Privy to the Dead by Sheila Connolly

one.”
    â€œThat would be the logical thing to do, but we know it didn’t happen, and we’ll probably never know why. Maybethe construction workers back then were in a hurry, or they didn’t feel like trucking a lot of fill down to the basement, so they just slapped a cover on it. In any case, the question is: What is there about that piece of metal that is so important?”
    â€œYou really think that’s what’s behind all this?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know, but I don’t have any better ideas. Are you comfortable labeling this death a ‘random city crime’?” I made air quotes. “I’m not saying it wasn’t. Luckily for us, the police have labeled it an accident, so the press hasn’t gotten hold of it—we’ve had enough bad publicity. But I’m not sold yet on the accident theory, and I’m betting Hrivnak isn’t, either.”
    â€œThis isn’t going to hold up the renovation project, is it?” Marty asked. The Society was always at the top of her priority list.
    â€œI don’t think so. As far as I know, the only connection to the Society Detective Hrivnak has found is that the victim was briefly a worker on the crew here, and had been in the building on the day he died. There’s no suggestion that he died here. The police can’t shut us down just in case, can they? So far there’s no indication that they want to.”
    â€œWhat about once you show them this stuff?” Marty waved her hand at the little pile of brass and splinters.
    â€œIt might change their minds, but maybe not. The detective may think I’m making a lot of out nothing. Which would probably be better for us. But I’ll give it to her anyway.”
    â€œMy furniture guy said he could see us this afternoon. Can you wait until after that to tell the cops?”
    Given the feeble connection between our find and the dead man, I didn’t have a problem with that. It wasn’t that we were concealing evidence, because we weren’t sure it
was
evidence, merely a string of guesses. Whether or not we found out anything more from Marty’s guy, I would talk to Hrivnak before the end of the day. “Works for me.”

CHAPTER 9
    â€œLunch?” Marty asked before she got up.
    â€œShoot, is it that time already?” It had been a busy day, and now it was half-gone. And everything I’d done so far had been unscheduled, which meant the scheduled stuff was falling way behind. Solving mysteries seemed to eat up a lot of time. “Sure, fine. I get cranky when I don’t eat. Where?”
    â€œSomeplace on Chestnut Street, maybe?”
    Hmm. Chestnut Street was where Carnell Scruggs had stopped for his last meal at a bar. I’d like to check what the walking distance actually was. “Sounds good. I don’t know if I should clear up this mess . . .” I waved at the junk scattered all over the floor.
    â€œGet Eric to do it—that’s why you have an assistant,” Marty said firmly.
    She was right, although I hated to ask other people to do my dirty work. Especially in this case, when the work was actually dirty. I gathered up my bag and jacket and went outinto the hall. “Eric, Marty and I are going to go find some lunch. Would you mind putting all that junk on the floor back into the box? Except for the brass fittings and bits of wood—see if you can find a small box for those. We’re going to show them to someone this afternoon. You mind?”
    â€œNot at all. I’ll leave the small box in your office.”
    I turned to leave, then remembered to add, “Oh, please keep the other stuff somewhere—don’t just toss it. You never know—there might be something else important in there that we missed.”
    â€œGot it. Have a nice lunch.”
    Marty and I walked out of the building—after a short detour to wash our hands—and turned right,