Dead End Street (A Museum Mystery) by Sheila Connolly

Author:Sheila Connolly [Connolly, Sheila]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, United States, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, Amateur Sleuths, Women Sleuths
ISBN: 9780698150690
Amazon: B016JPTGNQ
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2016-06-07T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

Still a nice day. I strolled across City Hall Plaza, taking my time. The city hall building itself was amazing. William Penn had set the open space in the middle of what would become a major city; he had called it Centre Square. I was sure he had never envisioned this massive wedding cake of a building plunked down right in the center of it. One of the largest municipal buildings in the world. Tallest masonry building. Supporting walls twenty-two feet thick. It was roughly the same age as the Society building, although they bore no resemblance to each other. I’d been walking past it for years, and it still never failed to impress me.

I picked up a sandwich on the way back, carefully avoiding thinking about what to do next. Luckily when I returned to the Society, the answer provided itself, in the form of Detective Hrivnak. She did not look happy, but then, she seldom did. “Were you looking for me, Detective?”

“No, I’m here to look up the history of the Hrivnaks,” she all but snarled. “Of course I’m here to see you. Got a minute?”

“Sure. Upstairs?”

“Nah, that room in the corner will be fine.” She turned on her heel and marched toward it, and I had no choice but to follow. I shut the door behind me.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, is what. This investigation is going nowhere, and I’ve been told to wrap it up. There’s a whole list of more important crimes lined up, and my boss thinks this is a waste of time. I can’t say that I blame him—a lot of crime happens in that neighborhood, and we can’t follow up on everything. Don’t hold that against us.”

“I don’t. I know it’s a problem—too few cops, too much ground to cover, too much violence. No money to hire more cops. You have to pick and choose.”

“You got it.”

I wondered if this was just a courtesy call, or if she was trying to send me a message. “You know, we still own that property, at least at the moment. Now that our title has been established, we can’t just walk away.” I carefully left aside that someone had died in front of that property—in front of me.

“Join the club. Let your lawyer take care of it and dump it as fast as you can.”

Was that bitterness I was hearing? “That has been my plan, so far. But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if there’s anything the Society can do.”

“Oh, jeez, you’re not going to stick yourself in the middle of another mess, are you?”

“I don’t plan to. Look, until this week I never paid any attention to the housing and property issues in the city, even though maybe I should have, since I’ve worked in the city for years. And now I’m horrified.” When Hrivnak started to protest, I raised a hand to stop her. “Yes, I know, typical liberal white guilt. But I can’t just crawl back into my nice, safe elitist hole here and ignore it now.

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