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say about him. At least, not yet. He was collecting a pension from the fire department and also working as the night watchman at the warehouse.”
    “Do you think he had anything to do with the fire?” I asked.
    “Nothing jumps out. But the investigation has just begun. By the way, his funeral will be on Thursday. Have you ever seen a fireman’s funeral around here?” When I shook my head, he went on. “It’s a major event—firefighters from the city and even other states show up, and streets are closed for the procession. The department honors its dead, even those no longer active with them.”
    We had to take a break to order our meals, during which time I found I was growing increasingly uncomfortable with what James was saying—or not saying. When the waiter had left, I said carefully, “What is it I’m supposed to find out from Peter Ingersoll? Like, am I supposed to guess if Peter Ingersoll was upset because someone died, or about the destruction of the museum’s collections?” I noticed that James had never answered my question about whether he trusted Peter, and I was sensing that he didn’t.
    James sat back in his chair. “You tell me.”
    I sat back, too, and stared at him. “I don’t know the man, so I can’t tell you that. Are you suggesting that he had some involvement in destroying the collection? Why would he do that? I mean, who stands to benefit?”
    James shrugged, which I found unhelpful. “How much do you know about the financial standing of the Fireman’s Museum?”
    “Not much—why would I? Peter said they had gotten some outside funding for revamping the space and the exhibits, but he still wasn’t sure about their insurance status. James, we’re talking in circles here. Why don’t you just tell me what you’re looking for?”
    I was flattered that he’d actually asked for my help, butat the same time troubled that he was asking me to snoop on my colleagues. The Philadelphia cultural community wasn’t all that big, and I was still the new kid, at least among the upper ranks. I needed to keep them as friends, not alienate them. My impression of Peter Ingersoll, albeit based on a brief interaction, was that he wasn’t the type to engage in murder and mayhem, but I’d been wrong about people before. Was there an honor code among administrators? Where did I put that manual? In any event, I didn’t think it extended to covering for a colleague who engaged in major crimes.
    Once again James had ignored my direct question. Was this standard FBI procedure? “Look, I can probably give you some qualitative info on how that particular museum is structured and operates. But I don’t want to sniff around for gossip about whether someone on the inside at the Fireman’s Museum is up to something shady.”
    “Nell, that’s really all I’m asking. Nothing devious.”
    “Don’t you guys have an art theft unit? Why can’t they do it?”
    “We do, and they’re good, but they’re a small group and spread kind of thin. And they don’t know the local scene as well as you do. You know the players, the relationships, the history of the institutions around here. You don’t have to snoop—just tell me what you know, and what’s in your files. Is that fair?”
    It seemed simple enough. And I did want to help. “All right, that I can do. And I can let you know what records we have about their collections, especially since Peter has already asked that I pull them for him. Now can we just enjoy lunch?”
    “Of course.”
    It was, in fact, an enjoyable lunch. It was hard to look on my sporadic meetings with James as dates, but clearly we enjoyed each other’s company. And since we weren’t in the first flush of youth, we weren’t rushing anything. I was glad he had asked for my help, but was that because he respected my professional expertise or because he wanted an excuse to see me again? I wasn’t about to ask. And I was kind of tickled to have access to the machinations of the