still enjoy it. Sometimes I go down to the exhibits and just watch them playing. They get so excited! And we try to keep things fresh—that’s one of the reasons for the new exhibit.”
    “What is it about? I apologize, but I don’t spend much time with children, so I’m kind of out of the loop.”
    “It’s based on the Harriet the Hedgehog series, which is aimed at our precise demographic. It’s written by Hadley Eastman—she’s a local author, which makes a nice tie-in, and her books have sold well, so she’s well-known. She’s been working with us to develop the exhibit. And I’m so happy to be able to support children’s reading—sometimes I think they may never learn how, and then where will we all be?”
    “Amen to that.” I poured myself another cup of tea—and helped myself to one more sugar cookie. “So tell me, what other kinds of programming do you offer? Do you have any agreement with the school district?”
    “Oh, of course . . .” And we were off, talking shop. After a while it was clear to me that Arabella’s reputation as a good businesswoman was well deserved. She knew her audience, and what worked. She also knew her limitations, and she was happily settled in her particular niche, with no plans to expand beyond it. In a way it was heartening to me: young children weren’t changing much, and they were still enthralled by simple things, bless them.
    When I checked my watch again, it was after five. “Heavens, I had no idea it was so late. I don’t want to keep you.”
    “Oh, but you can’t leave without seeing the exhibit! A little sneak preview? Once it opens, it will be covered with children—at least, that’s what we hope.”
    “I’d love to see it.” I was honestly curious about what she and her staff had done with the exhibit.
    “Well, then, come with me. You’re in for a treat!”

CHAPTER 4
    I followed Arabella from her office to another part of the second floor. It was hidden behind drop cloths decorated with whimsical animals and birds that looked like they’d been hand-painted by preschoolers, which they probably had. Across the top ran a large banner clearly made by somebody a couple of decades older, that proclaimed in big letters, “Harriet’s Coming!” Arabella turned to me and her eyes actually sparkled—something that, before this