Monument to the Dead by Sheila Connolly Page B

that he can do. At least we didn’t find her . . .”
    Shelby finished my statement for me. “Dead? Hey, I think it’s sweet that he came when
     you called.
And
tried to spare you from finding the body, if there was one, which, thank God, there
     wasn’t. Haven’t all the other victims been found at home?”
    “Good point. Thanks, Shelby. Want to get some lunch on the way back?”
    “Sure. We need our strength.”
    We settled for a fast sandwich at the small shop down the street from the Society.
     When we’d taken our orders to a table in the corner, I said, “What do we do now?”
    Shelby chewed a large bite of her sandwich. After she had swallowed, she said, “
We?
I seem to recall that you keep dumping a whole lot of research in my lap. I’m not
     going to pretend that we’ve covered all the bases with the people on our list. Even
     if I focus on our three prime organizations, there’s still a lot of digging to do.
     In addition to all the regular stuff for my job.”
    “I know, I know. I think I’ll have little ‘I Apologize’ cards made up to hand out—it’ll
     save time. And now you’re making me feel guilty, since I’m your boss and I’m supposed
     to be running the Society.” For which I depended a whole lot on Marty’s help and backup,
     but I couldn’t say that to Shelby. “Thank goodness we’re between major events.”
    “The Board Bash is next, isn’t it?” Shelby asked.
    “Yes, but not for months. Why?”
    “You know, maybe I could kill two birds with one stone. If I have to look up all this
     stuff about the Forrest Trust, maybe we could use our Forrest collection as the focus
     for the event? Didn’t I see something in the file about using the income from that
     endowment to promote the guy? We could easily justify spending the money on the party.”
    I stared at her. “Shelby, you’re brilliant! From what I know, Edwin Forrest was quite
     a figure. We could really have some fun with it.”
    “Oh yeah? Tell me a little more about this Edwin guy.”
    “All right, let’s see. He was born in Philadelphia, and his career began here, when
     he was in his teens. And he was still performing right up to his death in the 1870s.
     He was wildly popular, and from all that I’ve read, he was considered a pretty good
     actor, too—at least compared to some of his more over-the-top contemporaries. He took
     his fame seriously and tried to use it for good purposes. But he had his share of
     problems. For one thing, he married an English actress, but when they split up they
     both sued each other for divorce, very publicly—each claimed they’d found the other
     in the act of being unfaithful. The transcript of their divorce proceedings goes on
     for over a thousand pages. Edwin more or less lost, but not before dragging her name
     and his own through a lot of mud. Anyway, he ended up paying alimony forever.”
    “Nell, why do you know all this?” Shelby asked.
    “He’s part of Philadelphia history. And it’s an interesting story.”
    “It is that. That divorce must have been pretty shocking for the nineteenth century.
     Did it hurt his career?”
    “Not hardly. I mean, this guy was a megastar by standards back then. People literally
     died for him.” When Shelby looked at me, I explained, “He had this rivalry thing going
     with an English actor named Macready, and they were performing in New York at the
     same time. There were riots in the streets between fans from both sides. And a bunch
     of people died—there are conflicting reports about how many. Again, Edwin picked himself
     up and kept on going. And, more relevant to our problem here, he made lots of money.”
    “That’s where the trust comes in?” she asked.
    “Exactly. He never remarried, and he and his wife had no children. As he got older,
     his health went downhill—it’s kind of hard to piece together, but gout and arthritis
     are on the list.”
    “Maybe we’ll skip the gout and arthritis part in