Fire Engine Dead by Sheila Connolly

me.
    “But people enjoyed the exhibits there,” I reminded her. “Thank you, Latoya.”
    Back at my office, I stopped at Eric’s desk and glanced around me: no one else in sight. “What did you think of the registrar candidate?” I asked Eric.
    Eric looked up at me with a half smile. “Based on my two minutes of acquaintance, and the three sentences we exchanged? Kind of a cold fish, but smart. At least, he
thinks
he’s smart.”
    I nodded. “That was about what I thought. I’ll see what his references have to say about him—Latoya will be checking those. Thanks, Eric. Have I missed anything important?”
    He handed me a few message slips. “I’d say the most important is from Peter Ingersoll.”
    “I saw him yesterday at the funeral—he said he was going to call. Thanks, Eric.” I assumed Peter wanted to set a time to get the documentation we had found about the Fireman’s Museum’s collections, and I would be happy to turn over what we had assembled, but I was nervous about sharing anything regarding the destroyed fire engine. I didn’t want to bring up the issue, but I was curious to see if he would say anything about it on his own. Back at my desk, I decided to first check with James.
    “Did you need something, Nell?” he barked when I got through to him. He sounded harried, so I cut to the chase.
    “Peter Ingersoll called while I was tied up, and I need to call him back. I ran into him yesterday at the funeral procession. I told him that I had collected the information about his lost collections. What do I do now?”
    James sighed. “You can’t stall him?”
    “Would it make a difference? I’ve pulled together what we’ve got here, and I can get Eric to make copies. If I put him off, it makes me look sloppy or incompetent. I owe Peter a prompt response, as a peer and a colleague. Innocent until proven guilty, right?”
    “I never said we suspected him of anything.”
    “You never said you didn’t, either. I know you and the police have to look at everybody.”
    “We do. Can you omit the details about the fire engine?”
    “It would be kind of an obvious omission, since it’s not only the centerpiece of their collection but also the one thing we’d be most likely to have information about, especially given the Terwilliger connection. Do you want me to give him the whole package and see how he reacts?”
    “You can give him copies of what you have in your files, but do not—repeat, do not—bring up anything about what we suspect.”
    “You don’t think he’s come to the same conclusion himself?”
    “If he has, he hasn’t told the police, as far as I know.”
    Should I be concerned about that? Was Peter hiding something, or was he really clueless? Still, I could sympathize. If he had reason to suspect something suspicious was going on within his museum, he would be reluctant to bring any outside attention to it, at least until he was sure. I’d been in much the same position. Of course, if he was in on it, the result would be the same. I decided I should get to know Peter a bit better.
    “Nell—” James began.
    I cut him off. “I know, don’t meddle. I’m just going to talk to a colleague in a difficult situation, one that I’m familiar with. Okay? No probing questions, no cross-examination.”
    “I’m not going to be able to stop you, am I?” James said.
    “You’re the one who asked me for insights into our community. And this is my business. Peter made an appropriaterequest for information he knows we have, and I’m honoring it. It’s not like I’m stalking drug lords in dark alleys.”
    “All right. You’ll tell me if you find out anything interesting, or if he turns green at the mention of the fire engine?”
    “Of course. I’ll talk to you later.”
    I had never aspired to be an undercover operative, and I was equal parts amused and annoyed at James’s proprietary attitude. Peter had contacted me with a legitimate professional request, and I was responding